Tag Archive | spiritual

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.

Am I Creating Nasty Chemistry?

TheMagicRealist.com

Much of illness, some find, has its root in the mind.
So how do I prevent its beginning, pray tell?
Can I reach in and heal it before it gets sick?
Illness isn’t a speed freak. It doesn’t move quick
Unless ill thinking quickens where hurt feelings dwell.
My disease and bad thinking are well intertwined.

If my hand ups and slaps me, has something gone wrong?
I would call that an ailment. But what should be done?
Is a case for handectomy or a strong pill
Indicated to separate action from will?
If my hand did betray me, that would not be fun.
It’s a blessing that most parts of me get along.

If I think of a tiger, some changes take place
In my whole body chemistry. This is a fact.
If I think about flowers, my body will know
Therapeutic enhancement. Indeed, it may glow.
How I think through the day will instruct how I act.
It is up to my thinking to yield healing grace.

All of this has been studied… this chemistry thing.
There’s no rational reason for sickness to be.
I exist in a toxic soup I can’t escape,
But I can use my mind to, in essence, reshape
Chemical elements somewhat like alchemy,
To me, solace and wellness does good science bring.

Situation Room

TheMagicRealist.com

Some situation room situation arose
When too much room to situate was brought to light
Through unlawful recording when rose got the boot.
She has written a book now. It may earn some loot.
She has challenged her former boss to a cat fight.
A new day and more drama… Let’s see how it goes.

She once spoke as if she’d had a slurp of that steak
And perhaps some stiff Kool-Aid to wash it down well.
Now it’s out of her system, or that’s how it seems.
This whole episode will yield some interesting memes.
She has promised the world she has much more to tell.
This old girl is no dog. She’s much more like a snake.

So… Another quick rerun of slam-dunk-a-mole.
We all know that misdissing runs deep in his blood.
For two peas in a pod in a world of deceit,
When the rug is pulled from you, you may lose your feet.
You accept nothing dearer nor clearer than mud.
History will record you both absent of soul.

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.

…But He Can’t Tie His Shoes

TheMagicRealist.com

Use both hands to bring something up close to your face.
If you don’t, you might spill it. Don’t let people know.
Use a wink and a nod or a shifty-eyed stare
To tell all folks around you they’d better beware
If they notice that your mind has left long ago.
To step down when you’re able to is no disgrace.

Your opponent was weak because she’s not a man.
She’s as old as the dickens and has fainting spells.
You seem fit to attack her, so I don’t see why
I can’t point out your flesh flaws. Why wouldn’t I try
To make sense of your focus and draw parallels
To your senile behavior as much as I can?

You’re a failing old fart, fool. I’m not far behind.
It does take one to know one who is in decline.
Take your lamp and fade gently into the sunset.
Give the new wave some breathing room with no regret.
Take a nap now. The rest of the world will do fine.
‘Highly functioning’ seniors should learn to be kind.

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.

What Happened to Home?

TheMagicRealist.com

What has happened to home where the buffalo roam
And most people behave somewhat well if they can
Find it in themselves to abide by golden rules?
We cannot be forsaken nor taken for fools.
We’re reduced to a playing field run by one man
Whose affairs are examined with a fine toothed comb.

What has happened to baseball and mom’s apple pie?
Its aroma still lingers as far as third base.
Sentiments are olfactory at the brain stem.
Like the baseball card bubble gum smell, we love them.
Do political values toward race run the race
From a derelict tower that touches the sky?

Who’s the batter at home plate prepared for the pitch
That the tower will babel with indirect force?
Can he strike in a way that we score a home run?
The last inning of this game has surely begun.
Would some hotdogs and ketchup be par for the course?
Between scoring and winning, who knows which is which?

Trump Ramen

TheMagicRealist.com

I once heard the House Speaker speak ill of Trump steak.
But since then, he has had a bite… maybe a few.
I’d assume he must like it. I’ve heard no complaints.
Neither he nor McConnell consider constraints
On this unruly inmate whose words are untrue.
Tasty Ramen behind prison bars he will make.

All the world will in unison piss out his name.
Our demonic possession will find an escape.
Is the sight of stern justice the heart of the goal?
Were it not for kind karma, I’d be such a soul.
We need not play the victim. We’re in better shape
Than the Trump tribe of gangsters who’ll go down in shame.

With his genius swamp rat skills, he’ll learn to throw down
And share rank recipes with the folk of his kind.
He may learn to do push-ups and get back in shape.
There’s no limit on time. He will find no escape.
He will have dirty, mean people fuck with his mind.
There is time enough for him to practice his frown.

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.

Good JuJu

TheMagicRealist.com

When one speaks of Good JuJu, what could that imply?
Probably it was hijacked and sold as a slave.
But, at present, it means magic of the best kind.
Esoteric immersion can be self-defined.
To receive information from folks past the grave
Is a most common practice. Deception is why.

In the dense, fleshy body, one can conceal truth.
One can hide behind masks that the ego has made.
People don’t ordinarily read others’ minds,
So we tend to get tricky with games of all kinds.
We can even be driven to drink The Kook-Aid
And bring heartfelt resentment to the polling booth.

There is lots of Good JuJu, the best antidote
To the sickening mojo that would have its way
Were it not for the talents of some gifted few
Who, with enhanced discernment, and keen insight too,
Help to sort out the truth from untruth day by day.
Simple freedom from fantasy they do promote.

The Outhouse

TheMagicRealist.com

Crescent moon on the white house next to a dim star…
It was once somewhat functional as a workplace.
It’s a place for first family to clear their bowels.
In that difficult process, they often wear scowls.
The ill-tempered, mad tenant will surely debase
Any space he inhabits both here and afar.

The big swamp that was spoken of has grown in size.
Underneath the foundation, there’s not enough room.
So, the crap has no place to go but right inside
Where it stinks to high Russia who snickers in pride.
Who would give them the go ahead to usher doom
To our way of democracy? Is the man wise?

Add a tour at the outhouse to your resume.
At some federal prison you’ll find proper work.
It’s a shithole already. You can’t make it one.
You’re about to be busted, you son of a gun!
At your next job, you will have no reason to smirk.
Crowds will cheer on the day when you are locked away.

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 Probe

TheMagicRealist.com

What the Hell is that thing? Is it some lethal tool?
It looks frightfully serious. What’s it used for?
I most surely don’t need one. I’ve done nothing wrong.
I’m above common circuitry where I belong.
Keep the damned thing away from me in a locked drawer.
I will not have it touch me. I won’t be a fool.

I don’t need to be checked. There’s no issue with me.
My neon ‘No Collusion’ sign needs no repair.
It is built tough and livid by strength of my will.
I will not be examined, nor will I sit still
When losers take pot shots at me while they’re on air.
I Am Totally Innocent. You Must Agree.

When one has troubleshooting skills sharp as a blade
Then the faulty components are easy to find.
And when detailed schematics are at one’s avail,
One evaluates trouble on an immense scale.
Our most intricate systems have been misaligned.
All will return to normal. Do not be afraid.

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.

Canary Contraire

TheMagicRealist.com

I was captive in chaos for such a long time
The big cats working there have brought strength to my wings
And my will to seek freedom from psychotic rage.
People call it the white house. It is a bird cage.
I can devote my loyalties to other things.
I am ready to fly, though it’s been a hard climb.

There’s another big cat who is friendly to me.
He feels I know a few songs that he’d like to hear.
I’ve developed my singing skills under duress.
I have heard about coal mines. That one is a mess!
Now that I’m with the wiser cat, I have less fear.
Could a plan be worked out in which we both agree?

Miners will use canaries as little scapegoats.
We appear to be yellow and loyal to red.
But those miners are foolish. Why haven’t they gone?
When the cave-in occurs they will ache for the dawn.
I am just a canary who sleeps in no bed
But my own. I don’t mind if you put that in quotes.

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.

In the Moment of Heat

TheMagicRealist.com

Would one stuff a poon muffin with mismanaged meat
On reality TV? I’d think one would not.
There are stiff consequences for acting the fool.
Some strange hot-handled sexpot may make one their tool.
Things will get worse than funky when put on the spot.
When dysfunction befalls one, it’s time to retreat.

Should one muzzle the twitter when bitter defeat
Looms amid speculation of hidden misdeeds?
Is it soon that a hero will sound the alarm
As the heatwave consumes us while doing no harm
To the hand from which our seedy president feeds?
For a wannabee big shot, you can’t take much heat.

Is the next big disaster your big master plan?
Only sane stable geniuses make a fine mess
For the world’s shrewdest dictators? You do good work!
To the rest of the world but your base, you’re a jerk.
In this moment of heat it feels good to express
Which must pass rather quickly. I’m glad that I can.

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.”

Clarity, Freedom and More

TheMagicRealist.com

Neither thin veil between us nor solid brick wall
Can prevent the expansion of joy in our hearts.
We know clarity, freedom, compassion and more.
We have lived on earth many times more than before
All existence existed in infinite parts.
May you tune to your guidance? That would be your call.

You must acclimate to your most natural state
Of wellbeing and clarity, since you have been
Practicing thoughts of chaos. They take a foothold
And build up your belief systems. By then you’re sold
To your misguided passions. This happens again
And again, but it has nothing to do with fate.

Every thought is a snowball. As it rolls downhill
It will gain in momentum and also in snow.
Many thoughts that are like it join to form a mass
That is quite hard to deal with. It will kick your ass.
Rise above such an avalanche? Just let it go?
That’s not possible. Hang on tight. You know the drill.

As you observe your life and events taking place,
In your nest of confusion, tradition is born.
You have choice in the matter. You could embrace fear
Or your freedom of clarity through times austere.
You have no time to waste nor no ally to warn
Of impending demise of your flawed human race.

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.

Do I Know How to Party?

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I know how to party? Where would I have learned?
Certainly not in Russia. I was not born there.
Were I there, would they drink me if I were not black?
What a confounded question. I’ll take that one back.
It’s the order of colors that nations must bear
When in blind celebration the least seem concerned.

I’ll bate breath for a ballot. I’m told it’s my right.
When I go to the voting place, though, I get flack.
They will tell me I’ve already voted, although
It is not true. I have trouble telling them so.
I cannot know what’s going on behind my back.
My sick psyche is weary. I’m too bored to fight.

Can I party my ass off then screw it back on
As the vote casting frenzy subsides by day’s end?
What becomes of my ballot? That I cannot know.
Am I under the influence of a grand show?
Many questions I can’t answer. I’ll just pretend
We’re all having a blast here, at least until dawn.

Between A Bear and A Hard Place

 

TheMagicRealist.comA Big rubber band is still Just a rubber band.
When it’s stretched past its limit, why wouldn’t it snap?
With a brain in your pants and a dick in your head,
Perhaps you do fare better to make deals instead
With the nation’s top enemies. They’ll buy your crap
For as long as it suits them, as they had well planned.

Of the Bear and the Hard Place, which would seem to be
Tougher than you’d imagined… not then, but today?
You accept our intelligence. That’s what you said.
BUT you have Putin’s dick there. It’s stronger than lead!
How could you dare insult him. That is not the way
That a dog treats its master. Let all the world see.

You can feel which is harder: the one up your mind.
It’s a dark place of loneliness and deep regret.
For a while you will numb that by feeding your pride.
Yet, there’s not much to speak of. You’re hollow inside.
History will ensure that we never forget
How our president helped the Bear hump our behind.

Diagnosis

TheMagicRealist.com

This does show you’re excited and light on your feet.
It is good that we caught this behavior in time.
Your condition is fortunate, as we can see.
You appear quite delighted. My colleagues agree.
You’re as old as a fossil yet seem in your prime.
Is your secret, dear patient, something that you eat?

We do want you to tell us. The whole world should know
How your anti-disease remedy came to be.
Did it come about suddenly, like overnight?
Or did you work a long while to get it just right?
I’m your best radiologist to the degree
I reflect what’s inside you, then watch as you glow.

Or, you could be your own doctor. You don’t need us
To reveal what’s been in you since heaven knows when.
The snapshot is a sound diagnostic technique.
Many people apply it. It’s nothing unique.
The best resonance imaging does depend, then,
On whatever that you and your soul may discuss.

Some Bimbo Blondes Are Male

TheMagicRealist.comIf ‘To Would’ or ‘To Wouldn’t’ should be understood
Then, that proves I’m a poet. Does that make damned sense?
Who has license to fuck with the words one’s misspoke?
Would the worst standup comic use that as a joke?
Genius POTUS, contractions are meant to condense
Words that are there initially. You think you’re good?

Citizens should know English. Would that be your plan?
After all, it’s America! You make it Great.
Your stupidity insults your ignorant base.
You could defecate for them and spit in their face
And still they would exalt you no matter the fate
Of a diseased America ruled by one man.

 Do you use the word ‘Bimbo?’ I’m sure that you do.
I suspect you know also quite well what it means.
Asshole men use the word to describe women who,
In their heartfelt opinion, just don’t have a clue.
But they won’t let short ugly guys jump in their jeans!
I know of the word Bimbo. I think you do too.

Fractured NeFari-Flail

TheMagicRealist.com

One should take Wossamotta U as a real place.
What unfolds in the present no writer could dream.
It’s so blatantly obvious. It’s hard to see
Why the few fans remaining cannot all agree
We’ve become comic characters to the extreme
As the real cartoon villains laugh through our disgrace.

The nefarious flail that is fractured began
Long before concepts ‘moose’ and ‘squirrel’ took on some mass.
It’s a binary battle no nation can win.
As the snake with its rattle, we slither in sin.
Should a John Wayne-like POTUS go kick Putin’s ass
Or speak softly with big antlers and with no plan?

Now, the melting pot, squirrely, pissed in by some bear,
Runs amuck as its leaders conceal the moose mess.
The swamp will get to stinking much worse by the day.
Until something big happens, bad actors will play.
As Fox views remains stalwart as our state owned press,
Folks appear to be mind blown as they sit and stare.

A Wellbeing Center

TheMagicRealist.com

Why a wellbeing center? To meet your own needs?
No derision is meant here, but one must be sure
That intention is felt from a feeling good place.
Otherwise what you build may blow up in your face.
Don’t erect some damned center as if it’s some cure
For society’s disease and many ill deeds.

You create your reality. Control your mood.
That’s not easy. I know. I have tried the hard way.
Yet consider that once you decide it is done,
Then your mood will obey you and offer you fun.
When the mood is well trained, it will seldom betray.
Loving light and pure goodness is what you’ll exude.

In that state, you’ll attract people like a magnet.
You will be the least bothered by building details.
Everyone has wellbeing. Some don’t let it in.
All who know well will gather. That’s how to begin.
You will need not a doctor’s degree in hard sales
Nor a fan club or following to cause regret.

Live your life. Travel Europe. Let’s see who you’ll be.
A voyage of wellbeing with like-minded souls
Does occur unbeknownst to one’s conscious intent.
Unseen forces convene. They most often present
As outstanding achievements and sought after goals.
Your world center of wellbeing is as you see.

The Grill

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you know how to swim? That’s my question to you.
Well, I am a lifeguard. That is not what I asked!
You’re evading the question. I know what you are.
You’re a devious trickster with answers bizarre.
I am not some world player who must be unmasked.
I am speaking the truth. That is all I can do.

So then answer the question. I’ll ask you once more.
Do you know that sea monsters lurk in oceans deep?
Well, I don’t scuba dive, sir. So, I would not care.
Your disgraceful elusiveness is tough to bear.
Does your mama wear army boots? I’ll bet they’re cheap.
Congressman, that’s a cheap shot, one that I deplore.

Mister Chairman, this man should be held in contempt.
He just will not cooperate, and he looks fine.
He’s not breaking a sweat. There is calm in his eyes.
He should cower before us and fear his demise.
He can speak with conviction and does have a spine.
We can fool with most folks. He should not be exempt.

Mind That Monkey

TheMagicRealist.com

Anapestic tetrameter… six lines per verse,
And layered by the rhyme scheme: A-B-C-C-B-A,
It’s the way I communicate now. If I try
To relate in a normal way, I might comply,
In complete inadvertence, not with what I say.
Is this for me a blessing or is it a curse?

We each learn how to use words to fit our own needs.
We come up with our standards for good language use.
It is good that a structure has been put in place.
It gives poets a framework to play in that space.
When good structure is piqued, much more one can deduce
From the wellspring of language as deep as one reads.

I’ve a job for my monkey mind. That is to work
With its chatter box muted for much of life’s run.
It will ramble on constantly as if it were
A big part of my consciousness. I don’t concur.
What the monkey mind says I will write down for fun.
As, sometimes it shows insight, it can’t be a jerk.

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.

Beatific Notation

TheMagicRealist.com

Six point seven eight three eight times ten to the first
Is my age on this fine day as it waves goodbye
If chronology follows that I may live well.
We all age by our moments. Within them we dwell.
Many things make our days lovely like a blue sky
With a rich golden yellow background color burst.

Eight point three times ten to the power of zero
Is how many light minutes earth is from the sun.
In such terms, does that seem far away or nearby?
Numbers really don’t matter as I watch the sky.
A detox of the rational mind has begun.
In a sea of contentment my spirit doth flow.

I’m a speck in a vastness I can’t comprehend.
Such a deep dark enigma befuddles the mind
As it tries to make sense of the beauty within
Cosmos ordered from chaos where all things begin.
My small place in the universe is well defined,
And, among my own number, I am a good friend.

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?

Satisfaction and Clarity

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I find celebration in what is at hand?
We are all here together from one common place,
One of joy, light and goodness. Sometimes I forget.
But right now there is nothing that I need regret.
I help expand the universe and create space.
Long before I existed, that’s how it was planned.

When I witness some progress, I’ll savor that fact
Like a precious gold nugget of brilliant insight.
It is reason to celebrate right here and now.
There is nothing to do but kick back and allow.
I can alter my mood and my outlook despite
How things seem to appear now. It has no impact.

Somewhat like tunnel vision, the best attitude
Is to see what’s in front of me melting away
To untold new horizons not absent of cloud
Yet arrived at through clarity for which I’m proud.
There is nothing to working my life as I play.
If I can’t see it that way, perhaps I am screwed.

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.

You Ain’t No Popsicle

TheMagicRealist.com

Would you try to tempt Jesus again were he here?
Anything you would bribe with, you never did own.
Is the hair up the buttock beginning to heat?
You may melt like a popsicle in your defeat.
Why so frigid a tone with our friends you have shown?
Is there something that Putin knows that brings on fear?

So, you ain’t no popsicle compared to oDude
To the north of us. Is that the hair up your ass?
Women would lick his face if he gave them the chance.
And, if he were not married, they would drop their pants.
Unlike you, he’s a gentleman of noble class.
What a Hell of a reason to treat the dude rude.

I am old just as you are, Don Juan past the wane.
It ain’t all about pimping and where best to grab.
Cool orange schmuck on a shtick is what you have become.
It’s ironic. You promised to flush out the ‘scum.’
You’re a loud flashy face with a gift for the gab.
Do the world a full flavor. Go drip down some drain.

Now, does this really feel good? It’s something to do.
It accomplishes not much, but what can I say?
I can’t do anything right off hand except write.
And, as I, the damned topic gets older than right.
I’ll refrain from preparing content for display
That is smelling like anything other than new.

Digital Douche

TheMagicRealist.com

This old bitch is cantankerous. Ain’t it a shame.
Just a month out of warranty and she’s broke down.
She’s as slow as molasses kept cold in the fridge.
She’s got time for herself, but for me, just a smidge.
She can trick and treat me as if I were a clown.
If she drove me to violence, I’d not be to blame.

I won’t go to the Geek Folk. They will take her side.
Like machine marriage counselors, they’ll give me guff.
They will give me a list of some steps I should take
To clean up her stack overflow. Give Me A Break!
I’m a Poet. I know not of digital stuff.
I will fidget with words, and in that, I take pride.

There are temp and %temp% folders that gather debris
That they tend to hold onto long after their use.
There are many bit pathways that clutter with crud
of a binary nature that’s somewhat like mud.
Earnest digital hygiene should greatly reduce
Her most disgusting sluggishness effectively.

My digits can’t get messy just messing with keys
And my well-fondled, hairless mouse by the firm hand.
When I program a flushing, I’d like a swoosh sound
To ensure that it isn’t just fooling around.
I detest slow computers and can’t understand
How they keep getting completely struck with disease.

Thoughts Turning to Things

TheMagicRealist.com

Many thoughts take on wings, but all thoughts turn to things.
And this brings me to thinking which thoughts are the best.
Like the leaves upon trees, thoughts release with pure ease
To drift to new horizons that not only please
But offer some excitement as I’m on my quest.
If we mastered our thought flows, could we live like kings?

I recall how it works. It’s one step at a time –
The first born out of contrast for some clarity.
The next step is not mine. It’s for spirit to do.
Co-creative components will then rendezvous.
When I know what I do want, then I clearly see
That my thinking will yield a condition sublime.

Do the ‘receiving mode’ thing about something small,
Like a hunch or a parking space or a phone call
From a friend with some good news. In practice, with time,
You will shift, in your thought, to a new paradigm.
As that happens, through turmoil, you will remain tall.
Our thoughts turning to things is what motivates all.

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?

The Characters in Dreams

 

TheMagicRealist.com

Often times friends or family show up in my dreams.
And it seems so realistic therein the sleep state.
Has a part of them joined me for part of my while?
While I’m with them I don’t feel that I am on trial.
I create my reality. I need not wait
Until slumber to mirror what waking life seems.

What I think, I will manifest as I’m asleep
Just as well as I will when I am wide awake.
Rendezvousing is taking place within the mind
Of all who I think mostly of. They are defined
By whatever I’ve made of them not by mistake
But by how I’m perceiving them. That’s no so deep.

Would “How does the dream feel?” be the question to ask?
The dream indicates only where my feelings lie.
My emotions are key to affecting my dreams.
All the people within them are on the same teams.
The mind is most creative and will not be shy
When, unconscious, its prime purpose is to unmask.

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.