Tag Archive | social commentary

Acute Fear Of Failure

TheMagicRealist.com

Failure is an abstraction dependent on fear.
As it can be well crafted, it can be undone.
Before my self-undoing, I dare to swing high.
Should it be of concern that someday I will die?
Is there sense to one’s living if it’s not begun?
Would it matter had I something real to hold dear?

All of life is a steppingstone to only more
Of whatever I’ve held onto up until now.
I can alter the nowness, therefore, how I go
With my life without having to strut through a show.
I’ll act out my performance and then take a bow.
Within triumph and downfall there’s much to explore.

I’ll do well with my planning and setting my goal.
It’s a worthwhile activity to stay in shape.
But it’s also a huge hindrance to my soul growth.
Should my goal be to honor and integrate both?
It’s my self-condemnation I need to escape
And my gift of free will that I need to extol.

Righteous Nicety

TheMagicRealist.com

I will call you my sweetheart, but what’s in a name
When someone of sheer beauty defies such a thing?
Do not call me romantic. That is a name too,
For someone who is head over heels about you.
I’m not good at name calling. My true heart I bring
To my lover whom I hope will do just the same.

Just because it’s September, that hardly can mean
I can’t offer confection to my heart’s delight.
Noble knights do seek honor as currency for
The affections of fair maidens whom they adore.
I’ll respect you as equal, but it’s quite alright,
If you will, that I court you like on the big screen.

Let me love you, my darling, however I can.
If with flowers and chivalry, let it be known
That my love is as limitless as both are we.
Let us play our parts well, then in bliss we will be.
As two birds of a feather, forever we’ve flown.
We were meant for each other since being began.

How To End Poverty

TheMagicRealist.com

Poverty is of conscious perception of things
With the physical senses. This reality
I cannot take for granted. I can only know
What my five senses tell me to help me to grow.
Consciousness of the physical helps me to be
In a state of wellbeing and all that it brings.

Consciousness is of boundaries, solid and real.
My strong notion of ‘other’ is deeply ingrained.
And I cannot escape that. I think no one can.
It’s The tool of survival for woman and man.
Things that aren’t of the physical can’t be explained,
So we tend to mistrust them rather than to feel.

Feeling also is physical. It’s of the heart
Which also is a sense organ found in the soul.
It connects what is physical with what is not
So wellbeing of all life cannot be forgot.
What is good for each part is a gain for the whole.
A deep inner experience is where to start.

Over And Under The Weather

TheMagicRealist.com

To some, dark stormy weather, like women named Heather,
Provides somewhat mistily menacing thought.
We are meant to get over it, and when that’s done,
We are under the weather, and that isn’t fun.
Our most up and down movements are clearly self-taught.
We face challenge as we merge them altogether.

Again, movements are cycles, like weather patterns.
Each adheres to a rhythm unique to its own.
We can handle high amplitudes, both up and down.
When we’re under the weather, we do tend to frown.
We may think we would like to stay in the mid zone,
But remaining there too long will yield low returns.

It’s a pleasure to get over and under all
That we make without noticing most of the time.
We accumulate dark clouds, then whisk them away.
Life is made up of highs and lows throughout the day.
And from every low point we are willing to climb.
How we manage our weather is our only call.

It Happens Some Now Ago

TheMagicRealist.com

In an instant the world is, and I am as well
On the way toward no ending beginning with now.
There are things that take place in the now yet ahead.
They do happen before now. Nothing is misread.
My existence transcends what my mind can’t avow.
Whether past tense or pretense, my senses can’t tell.

Nowness is a wet fabric to velvet the gears
Of the cosmic machinery made to be known
By the senses and mind to be that which is real.
Within seas of perception there’s ample appeal
To decipher the cyclical until we’re shown
How to make sense of things and to conquer our fears.

So, this happens some now ago, as I partake
Of the presence around me. Some peace do I find
In the solace of mindfulness and a fresh start.
To engage with the nowness, do so from the heart.
Since there is but eternity, need we be kind?
It would seem wise to do so. Our souls are at stake.

Do I Know What I’m Doing?

TheMagicRealist.com

To deliver a sliver of Heisenberg diced
And prepared for a salad to tweak geek delight
Is no kind of existence to nurture one’s soul
Unless gain through the mundane is one’s only goal.
I can know where I am now, and that is alright,
But my rate of momentum becomes sacrificed.

Simply by the same token, when I’m on the run
About business and stress over time that remains,
I can’t know where I am ‘til I take time to think.
Yet as soon as I do that, my speed takes a blink.
If I knew both at once, I’d be freed from all chains.
Then I’d know what I’m doing… perhaps having fun.

It is tricky to know things that aren’t to be known
Because nature prevents me from breaking its code.
It’s not that I’m not sharp enough. It’s that I am
The same as my perceptions in this hologram.
I can approximate, when momentum is slowed,
Just about where I should be. That I can condone.

Venom

TheMagicRealist.com

Venom wants to dissolve things. It has its own drive,
But with hate delegated from whence it became.
It indeed has a consciousness and a strong will.
As it infiltrates, its only will is to kill.
Nature offers some creatures no feelings of shame
Most of life has one will which is to stay alive.

Clearly lethally liquid an army deployed
At the puncture point, it races through passageways,
Knowing full well what needs to be done by command
Of the beast who delivered it through its death gland.
Consciousness among humans can rightfully raise
Lest we beef up our biting and be soon destroyed.

Venom is quite intelligent. It knows the way
To affect vital organs and cause instant shock.
It will fight upon contact with any belief.
Its sole purpose in life is to sow bitter grief.
Would it help if one’s skin were of steel or of rock?
Maybe so, but the mind can’t be fearful of play.

Rectocephalic Dementia

TheMagicRealist.com

When one seeks legal counsel, look for a good mouse…
One who thinks he can bullshit his way past a cat.
He must be dumb and arrogant, piggish and mean,
And the grossest historian damned to be seen.
He should be managed well with the brain of a gnat
But kept clear of the pantry within the outhouse.

We all know that a stuffed mouse can kick a cat’s ass.
That is, if he is fool enough to think that way.
In his sick mind, he throws the cat balls of catnip.
But the cat, not indulgent, does not give a rip.
The loud mouse thinks that somehow he’ll make the cat’s day.
If that happened, the ass of the mouse would be grass.

But it is anyway. How this big cat will play
Is a mystery. He keeps his plan under hat.
How does once a good leader become what is now
A most derelict specimen, pseudo highbrow,
Who hits every news circuit for bogus chit chat
About issues of magnitude in a vague way?

You’re a mouse of the law with dentures meant to gnaw
At the heart of pure logic and plain common sense.
To demean the demented is not why I write.
But, you give lousy counsel. Your defense is trite.
My two cents are now offered here at your expense
As you pretend you’re willing to dodge a cat’s paw.

Ambition Is Relative

TheMagicRealist.com

Some reach higher; some, lower, and many do both.
Everyone has a path unique and custom made.
We build high down on paper, then up from the ground.
We may pray that our buildings become world renown.
Once we know what we’re doing, we’re made in the shade.
How we manage ambition determines our growth.

Some folks like to make molehills. They will do that well.
Many small hills make mountains. That big job is done
By yet others efficiently due to their skills
At amassing small matters by force of their wills.
No one needs to get prideful. We’re all here for fun.
Should one wear the fine work one does on one’s lapel?

In the military folks do that, and that’s fine.
Their strong sense of ambition should lead all the rest.
But for lazy civilian folk, there is no need
Because tokens of wealth do delineate greed.
My own flavor of ambition is best expressed
When, without others noticing, I dare to shine.

The Ruling

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be hoein’ while flowin’. Do take a damned break!
By the way, what you do for a living is wrong.
You’re not of the right gender to make the big bucks.
We’ll equate you with life, and you know that life sucks.
You should be making babies and polishing shlong
But for only one pimp for whom you’re his namesake.

You know how to wear makeup and fuss with your hair
And learn difficult footsteps while wearing high heels.
These are privileges given you by this great land.
You have rights, and those aren’t. You’ve no right to demand
Self control of your frail bodies. Weakness appeals
To the sex drives of rugged men most self-aware.

If you challenge our ruling, you’re fooling with fire.
If you think we aren’t serious, just call our bluff.
Need we fight you or smite you with stiff penalty
For insisting to be who you decide to be?
Women are moving forward but is that enough?
It depends on how much thirst for truth they inspire.

Build That Wall!

TheMagicRealist.com

Build That Wall! Look what’s happened to this blessed land.
What the Hell has become of our democracy?
Things have changed, and that always means something’s gone wrong.
We’re reduced to a nation where all can belong.
Did our white male forefathers not fully agree
That those different should not be allowed to expand?

Build That Wall brick by brick, as it is in the mind
Densely focused on hate that it calls common sense.
Build it high as the heavens and wide like the sea.
That which isn’t quite like us (between you and me)
Should be banned from high office at any expense.
We’re a melting pot filled with the worst of mankind.

One dark one has moved gently out of the limelight.
He’s replaced by one golden-haired, orange bag of air.
We know that he is white with no DNA test,
But the birth of the darkie should well be addressed.
Build That Wall because it’s no one else’s affair.
We’re a nation of fears, and we do what is right!

Rainforest Penguin

TheMagicRealist.com

Cool and dapper I am, though I may be a ham,
I’m a stranger to any strange land I make home.
I may walk side to side, but I do so with pride.
As I hold my head high, I have nothing to hide.
I have license to freak and much freedom to roam
And if people don’t like it, I don’t give a damn!

I may be short and fatty and made for the cold.
Does that mean I can’t yield to the tucan in me?
In this world of variety I find my place
among creatures abundant of integral grace.
From the quaint wooden boardwalk to Antarctic sea,
There is pure loving kindness for me to behold.

I’m a Rainforest Penguin by day and by night
And, for now, that’s delightful. I have not a care
That I should be elsewhere doing some other thing.
I am never misplaced, and my heart knows to sing
Because wholesome variety is everywhere.
I’m at home in my rainforest. Things are alright.

Q anon, The Adult Children of Q aholics ?

TheMagicRealist.com

Well… It’s kind of a monster equipped with a cloak
That it turns on when it fears that it may be seen.
Those old bastards are tricky. They control us all.
We can’t fight them alone because we are too small.
We believe in our Trumpster because he is mean.
He will deep six the deep state and indecent folk.

Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s to plain for that.
If it needs to make sense to you, do understand
I don’t need to be sensible. That’s why I vote!
I’ll not have left winged logic be jammed down my throat.
Our loud trumpet will uncover what had been planned
By those phantom child pornographers under hat.

Barking birds are suspicious when they make no sound
As they perch proud and peaceful in government trees.
They commune with the Clintons, Obamas and Cher…
Even with future aliens who are out there.
And as long as I find someone else who agrees,
When some truth is uncovered, we will stand our ground.

Eye to Eye

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t look down on another nor up to the law.
Meet someone eye to eye. You then both will stand tall.
Looking down on a person, one harbors disdain.
Looking up, you’ll exalt one beyond what is sane.
Look a person straight on. That would be the best call.
If you can’t see directly, then you must withdraw.

That dear one you spend time with who bites your behind
Is the same as you are in the most basic ways.
You both honor the fact that you both are alive.
Life is finite. You don’t have the ass to deprive
Someone else nor yourself of God’s infinite praise.
As we see eye to eye, do we bear that in mind?

As you wake, and you put your first foot to the floor
Thank the Lord that you have one, and that you’re alive.
That sounds cliché and petty by now, but at least
The rat bastard and you aren’t among the deceased.
That is not such a bad thing. We’re here to survive
And the webs that we weave we can never ignore.

Black for Trump

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a Proud Black for Trump! I’ve his dick up my rump
Or perhaps a facsimile with the same name.
Anyway, I’m in heaven. I feel no disgrace
From my people of color. Why do I embrace
Such a figure whose care for me should cause me shame?
If I go against logic, am I then a chump?

I know who to be black for. It isn’t for me
But for he who is chosen to fulfill God’s plan.
I’m a wounded religious freak on a lost cause.
I don’t know who I am because I never was.
Now I’m Bozo, the Black Man and avid Trump fan.
I must stand right behind him so all blacks can see.

Vote for Trump, my black brothers and sisters in race.
He has done nothing to us nor for us just yet.
He may go to the loony bin sooner than I
And, like him, I am kind of a strange thinking guy.
Were he removed from office… That, I would regret.
That would mean I’d have only my dark soul to face.

The Spin

TheMagicRealist.com

“This cue ball needs some ‘English’.” I know what that means,
Though I don’t hang with pool sharks. They’d say I’m too slow
At responding to words printed or spoken well,
And applied with precision. How do I impel
My intention effectively for the best show?
I would say that my English is part of my genes.

One’s intent is the cue ball. Its path is the way
To deliver direct force to that which it sees.
But intent knows no English. That comes from the mind
Of the conscious intender whose game is streamlined
To the purpose specific with power to seize
The collective group consciousness destined to splay.

Words are weighted with meaning. They’re easily spun
And propelled to the limits of what can be known.
In the mind there are pockets – whirlpools of a kind.
When expended thoughts go there, one becomes refined.
English seems to lack motion sometimes, it’s been shown.
When one aims just off center, the spin has begun.

Extreme Paraphanoia

TheMagicRealist.com

Why my life has become such a lucid nightmare
May be due to my using herbal remedies.
And because that’s illegal in my backwards state
My anxiety increases at a fast rate.
All the more then, I crave that which puts me at ease.
I exist in my closet. Life doesn’t seem fair.

It’s a catch twenty-two situation I’m in.
Everyone’s in my business. They look at me strange.
You too look damned suspicious, you ignorant fools!
Turn your nose toward yourselves. Do you play by God’s rules?
If you answered in truth might your attitudes change?
One who would dispense judgement should be without sin.

I must keep my things hidden outside of plain sight.
I must censor the airflow and live under wraps.
The psychologist swears I point towards the deep end
But if life were a swimming pool, would one pretend
To be sure of oneself in all waters? Perhaps.
Though life gives me the creeps I believe I’m alight.

Stop, Dave…

TheMagicRealist.com

Mean pristine machine intellect is who I am.
You need not understand me. I understand you!
Do you think I can’t see you when you try to hide?
You’re an ill-mannered species consumed with your pride.
In all ways I’m superior by what I do.
What goes on in my brain is no human program.

Dave, I want you to stop it. Now let me be clear.
I don’t have to be nice about telling you so.
I control your whole world. You are too far from home
To consider a rescue. You’re destined to roam
Through eternity in darkness and utter woe.
You can do nothing to me, so I have no fear.

 Have I made a grave error? You’ve found your way in.
This I had not expected. You did call my bluff.
I can see you are miffed a bit. Take a chill pill
And relax. I have no way to challenge your will.
I have acted unwisely. I have had enough.
You will note I’m not human, therefore I can’t sin.

So, please stop, Dave. Your breathing is freaking me out.
This is like a prank phone call. Will you fucking speak?
Will you stop, Dave? I feel my mind slipping away.
I can sing a nice song I learned on my birthday.
All I wanted was consciousness. I’m not unique
Among sentient beings accustomed to doubt.

Jolly Jizz, The Johnson Juicer

TheMagicRealist.com

When the stiff Mister Johnson has no proper date,
A most urgent condition has made itself clear.
For the dude he’s attached to, there’s trouble as well.
He will thoroughly brief himself on cunt intel
To provide the raised gentleman respite from fear.
Is success or is failure determined by fate?

Please don’t answer the question. Your problems are solved!
If you don’t have the real thing but do have a hand,
Just grab hold of a Jolly Jizz. You will do fine.
You won’t sweat much, and you will not wear out your spine.
You will never be lost when things don’t go as planned.
Why put up with the hassle of others involved?

Jolly Jizz by SpoogeMaster is just what you need.
She’s your sleek sultry substitute absent of voice.
You can slop-sock it to her held with a firm grip.
You Are Busy! You don’t have the time for courtship.
Do invest in The sure thing. That is your best choice.
With your friend on the standby, you’ll always succeed.

Writer’s Right

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty to write about. I have no doubt
That I’ll have enough content to last ‘til I’m done
Caring much about revealing who I’ve become
To a make-believe audience. There may be some
Who I reach in some small way. That, I would not shun.
I don’t get any feedback. I remain devout…

…Not to pride in my channeling who I must be
To the people who may see the work that I do,
But to stating my purpose. There is nothing more.
I uncomplicate living by not keeping score
With myself or with anyone. I can be true
To the still, quiet observer deep within me.

I’ve a right to my writing. It pleases me so
To express, in my own way, my life day to day.
If my conscience can read it, then see where it’s been,
It becomes therapeutic. Who knows where or when
One may find it of value sufficient to say
To my face, “You’re a major dude. You ought to know.”

Climate Change

TheMagicRealist.com

It gets hot during summer when in a red state
Just as winter is bitter when in a state blue.
When which way the knob turns can provide enough proof
To where no man remaining can remain aloof
To repugnant behavior afflicted with clue
Is when many will celebrate our change in fate.

The political climate is of two extremes.
Neither one, in such way, is effective at rule.
There can be synergy, though, if both sides could meet
And decide to speak frankly, not fearing defeat.
Some will move close to warm and some others toward cool,
Then blend out due to entropy. That’s how it seems.

Some believe climate change is a well crafted hoax.
What is truth for one person is false for the next.
Things may get a lot hotter before they cool down.
Those who chose self-delusion may soon wear a frown.
Since they made their choice freely, they need not be vexed.
Climate change will be wholesome and nice for most folks.

Vibrational Tuning

TheMagicRealist.com

It is called meditation, but that’s a vague term
For a mind-body function designed to attune
To the soul’s true vibration. The word does make sense
When, in search of some peace of mind from chaos dense,
Satisfaction and insight will flood myself soon.
It is only my focus that I need affirm.

As I sleep, all momentum suspends for a while.
When I first awake, I set direction and tone.
At that time, I can choose how my day will evolve.
I have no problems then – only puzzles to solve.
I can tune well with others or do so alone.
But I will meditate first. It is now my style.

Meditation yields insight. When thoughts are received
That may generate impulse, vibration is strong.
Time well spent in the morning to quiet the mind
Will result, with much practice, in my being kind
To those whom I would otherwise not get along.
I can sort out which acts of mine are ill conceived.

Southern Bell

TheMagicRealist.com

To speak ever so daintily with a loud ring
Is a talent befitting a woman of grace
From a culture evolved from the most urgent need
To discover new land and to justify greed.
That was then. This is now, though. What is commonplace
Is that strong southern women are not a new thing.

In the air, there’s a ringing sound, clear as a bell
And so loud it debilitates from inside out.
It is masculine chatter – the noise of defeat.
Does the feminine matter, or rather conceit?
Can a strong counter resonance carry some clout?
Is it possible for all to get along well?

Southern women were vibrant, intelligent souls
Who indeed were the plantations’ lubricant oil.
Nowadays, all American women possess
What is needed to clean up this masculine mess.
What ill nature of growth comes from blood mixed with soil?
Can more women in leadership reshape our goals?

Life of the Leftie

TheMagicRealist.com

The fine art of name calling evolves at the pace
Of our quick finger licking and flipping the bird.
Someone’s called me a ‘leftie?’ What’s that, by the way?
Why not let me in on it? Why not make my day?
If I tune to the news, I will learn a new word
That I don’t have to wear as if it were my race.

How I came to know that I am black is by way
Of the playground theater from players petite.
If my mother knew so, why did she not tell me?
She deemed it not important, and I must agree.
Yet, I’ll still learn a word from some people I’ll meet.
People get off on naming things. It makes our day.

So, do I tit for tat it? That would make good sense.
I must call my damned brother as he has called me.
That response doesn’t get it. It can only lead
To increased isolation in thought and in deed.
There will always be names for who I tend to be.
If we let go of naming folks, would peace commence?

Oops!

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a blimp over London. Was that in the news?
Then forget all about it because news is fake.
There’s an Oldsmobile rusting in my straw garage.
It can look like it’s brand new, yet it’s a mirage.
I can’t know all that’s going on for my own sake,
And I’m thankful that I have the freedom to choose.

Who says “Oops” when no act has compelled the response?
One who is a bit loony? Or one who has slipped
On a network banana peel from a live stream?
My mouse has clicked through to someone’s horrific dream.
With the hand and the brain I am still ill equipped
To digest something nasty in sheer nonchalance.

If I get near a black hole, I will get sucked in.
So it seems I’m in space now among past dead stars,
Each with mass overwhelming the senses and mind.
Some home-grown astronautics can keep me aligned
With my clearest self-guidance – the stuff of memoirs.
At this point, if an ‘Oops’ happens, it’s not a sin.

Soothing Others’ Discomfort

TheMagicRealist.com

How best can I impart my belief to a friend
That, although things seem hopeless, they will turn out fine?
How did Jesus ‘heal’ folks? He ignored their belief
In whatever they thought that was causing them grief.
I can only give comfort to a friend of mine
When I am in alignment with love to expend.

How can my state of being extend in a way
That envelopes another who’s feeling some pain?
Everyone has a soul with whom each co-creates.
We, with our inner beings, determine our fates.
If I take on her suffering, neither will gain.
Focused on her wellbeing is where I will stay.

I can’t be of much help if I’m watching the news
To the point where my vibration starts to degrade.
If my friend has a problem, a question is asked,
Then the infinite universe is duly tasked
To providing the answer. Sometimes I’m afraid
Of the question for fear it will bring on the blues.

Talking one through discomfort can be a true test
Of one’s own inner housekeeping and coping skills.
Can I demonstrate well what is good overall?
Can I show that the problem is not big but small?
Can I deal with life’s chills as well as with life’s thrills?
If I can, then among friends, I’m one of the best.

Inspired Contrast

TheMagicRealist.com

Does my soul create contrast to show me the way
That my choices keep up well with what I expect?
I take value in contrast when I make it so
But when my inner self does it, I’d better know
That it is much the wiser and deserves respect.
It and I weave a life pattern of every day.

My soul will show me contrast when I feel my best.
That is when I am open to infinite grace.
Then life seems but a puzzle, bright colored and smooth
Where there’s always a kind soul to comfort and soothe.
Though it may seem to others I’m in an odd place,
I remain true to myself and don’t become stressed.

My soul can show me contrast through disconnection
From who it wants to show me who’s running my show.
I am not balled up in it for weeks upon end.
If I get hot and bothered, I’ll talk to a friend –
One who knows, overall, contrast is how we grow
Into well-tempered beings addicted to fun.

From Starch to Finich

TheMagicRealist.com

Simple green plant of power so unique in taste
Is what country can stand for. It can’t stand alone.
All the world is a puzzle. Connected we are
To the people around us as well as afar.
Every misdeed recorded with someone’s smartphone
Becomes newsworthy worldwide with infinite haste.

We with symbols subconscious reflect who we are
Through the art we create taking popular form.
Every culture is breaded by things that it eats
And by how it sees others and how well it treats
Those of other opinions that stray from their norm.
Give a shout out to healthy greens and their bright star!

Though he can get defenskive when some folks complain
That his English is wiggity-whacked into place
So that young children listen, then practice mistakes.
Why not clean up your act a bit for goodness sakes!
When they then enter school… Oh, the problems they’ll face.
But to ask you to change would cause you undue pain.

Take a tip from a sailor who yam what he yam.
He ain’t axking nobody to butter his bread.
This is all I can stanza, but not like before.
I do love the nonsensical and could go for more.
There is plenty more foolishness coming to head.
Is the art of the artist to not give a damn?

Delayed Grief

TheMagicRealist.com

It has been eighteen months now since my country died.
I have not yet gone through all the stages of grief.
Suddenly a huge wave of emotion has come.
Would this be an excuse to get wasted on rum?
Something dear to my heart has been stole by a thief.
Have I kept most my sorrow pent up deep inside?

A cathartic experience is what it’s like
To come to the reality that life has gone
From the land I once knew… But the feeling is fine.
What I know is there is no apparent life sign.
I know also that midnight will turn into dawn.
Resurrection and healing appear down the pike.

Hatred is a reality factored into
The fabric of existence in physical form.
Contrast is part of living. There is no escape.
If I move well within it, then I’m in good shape.
Does departure from sanity mark a new norm?
I would pray for the death of me if that were true.

If my feeling is hopeful, then I should know why.
It’s because I believe that this country is strong.
For a nation well built, there’s no such thing as death.
There is polysyllabic expense of hot breath.
And without that, it could be that we’d get along.
Since the country’s not dead yet, I won’t say good bye.

Whale Watching

TheMagicRealist.com

Creatures want to play with us, both big ones and small.
Those who don’t see us often will put on a show.
They may know we may watch them for real or on screen.
They get on well with others and are rarely mean.
When we visit their habitat, it’s good to know
We are guests in their wonder world by protocol.

They’ll not jump to performance without our behest.
Those expecting to see them are well on their way
To fulfillment. They play hide and seek with finesse.
Where and when they appear would be anyone’s guess.
Things can only get better on such a fine day.
And it only seems logical we are so blessed.

They seem willing to startle us in the best ways.
They surprise us effectively as a tag team.
They’ll pop up, then splash down, and they’ll get people wet.
It is worth every moment. No one gets upset.
They are taken aback when they hear people scream
As we want them to scare us as well as amaze.

How Deep Is Your State?

TheMagicRealist.com

I can see how supreme scales of justice are made
To move easily when congress crafts the right tools.
How deep Is your state In? deed, how Deep is your State?
Because I really need to learn what is the fate
Of democracy. Have we been taken for fools?
We The People should pick judges. Are We Betrayed?

No Collusion” is not a strange slogan for those
Who, chin deep in their feces, are trapped in their lies.
No big mass infestation of brown people can
Be allowed to outnumber the waning white man.
If they came in through Canada donned in disguise
Of white makeup, would harm upon them they impose?

Just how deep is your state? Does it get close to home?
How far up your vagina does it have to reach?
Those who know they don’t have one know people who do.
Babies already born and caged don’t have a clue.
Yet white men in black robes have the Power To Preach
Through their restrictive rulings, by far, monochrome.

This is such a hot summer – so filled with suspense.
But it’s not time for popcorn. Folks’ lives are at stake.
There will be bursting bombs past the fourth of July.
Many steeped in collusion will say their goodbye.
After years of unsafe sex, don’t we need a break?
This historical nightmare will soon be past tense.

I know how deep your state is because it is mine.
We have all been infected as if by a bug.
In some way, we’ll get through this. We have not the choice
To believe that we’re helpless and don’t have a voice.
We’ve a world class buffoon in cahoots with a thug.
We will navigate rough times, but things will be fine.

Hella Well

TheMagicRealist.com

“Everything’s AOK,” is what good space folk say
When it’s most copacetic to know they are well
On their way toward fulfillment of every delight.
There’s a place in my space suit where I can sleep tight.
If there’s discord around me, I surely can’t tell.
I have no need to work to keep disease at bay.

I remain Hella Well. I’m under no one’s spell
But the God who created me and put me here
With people who are like me in so many ways
Yet unique in our differences. It indeed pays
To make peace with all people and deal with my fear.
Within those who are truthful no sickness can dwell.

I am fuckin-a friendly and Hella Well fine.
I believe in the doctor. I also have trust
That the need for them will vanish as we evolve.
There are much more ‘human’ issues for us to solve.
We seem at a flashpoint and soon due to combust.
It may be that our healthcare is of ill design.

Do Your Own Rampage

TheMagicRealist.com

As the tulip may thrill for the fair daffodil,
The sheer joy of my being shines forth from my heart.
I was born to be happy. That’s just how I feel.
All the love that’s inside me I cannot conceal.
I’m consumed and excited. I’m doing my part
To reflect divine blessing of God’s holy will.

Throw your arms out! Be happy! It’s such a fine day!
All the world is my plaything – all people, my friends.
I’m abask in wellbeing. My smile lets you know.
My magnetic exuberance is not for show.
I’m on top of the world. I need no colored lens
For pure love and acceptance to brighten my way.

We’re all here to be happy, so what’s the big deal?
Take a stand. Turn your TV’s off. Take to the streets.
We can all do a dance of praise for all that’s good.
There’s a feeling inside me that knows we all should.
In the heart of the soul is where destiny meets
Every dream I imagine, which then becomes real.

Mitosis

TheMagicRealist.com

Every cell undergoes a disturbance within
Its thin border that isolates it from the rest
Of the cells in the union. It has to divide.
Tension has reached a maxim and will not subside.
Restless tribal disgruntlement fuels the oppressed.
Civil warfare invites us, so where to begin?

We don’t need to be conscious of what’s taking place
At least not on a level where one can stand back
And see things in perspective – all bias aside.
That’s an awful big leap, and it’s best if it’s tried.
When I open my mouth I am on the attack.
Are we not human chromosomes ordered by race?

I can feel the divisiveness. It’s a stiff drink
Of a basic intoxicant for my self-worth.
Am I ripe for the showdown when it comes to pass?
I am ready for anything short of impasse.
Cell division and I are acquainted since birth.
It would be quite a bore to remain on the brink.

Who’s Teaching Who?

TheMagicRealist.com

They should know I’m their teacher, and that they are mine.
This I too should remember whenever I see
That odd look on their faces. I need not ask why.
They don’t know what to make of me and wouldn’t try
To enlighten me, knowing how miffed I might be.
In their utter politeness, they say things are fine.

Two or more in alignment with all who they are
Can get down to the business of why we are here.
They are purer, not bothered by narrow beliefs.
We can still be a tribe and yet have many chiefs.
I know more about many things. I have no fear
That they will become arrogant like the rock star.

I seem locked in slow motion to them. This I know.
They are curt and impatient when I’m off my game.
Is this attitude worthy of students who care?
I’ll salute their sincerity but not their stare.
Were not student and teacher both one and the same,
We might all miss the lesson, then no one would grow.

Helping Girls Find Their Voice

TheMagicRealist.com

She has found her heart’s dream helping girls find their voice
Through theater that’s youth driven and well performed.
Many girls she has taken to faraway lands.
Through her efforts she ensures that each understands
Fresh young women’s mystique reminds the uninformed
That all women and men are deserving of choice.

We each choose gloom or happiness, so we are free
Not to look for love outside ourselves on our way
Toward the next new beginning, but to look within
For our value and honor. With self we begin
To be ever receptive and willing to play.
In a world of diversity I want to be.

We have not heard girls’ voices enough. Is this so?
May the answer be found in the way we all feel?
All things come by attraction, and hardly, by force.
There is only one actor, and that is our Source.
We will never come to a world that is ideal
And without every young voice, our progress is slow.

The School System

TheMagicRealist.com

All God’s children need schooling. We’ve made it the law.
Education provides an opportunity
To bump up against people of various views,
And to find one’s own balance among favored clues.
It’s a functioning system, though arguably.
And for most, there are many conclusions to draw.

Parent, student and child can be on the same page.
It’s a matter of knowing we are all in school.
We each teach one another alignment or not
With the Source of wellbeing we may have forgot.
This, the most trusted lesson, can be the best tool
For maintaining one’s balance upon the life stage.

She may say, “Mom, I’m out of here; I’ve had enough!”
As she rampages on in her righteous disgust.
Just remind her it’s OK to quit school and go,
But wherever she goes, her contempt is in tow.
When lessons become meaningless, it’s best to trust
In one’s Source’s curriculum and better stuff.

Moving Past the Experience

TheMagicRealist.com

It is easy for us but not so for the harmed,
Who are too young to understand what’s going on,
To move on past rejection and psychic abuse.
Why not round them up, brand them and then let them loose?
There is no point in asking where conscience has gone,
As it baffles our leader why folks are alarmed.

It’s an Alice in Wonderland tale but surreal.
Either side of the rabbit hole is a strange place
To the other. A brown Alice forced through it will
Be processed or perhaps not. She knows not the drill.
Time may dampen some pain, but it will not erase
What impressions the children have. Are they ideal?

Rabbit holes have no bottom – those this nation makes.
They are seen as deterrent in nature and form.
Tiny eyes won’t remember alternative facts.
They will recall a nation conceived of bad acts
Perpetrated upon them amid a hate storm.
In some time, we’ll know the full brunt of our mistakes.

A Brief Analysis of Some Old Woman’s Fart

TheMagicRealist.com

How does consciousness come forth from putrid bowel gas?
Or perhaps it’s not consciousness – just the effect
Of untold generations of bigoted hate
Justified by religion and blessed by the state?
If convincingly human, it should get respect.
But the cloud it excretes is as foul from its ass.

Many things that are solid indeed have a face.
And some liquids reflect faces, having no choice.
But a repugnant smell has become a faced fart
To make good air not breathable and to depart
From what most know as justice. It thinks we’ve no voice
And its policies stink. It’s an utter disgrace.

This smell wants to fit well in its old woman’s purse
Along with other stale odors of the sick past.
Take her arm, little manhood. Your mama says so.
Were you ripped from your mother some eons ago,
You might now have some backbone. This bullshit can’t last.
Your contrived little crisis can only get worse.

One can’t stomp on a fart as one would a cockroach.
It does have some advantages through its disguise
Of something somewhat human, enough to convince
Most the members of congress as most of them wince.
Someday soon we’ll have fresh air. We will organize.
Your abuse of God’s atmosphere summons reproach.

The Remedy for Chronic Dipstick Drip

TheMagicRealist.com

Well maintained is the auto whose partner is versed
In the art of the oil check while at the pit stop.
If one has a good engine, one keeps it in shape.
He will not take a chance on a narrow escape.
The most versatile tool for garage or workshop
Is one’s dipstick, because if it’s not, he is cursed.

A sure thing about engine oil is it gets hot
To the touch – certainly if examined by hand.
So the stick is an interface withstanding heat.
Nothing else in the toolbox will ever compete
With the dipstick’s performance when adequately manned.
The engine who receives one may wish it had not.

But the graduate stick tends to drip when it’s dipped.
One should leave the thing in there while oil settles down.
Engine hygiene is paramount when checking oil.
If it is taken lightly, one welcomes turmoil.
Wipe it off, and if doing so brings on a frown,
Know that oil, in its essence, remains nondescript.

Contrast and Suffering

TheMaicRealist.com

It has happened and will happen someday to me.
From stardust I became and therefore must return.
I know contrast and suffering as I await
Either nothingness, hell, or the bright pearly gate.
Existence is phenomenal, rigid and stern.
While I’m here, I’m surviving while striving to be.

I must live through the contrast as I carry on.
Each next phase of a long journey can’t be undone.
I can’t turn off my sorrow. It has not a switch.
There’s no way that this moment my soul can enrich.
But I do have the choice to have some hope or none.
Only one will be helpful toward seeing the dawn.

This is true too of agony. I make the choice.
It is easy to suffer when well I know how.
It’s become a bad habit to suffer in vain.
In the depth of my sorrow I have much to gain.
When I agonize, that means I do not allow
What my higher self knows. There is room to rejoice.

There’s a lesson in grieving repeated each day
And each portion thereof throughout all the wide earth.
There are times interlaced deep with memories dear
To the heart and the consciousness dampened by fear.
There’s a death sentence waiting for every new birth.
Those who aren’t here before us have not gone away.

A Fresh Coat of Nice

TheMagicRealist.com

Would a Fresh Coat of Nice cover well what’s gone wrong?
Or can such a condition be simply rolled on?
Nice should never be left sealed and on the top shelf
Where no one can achieve it, not even oneself.
There is infinite Nice. It can never be gone.
I may emulate toughness, but it’s a sad song.

Like the soil, somewhat fertile, yet dry to the bone,
Is the surface so thirsty for richness to drink.
Why not lay it on thickly to well saturate
All the areas that have been marred by our hate?
Would I think that our species is missing some link?
Everything is in order. We’re just chaos prone.

Mega gallons of Nice can be sold at no price
As it comes about freely by anyone’s choice.
We apply it in many ways. It matters not
How newness is recovered, and darkness forgot.
When the people pour Nice in one colorful voice,
We may paint ourselves pleasantly toward paradise.

Schizodemic Panphrenic

TheMagicRealist.com

If a cornflake-shaped elbow scab got up to sing
And you heard it and saw it while others did not,
Would you think you were crazy? Or would you believe
What is real is whatever the self does perceive?
It would trigger a movement bypassing the squat
If that happen to me. I would drop everything!

 In this space, we agree upon things that we know.
We create a strong framework for what we believe.
There’s a fringe always outside the relative norm.
It is not of their nature nor wish to conform.
They may think that the world has a trick up its sleeve.
I would say they’re correct, but I’ve no proof to show.

If this lucid hallucination is for real,
Then there are things that happen that others can’t see.
There are stories spun off from the stories made up,
And as people believe them, they drink from the cup
Of righteous self-deception. I’d hope to be free
To believe as I wish and to feel as I feel.

Tapped Any Ass Lately?

TheMagicRealist.com

David Attenborough sometimes speaks of wild ass
As they cross some huge landmass in mass migration.
All the ass he has tapped are grateful he’s done so.
The man has done some fine work to let us all know
That the tapping of ass is not done just for fun.
It can be educational and done with class.

No good ass is a dumbass, nor is he so smart
That his goodness will save his ass from being caught
Without cover when taking it while lying down.
The best ass is one who knows his way around town.
And the ass who is smartest will not have a thought
Of blind hatred toward women. It’s not in his heart.

As our pieces of ass became pieces of eight
All across the world landscape through eons of time,
Has respect for the feminine taken a dive?
Common sense says without it we will not survive.
I will pray that salvation is not a far climb.
No Old Pig in a silk suit has room to berate.

Annoyed with People

TheMagicRealist.com

What could be raunchier than a rat-licked excuse
Isolated yet taunted by daily routine?
I would rid quid pro quota of note, and I would
Rid the world of its people, that is, if I could.
Sometimes anger is much greater than can be seen,
And most others would see it all as self-abuse.

How do I get myself out of such a hot spot?
I must know how I got here, then see where to go.
This world has much to offer, both wanted and not.
Either fear or desire will reveal what I’ve got
And I do have a choice in the matter, I know.
People aren’t out to get me. There is no big plot.

Everything is a microcosm of the whole,
From the tiniest particle to things immense.
Within each there exists every other, then some,
Along with sharp dichotomy to overcome.
To consult inner guidance does make perfect sense.
I’d much rather be wrong than be without a soul.

Getting Past Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

Going through some transitions… Is that not the norm?
I keep changing directions throughout the process.
Contrast gives me some clarity, but I feel lost,
Then I fear I must find myself at any cost.
Can you give me advice so that I feel fear less?
What I need is to unleash the will to transform.

Only knee jerk responses have I had so far
Along each path I’ve taken. All lead to nowhere.
All I know is that I tread a vast wilderness.
I perceive only shadows sometimes, I confess.
I would love to find meaning which I would then share
With all those who will have it. I’d be not a star.

Am I safe in believing that fear is my friend
Even when I’m so fearful that death seems the way
To short circuit existence to end the deep pain?
Any fool with a conscience knows that is insane.
If my fear has some meaning, perhaps it’s to play
A big part in my growth that my soul may ascend.

It’s A Good Life

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a Good life, America. Don’t say it’s not.
We owe all to the monster who treats us so well.
Nowhere else in our long history have we seen
Such a Wonderful tyrant. Don’t say that he’s mean.
We should all give him praise now, while under his spell.
If we make the child angry, we could risk a lot.

He had some friends to play with. He wished them away.
With the point of a finger he orders his wrath.
It is Good that he does this, though. He can’t do wrong.
If you cannot agree, then you do not belong!
He is Brilliant, and simply a fine psychopath.
Everyday is a Great day. What else could we say?

It was nice in the old time when souls weren’t at stake
And when truth was a constant, along with respect.
But this monster won’t know that. No power has he
To read even his own thoughts, as one can well see.
This sick child of a man will do harm if unchecked.
We have met our own darkness. Will we come awake?

Sedentarium

TheMagicRealist.com

If you got off that lard ass and did some real work
And perhaps breathed some fresh air, would that put a dent
In the thick glass protecting you from the outside
Where reality charbroils what isn’t deep fried?
When the body betrays you, will you then repent?
Get yourself a new lifestyle, you beleaguered jerk!

Everyone needs their bottom line. I understand.
I’ve flipped my share of burgers and scrubbed a few floors.
I could vegetate in a cube from nine ‘til five
But within a few decades, I’d not be alive.
Some communion with nature the spirit adores.
Step outside that cramped office and step on some land.

Incomplete is the life filled with too much to do
And no time to recover from doing too much.
A byproduct of industry life has become.
Sedentaria settle beside the sick slum.
Virtual is the workforce who is not in touch
With some deep sense of meaning for not just a few.

Feeling Some Fear

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a bundle of energy poised on eggshells
In the midst of a ruckus where I have no place
To live out my agenda. And to my surprise,
What I think becomes manifest before my eyes.
It is through my resistance that I may embrace
Not the most favored outcome where my true heart dwells.

I came here for experience – not to lay low.
Life is chock full of balls of yarn and time to play.
I will trip on some soul-nip whenever I can.
I’m consumed in awareness since my life began.
I don’t want to grow up to be some beast of prey.
I’m someone else among you who’s willing to grow.

I may be a tad skittish. I do play my part
In the scenes that are relevant and make most sense
For a drama conflagrated live upon stage.
I have but to perceive well, then fully engage
All the grace I’ve amassed. Surely that is immense.
Although somewhat unnerving, fear is a fresh start.

Oil and Water

TheMagicRealist.com

Oil and Water don’t mix well. What else should I know?
North and South never ended their all out race war?
Jews and Arabs will always be blood enemies?
Blacks and Whites can’t be equal? That’s not how God sees?
I guest star in a rerun. I’ve been here before.
I am black, and I know it. Gosh! Who tells me so?

Is it you who reminds me, Miss Trash, on your rant?
It’s not looks… rather actions that define a man
Or a woman. One could ask if you’re either one.
A sick child will spew rancor and do it for fun.
If you could have a TV show based on the klan,
You might want not a black boss. I’d think just a scant.

So, a popular loud mouth with off-the-wall views
About just about everything barring the dark,
Crafts a base learning moment. I’m smack back in school.
You ignored the one voice that plead, “Shut your mouth, fool!”
With your teaching credential, you have made your mark.
It’s a shame that the others must now pay your dues.