Tag Archive | writing

The Halstead Of Heindseidtner Hollow

TheMagicRealist.com

Sunny woods with fresh hallways is where we should be
At our best happily ever after our win
At the clubhouse, notwithstanding those who, in need
Of the basics of living, unveil social greed
That somehow can’t become us. In freedom we grin
As the world far beneath us is too small to see.

All of fate that beholds me prepares me for this
Life of untold abundance. We’re high on the fog
Of exhaust from our industry. We’re in the black!
That is all that has meaning, without thinking back
To the backs we have weakened. The strong epilogue
To our story is something we don’t live to miss.

Safely nestled and nourished in prime nature nook,
We, apart from the riffraff, have evolved a notch
Above most folks. This entitles us to the best.
There’s enough for the few of us. Screw all the rest!
We were born to have plenty as you were to watch
How this life game is played well. Do have a good look.

Beyond Physical Intelligence

TheMagicRealist.com

Science tries to achieve things through physical means.
Measured physical quantities and nature’s laws
Are the building blocks used to thus mirror the ways
Of our own complex functioning worthy of praise.
One predicts with some certainty probable cause
For this mode of behavior expressed through our genes.

Have we hit a glass ceiling? We don’t understand
What’s behind all the magic. We only know facts.
We can use math to map out the magical space
But without a Big Picture, a few ghosts we chase.
What is spirit will not be a slave to brass tacks.
It will not give up secrets upon our demand.

Most sophisticated is the human machine.
Unimaginable in complexity, it
Is a feat of technology we cannot know.
Yet a carrot or bread stick will make it all grow!
There’s a greater intelligence, we must admit.
It’s the heart of the physical and the unseen.

Is It Just A Machine?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is it just a machine? Or does it know something
That all things alive seem to have some knowledge of?
It’s a question some people ask. Others ask why
One would question in silly ways. Were they to try
To explore just a bit more, perhaps they’d find love.
Contemplating existence will contentment bring.

Single-sized, simple cellular suspended in
Spatial substance surrounding it, it has its plan
As any individual self-declared whole.
Does the cell have a conscience and perhaps a soul?
It does seem quite the team player. Indeed, it can
Follow orders efficiently with no chagrin.

When one looks at the cell’s life, one must then admit
That it does bare resemblance to those of us all.
Our behaviors may differ in obvious ways.
Ways in which we are similar deserve some praise.
If we can’t be more cell-like, are we thinking small?
If they dislike their boss, they can’t just up and quit.

From Yogi to Guru

TheMagicRealist.com

I was told that a guru can digest a rock
By someone who once watched one do such a strange thing.
As my friend kept on watching, he noticed not much
But occasional chanting and belching and such.
When the guru had finished, no clue did it bring
To all those who’d beheld him. So, they felt no shock.

His disciples believed him. That’s what it must take
For the vibrant thought process to breathe on its own.
One makes magic of matter to one’s own delight.
If we want to learn how to, we seek one who’s right
But the right one, we know, cannot sit on a throne.
Kings cannot become teachers. They are not awake.

Rocks are not hard to digest if you’re a guru.
It is harder to sit cross-legged upon one.
Yogis are to their gurus as ebb is to flow.
Is it in both their interests to thoroughly know
Where each other has traveled since life had begun?
It may not be. It may be that much is untrue.

A Knee To The Anthem

 

TheMagicRealist.com

When there is call to action, which one should come first?
…The one of my own business or that of my race?
…Or the one that we all need to take to be free?
Other nations behold us, and they clearly see
We’re united in many ways. Can’t those displace
What is doomed to divide us and bring out our worst?

People fought for this nation and paid the high price
Out of heartfelt commitment and sheer human grace.
Should I then disrespect them because of my beef
Having nothing to do with their survivors’ grief?
My issues I’ll attend to. It isn’t my place
To put principle above someone’s sacrifice.

We’re the melting pot model, diverse in our ways.
When they clash – often bloody – we struggle to find
Resolution, yet still we remain in one piece.
There may not come a time when the struggle will cease.
But we are of one nation. In that, we’re defined.
We’re a country that does need its consciousness raised.

I believe in the Anthem. That’s where it all starts…
With a hand on the heart and our eyes on the Dream.
We were taught this decades ago. Haven’t we learned?
We may protest in other ways. Are we concerned
With issues facing all of us? We Are One Team!
We would do best to honor the Dream in our hearts.

An Enlightening Experiment

TheMagicRealist.com

We become scientists by the nature of things
So that methods developed to yield the most good
Become our way of living. Therefore, we’ve the need
To come up with effective ways to keep us freed
From conscious misperception and hidden falsehood.
We can observe The Moment and all that it brings.

All I have is this moment. I don’t have the last
Nor the one coming soon or much further along.
This moment is the only thing that does exist.
All the rest is illusion that can’t be dismissed.
In the moment that is now is where I belong.
All of time and space pales within consciousness vast.

Is this moment inevitable? I should ask.
In the answer, stability can be assured
For the moment – the one upon which all are built.
In the moment, I’m mindful and absent of guilt.
With experimentation, can my ills be cured?
It is quite possible with my will put to task.

The Affections Of Phineas Phuthworthy

TheMagicRealist.com

Phineas is a fun guy. He means no one harm.
Yet, sometimes he gets frisky like a puppy dog.
Friends and family love him. He’s not a pervert.
Not a thing about him should put one on alert.
Would one fear being kissed by a funny bullfrog?
We can know that our Phineas knows how to charm.

Why then would women scorn him? I know no all do.
Yet should he run for office, he wouldn’t get far.
Most women would adore him and give him their vote.
Others would castigate him, then that’s all she wrote.
Do men’s innocent actions define who they are?
Does a worse man than Phineas satisfy you?

Phineas is an old man. Does this make him wrong?
Promulgation of character warfare is not
Done from any one platform. It comes from within
Wherein we implement our original sin
By infecting the narrative with our own plot.
But a leader like Phineas at least is strong.

Those Unstoppable Thoughts

TheMagicRealist.com

A racecar with no brakes travels at breakneck speed.
The racetrack is an oil slick of slippery thought.
Do they happen at random as I barely try
Not to think them as they seem to swiftly fly by?
If I’m thinking them, that means there’s something that’s sought
That is not most essential. Therefore, I’ve no need.

In the moment I identify with something
I start thinking about it. I cannot just stop.
If I eat something bad for me can I expect
A good outcome? The body I have will reject
What it knows is not good for it. Were I to swap
Every thought for a blessing, would my freed heart sing?

Any thoughts that I think cannot be part of me.
They are things I collect as I live day by day.
Every cell of this body and things on my list
Of the things most appealing to me coexist
In a conscious relationship with me by way
Of my strong need to fit in with society.

Ego thinks of survival. The body alone
Is concerned with existence. The rest… not so much.
Yet the need, for the most part, is always fulfilled.
With plenty of fried chicken, the body is thrilled.
But that which is me truly can be more in touch
With the realm of the thoughtless – the ID free zone.

Corn Off The Cob

TheMagicRealist.con

I’ve got ding for your hum. Because I’m not a bum,
I can hum ding most ringers around a horseshoe.
If my ding don’t feel funny, should I contemplate
A new day job apparently due to my fate?
I could do what most cobs are expected to do.
If I did so, though, I’d be mistaken for scum.

Being bright yellow brilliance, no problem have I
Acting like I’m pure sunlight reflecting the glow
That surrounds me whenever I’m feeling my best.
I don’t fret being popped or steamed, so I’m not stressed.
Were I used in a foul way, I’d care not to know.
I embellish my prime where the sun meets the sky.

I am sworn to be corny and free to, with glee,
Pull the string on a plaything as if it were nice
To be feisty in hindsight of good chances missed.
Yet, if you are not into this, I will persist.
It’s enough for right now, so I’ll keep this concise.
My delighting in wordplay is not just for me.

Don’t Do Life In Installments

TheMagicRealist.com

Human needs are, as Maslow says, a pyramid.
When my stomach is full, I have one problem solved.
After that, there’ll be more that I’ll need to fulfill.
The need to escape boundaries is but our will.
As discrete homo sapiens we have evolved
To the point where we scoff at what life may forbid.

We’re designed to make hay of life perhaps because
In our quest to break limits, such freedom brings fear.
That we can’t have it both ways is matter of fact.
Other creatures upon earth know well how to act.
Nature’s boundaries they know well and hold them dear.
They’re ideal citizens. They abide by her laws.

The problem we have is evolutionary.
We seem not well contained in a home made of flesh.
Maybe some kind of ectomy would offer cure
But to live without passion is hell, to be sure.
Once I have achieved one thing, then I am enmeshed
In life lived in installments most definitely.

I’ve a physical body. The reason it’s here
Is to prove that I have one to that part of me
That cannot know the physical. And by no means
Through these meager five senses can carbon machines
Come to know the non-physical. Simply to be
In a state of fulfillment? What hope to endear!

The Linearization Of Eternity

TheMagicRealist.com

Let’s put God at the center. The center makes sense.
But does God? That’s the question I need to rephrase.
It makes sense to be centered in some firm belief.
One who drifts about aimlessly often finds grief
In the chaos created from ill-fated ways.
The center is a real thing. It’s not of pretense.

Can one define the center? I’ll give that a try.
There indeed are quadrillions raised to that much more.
In fact, so many centers there are, there’s no space
For acceptance of all of them. Our human race
Is a finite retainer – a half-open door
To a wellspring of meaning. We’re blessed to get by.

All there is was the center and is that way now
Only now it’s much bigger. The Bang that occurred
Many billions of years ago from tininess
Was and is now the center. All place does express
What is central to all things. That which is preferred
To line up with eternity we must allow.

The Manufacturer Is Within

TheMagicRealist.com

We are made from the inside out while in the womb.
If but one drop of this knowledge enters my day,
I’ll be living life naturally magically.
For a while I am human. Some day I won’t be.
The magnificent body is not here to stay.
It will remain efficient by will to consume.

If I eat a banana, it soon becomes me.
There’s a ton of intelligence present within.
It allows for survival and functioning well.
It’s as if a grand master has cast a deep spell
Upon matter become me. Original sin
Is the conscious decision to not clearly see.

What exists is a competence driving this beast.
With complete understanding of its complex ways,
It then is its own doctor, effectively so
When I don’t interfere with all that it must know.
Illnesses may befall me the rest of my days
But the maker within me is harmed in the least.

Who Or What Is God?

TheMagicRealist.com

That the soul can be sacred one can take to heart
On a good day when nothing disturbs inner peace.
But how can then the body be weak and unclean?
How can God be supreme but creation obscene?
Labored in observation, the mind grows obese.
We believe in creation, it seems, from the start.

So much happened before me. Now that I am here
I assume all I see here was made by someone
Who’s much bigger than I am. Does that make much sense?
If but through spontaneity all did commence
Then what difference would it make if I were to shun
Any faith in a deity and cling to fear?

God is black because I’m black. He’s white if I’m white.
And if one asks a woman, she says he’s a she.
Dogs would say God’s a Big Dog whose bark is the law.
With one paw on a biscuit, they’d raise their right paw
And declare that all humans were put here to be
But a curious nuisance… at times, a delight.

God, like self, is unknowable while in this form.
It is oneself exaggerated to the max.
Yet we cannot define it nor understand it.
We can only experience as we see fit.
By dissolving into it we learn to relax.
Seeking self-dissolution evolves as our norm.

Secret Waters

TheMagicRealist.com

How does one stay committed? A most sacred bond
Can be broken too easily. Why is this so?
Is it that the integrity of humankind
Has been compromised somehow by our own design?
What’s the best course of action that one can follow?
When beset with hard choices, how best to respond?

Many kinds of integrity make what we are.
One is that of emotions – another, of thought.
But our physical integrity is the one
That can cause discontentment but also much fun.
It may be through our upbringing contact is sought
With too much desperation. Is this below par?

People of many cultures are casual with touch.
We need hugs when we’re babies – not as we evolve.
Children are of their mothers until about five.
Until then, they should be hugged so they best survive
The dilemma most face with no means to resolve.
Secret waters are salty and don’t resolve much.

Insight Infusion

TheMagicRealist.com

Success cannot be taught. Only processes can.
And with crystal clear dreams and a bit of support,
Everyone will aspire to become something more.
There may come discontent in trying to keep score.
One can find yet the sweet spot and rarely fall short.
Insight comes from attention to one’s own game plan.

How intense the attention determines insight.
If it’s strong enough, insight will come like a flash.
A component of leadership, insight evolves.
Definiteness of purpose all through it resolves
Problems as if by clockwork. All fear becomes trash.
And the way one does business is never a fight.

Inspiration, keen insight and integrity
Are the tri-fold ingredients to great success.
To be one of integrity is to commit
To the much larger vision wherein we all fit.
Success is judged by others in how I express
My life as conscious process that happens to be.

Prank On America

TheMagicRealist.com

“It was nice doing business.” NO! Why Should I Lie?
I and my kind are just an encumbrance by now.
An account becomes “obsolete” based on a whim?
That sounds like ‘reserved’ language – an apt pseudonym
For those not quite American. Less Than, somehow,
I am not told about this. Should I wonder why?

That sure as Hell feels like a prank, I must say.
So I must be American to some degree.
My ancestors were born here. They gave with their lives
To ensure that this nation of many survives.
You betray my America. That’s what I see.
Is there nothing to do but to see it your way?

Now, the Mask of America, you bring disgrace
To the name you have hijacked and paid for with blood.
What’s behind the mask is a monster that can’t fail.
Policies most corrosive persist and prevail.
More appropriate it would be were you named ‘mud.’
My business nor my feelings I need not misplace.

Am I In My Right Mind?

TheMagicRealist.com

Am I In My Right Mind? Often times I can’t tell.
Would I hope that a single mind is quite enough?
That I’m clothed by my skin and by fabric is true.
A mind that I’d fit into would mock what is new.
Right or Left mind irrelevance sought off the cuff
Leaves oneself far beside oneself. Is the mind well?

Are there many or just a few possible minds
I can choose to climb into at any instant?
Some would say there’s but one mind. The others are fake.
But someone with a handful, and all wide awake,
Can act out in such ways that are inconsistent
With established norms, wherein contentment one finds.

I have seven minds – one for each day of the week.
They are ruled by the planets, or maybe by gods.
If I wear only one mind a day, is that cool?
And if others wore many, who would be the fool?
I can handle one day at a time, so the odds
That I am in the wrong mind are rather oblique.

Love And Grace

TheMagicRealist.com

Love and Grace are two forces that blend into one
But to speak more about grace is nothing but fair.
No analogy perfect is there to explain
How the blessings of nature can balance the brain.
Gravity in this world is what we can compare
To the unyielding lawfulness beneath our sun.

When released from this physical world, grace will burst
From the soul given freedom. This too is the law.
Is it not made available on certain days?
Can we open up to it as we change our ways?
Gravity is abrasive, but grace is of awe
And as free as its spirit, it can’t be coerced.

Each tradition of inner work has as its goal
To make oneself adequately fit to receive
Enough grace to meet gravity lightly in air.
What could be more important than what I may share
With another that I myself want to believe
Will enhance the momentum and thus make it whole?

Half A Shot Of Sick Puppy

TheMagicRealist.com

Half A Shot of Sick Puppy I’ll add to the mix
When I’m upside down on a two-legged bar stool.
The bartender within me knows that I don’t drink
Yet I’m intoxicated by thoughts that I think.
I could blame that on current events like a fool.
Is all that I am drunk on an effective fix?

Half asleep to the counter of what people say
In the background, I am then aware of not all
There is to be revealed in this dark, smoke-filled room.
If it were not a swamp, all we’d need is a broom.
Could that ever become so? Would that be my call?
Chaos is a perception. It is not the way.

Since I’m one of a tribe, I am doomed to imbibe
What I don’t know I’m thinking. My drinking is such
That it does medicate me in maddening ways.
What should be the reality has become haze.
Could the fix in the mix be to not expect much?
That would be but the best thing my soul could prescribe.

Social Incarceration

TheMagicRealist.com

Why the hell won’t she call me? What’s up with my friends?
Do my fingers find favor with social contacts?
All I know is what others know, and it’s a shame
That I’m drenched in the digital friendliness game.
Am I one in control or the one who reacts
To the paint I have chosen to color my lens?

People don’t want to do things I ask them to do.
Should they call that their freedom? And should I as well?
If I ask with persistence, am I to them fair?
If they asked something of me, how much would I care?
If someone doesn’t like me, need I make them yell?
They are not mine to mess with. I’ll bid them adieu.

Social life is imprisonment. If I react
To what goes on outside of me, I’ll be enslaved.
To respond is the better way. Then I remain
In control of the moment with no sense of strain.
I can keep myself connected and well-behaved
If I know I’ll do time for the way that I act.

Loneliness

TheMagicRealist.com

When the flip side of freedom does loneliness bring,
Which perception of madness is best for the soul?
To belong to someone special is to feel well
On the way to fulfillment. The story we tell
Of that someone we’ve chosen to make our life whole
Is of one who’s evolving. One does one’s own thing.

We would each have our freedom if given the chance
And without thinking fully of what the word means.
With the door open widely, we sit in a cage
We could fly away anytime, but we engage
In entrapping thought processes. And our routines
Are the backdrop that we want to label romance.

Freedom is a blending of courage and madness
To explore one’s own being which is like a sea
Of specific complex chemical interplay.
To endeavor to know that may brighten our day.
Loneliness is a blessing that we rarely see.
We’re alone to begin with. Why make life a mess?

Casual Relations

TheMagicRealist.com

Some unions lack emotion. Is that the complaint?
They’ve become somewhat casual and commonplace.
What are some to make of this? Is this it a new wave?
Things are more important than a marriage to save.
Yet, it’s all about memory. Our human race
Is a sponge-like existence immune to restraint.

There was once an old couple married fifty years.
The day after their celebration, they divorced.
Said the judge who was friends with them, “Why do this now?
You’ve had such a fine marriage. What’s happened somehow?”
“I went through some old photos, and then I was forced,”

Said one of them, “To hold back a torrent of tears.”

“My children don’t look like me. So, that’s the reason!”
Now, the judge, here, is anyone with common sense.
Some cultures aren’t so ‘touchy.’ They tend to know well
Memory that is tactile will act like a spell
That will then cast one’s life in a world of pretense.
It’s a question of sense, not of morals undone.

Is This Site Using Cookies?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is This Site Using Cookies? They claim to be smart
But not as smart as I am. No text file can be.
Were that so, then my writing would be at its worst.
So, attention to content must always come first.
I do eat cookies, but they’re no big part of me.
I take info from no one. It’s not in my heart.

Cookies are, though, a good thing, if used the right way…
Not to discern your habits to target you more
But to make things convenient while cruising online.
Things like shopping cart contents and such are just fine
If your online adventure, in fact, is a store.
I have nothing to sell you but part of my day.

I am not yet a monster, but hunger I feel
To record with expression what stirs in my soul.
Surely it is consumable and of good taste.
Someday, I may need cookies. Right now, they’re a waste
Of the energy I would devote to the whole
Of my sole driving purpose that I here reveal.

Click-A-Mole

TheMagicRealist.com

Nowadays, we don’t whack ‘em. We click ‘em instead.
The moles consist of images placed on the screen.
They are put there by fisher-folk trolling for clicks
With pop-ups and page-unders and digital tricks.
If not fast enough, what I see becomes unseen
Just before I can click it. This fucks with my head.

It is not that my hand freezes up in the cold.
Is it that my reflexes are not up to par
That I don’t double click well enough to command
My own space with efficiency? I understand
That the slightest mouse movement while clicking will bar
An inkling of an outcome. Indeed, I’ve grown old.

My eyes are now the pointer. The mouse takes a break
From its small, cheesy movement upon the mouse pad.
I am yet the observer… the screen, a portal
To the sea of believing in all things mortal.
That we’ve made such a game of life, I should be glad.
Games are made for all children. We play for their sake.

After Death

TheMagicRealist.com

After Death, what becomes of me? Am I still here
To grab hold of another life without a break?
Or do I become nothingness, absent of thought?
No one living knows really, yet so much is taught
Of the nature awaiting all. It’s my mistake
If I claim to be certain my knowing is clear.

Each of us is a pamphlet of many pages.
It’s a system of thought one may cater to heart.
Each page is of a different self. Some are more dense
Than the others. The purest self needs no defense
Due to its lack of seeming a viable part
Of our being and doing and earning wages.

Every page will disintegrate except the one
Least attached to identity with time and place.
That page is the pure spirit – the long narrative
Of existence eternal. What more can I give
To improve the condition of my human race?
I can speak of my own journey ever begun.

Sense Or Nonsense

TheMagicRealist.com

The spiritual process has gained ridicule
In the world because we must be entrepreneurs.
People selling a product will only sell waste.
Is it good to have most sacred teachings disgraced
By the marketing enterprise? Yes! It ensures
That the one making profit will not be the fool.

With respect to those teachers in far away lands
Who provided an atmosphere for folks to learn,
They do not want their teachings distilled into books
To be produced and peddled to folks with good looks.
Guidance is done in context. How does one discern
Its full essence when not a word one understands?

Is it Sense or Nonsense? This is all one may ask
Of oneself – not of wisdom that is packaged well.
Should one ask of one’s enemies and of best friends?
As the question is pondered, the spirit transcends
All the seeking outside oneself. Rather than dwell
On the nonsense abundant, put your sense to task.

You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow

TheMagicRealist.com

I know nothing of farming, but I’m the best one
To behave as your farmer by bullshit alone.
Is it that what elected me is a machine
Most corrupted and broken and makes me obscene
That erodes any hope you have down to the bone?
How I commandeered this field will be told to none.

Those who say I’m a scarecrow have gathered no proof
That betrays that I am one. This clears me of shame
On the outside, but inside, there’s only hot air.
That hot air can be blameless is not only fair,
It’s the best way I know of to win at life’s game.
Mentally insufficient, I can seem aloof.

The report says they tried hard, but they couldn’t find
Enough factual evidence linking me to
All who took part in stuffing me to make me look
Like something of a candidate. But, I’m a crook.
You Can’t PROVE I’m A Scarecrow, so all you can do
Is to ignore the hay you see. Pretend you’re blind.

Bad Mouthing The Bad Mouth

TheMagicRealist.com

Folks who hate doing windows, dentists they become,
And, like priests in confessionals, they condescend,
Being that their vows preclude a normal discourse
With those orally challenged. Indeed, they enforce
A demeanor of judgement once they apprehend
The ill orifice. They’ll leave one feeling like scum.

People think that such people might pee in the pool
Since they don’t seem to have a clue nor a strong wish
To maintain proper hygiene regarding their teeth.
Many smiles will shine brightly, but what’s underneath
Is the psychic assassin who’s cold as a fish.
Would you pay a damned dentist to call you a fool?

It’s a thing one must overcome. People are cheap
With their sheepskins and practices and clientele.
To get past human ego requires no skill
Nor a sense of repugnance or perceived ill will.
Those who get the best treatment are those who live well.
In an ‘evolved’ society, most are asleep.

Inner Engineering

TheMagicRealist.com

Inner Self is a system of complexity.
It can function in Absolute Ease. When it does,
No disease overcomes it. To get there takes work.
It’s a responsibility I should not shirk.
Clarity, Health and Joy… I can have them because
There are techniques for activating energy.

The most spiritual processes that can occur
Among mind, heart and body are now a part of
Scientific experimentation. Today
There are methods to follow to live in a way
That I am readjusted and open to love.
I don’t have to think hard. This is what I prefer.

Between living and working with people who are
Fun to be with or those who would bring you right down,
Which do you choose? Remember… all folks choose the same.
Rather than a rich lifestyle or power or fame,
I just want to be pleasant – not wearing a frown.
Things of spirit are practical. Ain’t that bizarre?

Is Life Predestined?

TheMagicRealist.com

Is there right thought and wrong thought? It seems to be so.
But who makes that decision? And what is it worth?
My thoughts are not predestined. I choose them at will.
If they just happened to me, then what of my skill
To discern which ones feel good and offer me mirth
And which ones leave me hapless with nowhere to go?

I can choose this or that thing. Am I ‘made’ this way?
And if so, in that making, do I play a role?
If I make a wrong choice, I call that a mistake
Thinking predestination plays out for my sake.
But I make the choice consciously and from my soul.
My mistakes are my doing. I direct my play.

Some confusion exists about what is belief
As compared to what is known to be absolute.
I believe I have two hands? No! I know it’s true.
Even if I can’t see them. I know there are two.
I believe God exists, but to know that is moot.
Knowing this much about things should mitigate grief.

Now, to speak of deception gets closer to home.
We begin life with simple minds, then they evolve
To the point where some part of us questions most things.
Sorting out facts from what we believe, wellness brings.
Running with my assumptions my life won’t resolve.
With this firm understanding, I am safe to roam.

Herbal Renewal

TheMagicRealist.com

Many states have gone herbal. Soon all will be so.
Organic evolution can make nations whole.
We could change the flag’s colors to red, green and blue
With a few dabs of purple for those of a hue
Somewhere in between red and blue, such that their role
Is a blending of two beliefs that won’t let go.

We’re a nation of color and people of fruit.
Some of us who are vegan have given up meat.
Still remain many meat eaters. We are diverse
In this broad land where some things can always get worse
For the betterment of the whole. Life can be sweet
When our Herbal Renewal becomes resolute.

Any kind of renewal begins with a thought
Then it becomes reality as I proceed
To revisit perceptions of sheer psychic drought.
I can grow a new outlook. I’m herbal, no doubt.
If I keep myself fruitful, I’ll not have the need
To rely on what should be completely self-taught.

Smoke Enema

TheMagicRealist.com

We still have breaking news. Like the passing of gas,
It gets people’s attention. It then turns them off.
A few years chasing smoke now. So, where’s the report?
Disappointed and let down, no call to cavort
Motivates me. Indeed, any news I will scoff.
Though their motives are noble, what truth can amass?

Was I expecting clarity? Blow me some more.
It does seem now that our nation is owned by czars.
I’m caught up in conspiracy due to the smoke.
Those who can see right through it know that it’s a joke
To a certain point, then seeing may produce scars
In the psyche. Is that something I can ignore?

Yes, I Can! Not a locked-legged man at the draw,
I am not that apparent an arch enemy
Amid truth reconfigured then pumped up the ass.
I stand with knees adjusted, as ‘this too shall pass’.
It will take time for smoke to clear. Then shall we see?
We’re a nation of antics. To Hell With The Law!

I’m A Stein – Damn It!

TheMagicRealist.com

 

I’m a Stein – not a Steen! I don’t mean to get mean
But, dog gone it, it’s high time you got my name right!
People tend to get careless and lazy with names.
Do you strive to be ignorant with silly games?
If I mispronounced your name, would you want to fight?
Names are special to people. Don’t make them obscene!

I’m a Stein, and that’s fine! So, don’t give me no guff.
There are manifold Steins populating this earth.
There are Feinsteins and Einsteins and stand alone Steins.
We have first names and middle names. These are clear signs
That the surname containing Stein at someone’s birth
Does not sound like the name Steen. Have I said enough?

The name Steen rhymes with teen. Can’t you honor that fact?
It ain’t like you can’t hear straight. Am I making sense?
Do not make me a Steen since that’s not what I am.
My name is not a plaything. Why not give a damn?
Please don’t pamper your clumsiness at my expense.
Disrespect can be subtle, with lasting impact.

Atra Feed

TheMagicRealist.com

You need feed for your atra? We go it right here!
It don’t make sense to get it from those other guys.
They will charge you a fortune, and what you will get
Is a crapload of something that you may regret.
We’ve the best feed, and this is our word to the wise –
If you’ve got lots of atra to feed, never fear!

We’ve been in the feed business purt-neer forty years.
Never once have we failed to deliver the best
Any atra could hope for. For that, we are proud.
We remain down to earth, though – not high on a cloud.
It’s your atra. You shouldn’t put them through a test
Just to prove our point seemingly as it appears.

Treat your atra with dignity. They deserve more
Than what is made available. Feed them with care.
They will grow to full atrahood. In the meanwhile,
You may show to your atra a confident smile.
What you feed to your atra is your own affair.
But for their sake, why not head on out to our store?

Dealing With The Invasion

TheMagicRealist.com

To come up with a marching chant is but child’s play
For the group that is mindless and marinated
In a thick liquid hatred for all that exists
But themselves. So, the best tools they use are their fists.
To most action, reaction results in bloodshed.
Can we blame human nature that we act this way?

Who then is the invader? All who are not white?
And what space that exists – or not – do you defend?
Paranoia is racial. It cuts to the core
Of our biggest fear – that our clan will be no more.
But the facts not considered you’d rather upend
And prepare all the world for the ultimate fight.

If you do lack intelligence and sanity,
Then to find a good magnet is what you must do.
There are many strong iron-cored forces at play.
Does it matter which group takes your freedom away?
If you do plan to harm others, think it all through
And then share that with someone immediately!

A Small Measure Of Balance

TheMagicRealist.com

We’re the ‘Crown of Creation.’ I’ve heard that before.
It’s no rumor, hogwash nor misguided belief.
Many millions of years have resulted in this
The evolved human mind placed above an abyss
Where it must become balanced, or life becomes brief –
Not because of the fall, but because we keep score.

We all have the same brain matter. Why then do some
Find their genius delightful while others feel pain?
Is intelligence higher in those who feel good?
Is there magical influence not understood
By those who may be driving themselves quite insane
When through misguided action no progress will come?

It is balance or lack of it. That’s what is taught.
And it comes from the knowing that I am the one
And the only one who is in charge of my life.
If I try to blame others, I will welcome strife.
This suffices as balance. New life has begun
When from this simple premise no pity is sought.

Lefty Lucy – Righty Tighty

TheMagicRealist.com

There was once only monochrome. Called black and white,
Every spot on the CRT was off or on.
The electron beam painted, with raster sharp force,
Every other line interleaved so to endorse
Double composite imagery. What an eye con!
Left to right, as the eye scans, it knows not of sleight.

Right to left is less often the way we believe
That perception should be read or well understood.
Rightness can’t coexist on both ends of a scale.
One will rebuke the other. Conflict will prevail.
Leftness is like the darkness, in all likelihood,
That the beam cannot visit nor can it perceive.

A mnemonic appropriate to here and now
Clearly is indicated so we redefine
The depiction of color in technical grace.
Right and left are now concepts we need to replace
With ones more systematic by nature’s design
Where one needs no schematic to simply allow.

If I call you a lefty, does that mean I’m right?
And if I’m called a righty, is that from left field?
There is one kind of spectrum we need not reveal.
It’s the one that is based on the way that we feel.
If we censored our labels, would all hearts be healed?
It would seem there’s no alternative but to fight.

A Much Better Story

TheMagicRealist.com

The old up and down mood swing thing is a device
Like an ink-filled contraption ordained to release,
For the writer accomplished and of nimble hand,
Its darkness upon whiteness. Though not a demand,
Both machine-like and cyclic, they merge into peace.
If my words can release me, should that not suffice?

That it brings satisfaction is function at worse.
And at best, it may be of some value to some
Who are like me – a mood swinger extraordinaire.
Tragedy entertains, and I’m willing to share.
Clearly it is a safe way to best overcome
What, in mental health circles, would be called a curse.

I don’t write from delusion. My shit is for real.
Were it not, then what part of whose psychotic mess
Have I assumed in essence? Indeed, I make sense,
To myself and to others without much expense,
Of that part of existence I seem to possess
By exposing it and all that it may reveal.

Neverlanduendo

TheMagicRealist.com

Never mind that he’s dead now and has been for years
We continue to judge him for acts he has done…
…Or has not. Much uncertainty is what remains.
Any truth worth uncovering, nothing explains
So to do so brings answers. Debate had begun
Because we are obsessed with sex and children’s fears.

Never landing in right ways as we fall to earth,
Taking off points must differ among all of us.
We all need to be children. He had not the chance.
Children don’t have sex feelings. They don’t know romance.
How a man can be childlike is what gives us fuss.
Does our wild speculation preclude our self-worth?

Never fear that the truth will come out in the end.
That will take may eons. We will have moved on.
Close encounters with children must be scrutinized.
Interrogative processes must produce lies.
Never willing to question what doubt we may spawn,
Can we reconcile bashing what’s left of a friend?

Life Sentence

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve been given a live sentence of a few years
Multiplied by how many more since I became
A team player in this life with all of my kind?
I’m reminded that we are not of the same mind.
No two of us are quite alike, yet we’re the same
In the prison of life marked by sorrow and fears.

Some of us who’ve grown older have done very well.
I myself have done good things. No one denies that.
My time spent learning how to be human becomes
Something short of catastrophe and zero sums.
And by now I may think that I have life down pat.
But alas, I am captive within my own cell.

I’ll complete my life sentence in less time or more
Depending on whose judgement? Or is it by fate
That consecutive sentencing is concurrent
To the soul become weary from deep discontent?
No time off given for good behavior I rate.
When my sentence is done with, what then is in store?

That will not be a thing of my utmost concern.
Even if consciousness ceases, sorrow does too.
And should it survive brilliantly cast from its shell
It will soar like a most graceful bat out of hell
Into peaceful reflection. How well did I do?
No one here can advise me. In heaven I’ll learn.

“Disturbing… NOT Surprising”

TheMagicRealist.com

Should I leap from a pot into obvious flame
Just so talking head news folk and brilliant experts
Will stop sating the obvious with sarcasm?
And they don’t seem to have much enthusiasm.
Disturbing is surprising, as long as it hurts.
Have ‘disturbing’ and ‘boring’ become quite the same?

What a fine thing to get paid to sit on your rumps
Before cameras and people to fart from the face
Your opinions on tragedy and status quo.
Spell that shit to your family. They ought to know.
All the hellish news is worth some verbal disgrace
But if it’s not surprising, how still the heart pumps!

People dying in plane crashes all due to greed…
How severely we’re sodomized all from within…
These are mere talking tidbits ‘til more breaking news.
Can’t we clean up our language so it won’t abuse
And lull into complacency our will to sin?
When the water gets too hot, then will come the need.

Transformation Through Annihilation

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s the Mars-Pluto dance. There’s some danger involved
On a regular basis between parts of me
That are both hyper masculine and most intense.
Just because I can know that, I claim no defense
For my violent eruptions. At times I can’t see
Any way but destruction to get problems solved.

That’s a rat-trap-glue bummer! So, this is my fate?
There’s a nice guy somewhere buried deep in my rage.
Yet, unconscious to me, he also gets pissed off
Over strong indignations that others will scoff.
What is ego and what is not plays out on stage.
Would it be hard to say I’m acquainted with hate?

The two can be good buddies, but not in my chart.
And, because they’re in fixed signs, much focus is spent
On how to ignite dynamite effectively.
I need some kind of outlet to rectify me
That is wholesome and physical and heaven sent.
It’s one hell of an aspect to evolve the heart!

Osiris, On Papyrus

TheMagicRealist.com

We are three deities of Egyptian belief
Who, way back in our time, had not much to write on.
So, my fine colleagues Isis and Horas and I
Took a vow of importance, in that we would try
To come up with both topics and stuff of some brawn
To facilitate permanence and banish grief.

We invented papyrus, though I took the lead
Not because I am special, but that my name rhymes
With this fine plant we cultivate organically.
So, it syncs with the title, as you can well see.
It’s eternal. We need not keep up with the times.
When papyrus is written on, it’s a good read.

If you don’t have papyrus, though, you need not fret.
Heartfelt thoughts can be placed on plain paper instead
…Or perhaps on the background of your consciousness
Where it may become lost in the cluttered thought mess.
My advice to you is get what’s locked in your head
Out on something, as long as it is not a threat.

Past And Future Lives Of Children

TheMagicRealist.com

Sometimes children will speak of a life lived before
They became part of this life. It gives people pause.
They’ll recall how they died and what killed them and such.
Some become quite insistent and we don’t pay much
Of attention to their stories mostly because
We think that they are made up of folly and more.

We don’t have to believe them and neither do they.
Whether true or not makes not a big difference.
Nature’s veil is designed to cocoon us from all
But the present and this life. Our focus is small.
If we recalled our past lives, turmoil would commence.
The torrent of confusion would cause great dismay.

It’s a good thing that children forget who they were
Before they became who they are now. So, in time,
Memories of the lives lived before dissipate.
We then focus on this life and what we create
So that getting through this life won’t be a hard climb.
We succumb to the circumstance that we incur.

Farting Your Way To Awesome Mental Health

TheMagicRealist.com

I Can Fart, and that’s something! Though I’m not the best,
I would be a good mentee to fart paragons
The world over, who fart with unfettered finesse.
And with the first amendment, I’m proud to express,
Either butt naked, or wearing rugged nylons,
What my innards have been through. In that, I am blessed.

I remain fire retardant. I don’t feel the heat
As I rip the air ragged while blasting my horn.
I can be quite the nemesis of CO2.
It will run out before I can fart ‘til I’m blue.
And I get much fulfillment. I feel I’m reborn.
I do take proper time to wipe soot from my meat.

I’ll admit I am powerless over most things.
There’s no soapbox to stand on to make people hear.
I don’t need to be listened to. Freely I break
Enough wind to set time aflame. Make no mistake,
It takes patience to process and to digest fear
And all manner of discord that life often brings.

Thank God There Are No Flames

TheMagicRealist.com

I do have gap insurance. I am in good hands.
There is no crash-and-burning that I won’t survive.
Populated with anguish, souls acting in vain,
Like the world is a friendly place of loss and gain,
Have come here on a mission to just stay alive.
One small sliver of hope one rarely understands.

But at least there’s no flame nor the searing of flesh
One can say that accounts for the pain that is felt.
That which generates heat comes only from within.
And without an escape from original sin,
Does it matter the least bit which hand I’ve been dealt?
Agony through the lifespan is doomed to refresh.

It remains a harsh semblance of purgatory.
Scripting of revelations is acted out here
In this physical world I have custody of
And where I must proceed with a tough fisted glove.
I’m consumed in the depths of it. What do I fear?
…That it could become eternal? That could not be!

Programmed Obsolescence

TheMagicRealist.com

Who accounts for the elderly absent at home
That is earth and society? There is no one
But the family, if I were trapped in that way.
Far much worse, I have consciousness and will to stay
Just a little while longer. My time is past done.
My Programmed Obsolescence does cleanse the genome.

The objective accounting subjectively done
Will examine my assets then come to assess
My depreciation as accumulated
Over too long a lifespan of sorrow and dread.
The one character defect I need not confess
Radiates like a beacon to warn everyone.

Keep away from me, new world, I will do my best
To detain my detachment and preface my pain
With a footnote to contemplate from whence I came
To create such a nightmare where I am to blame.
Since I don’t recall having been driven insane,
I’ll assume that I am so at my own behest.

The Dirt On Our Clinton

TheMagicRealist.com

A heartbroken scapedonkey with dirt on her back
Stands alone and recalcitrant to public show
All because of the video game that we play.
Finding dirt on our leaders can brighten our day.
As the searching is aided, opponents will go
To extreme lengths to engage in lethal attacks.

The assaults, often vicious, leave nothing revealed
But much talk and conjecture yet nothing of truth.
All the while life keeps happening. There’s no mistake
That the drama befuddles us, and for the sake
Of induced sanctimony, we show to our youth
In the worst way that our nation needs to be healed.

Our fine system of government is a machine
Made of people by people. It has not a mind
That is single and unified. Is this the case?
I do not know the answer nor can I embrace
The collateral damage. I won’t become blind
To the dirt that becomes us. When will we come clean?

A Dream Between Dreams

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a dream of survival. This world made of mass
Is a fugue of impermanence and enigma.
From the time of conception there’s no turning back.
Life is on the defensive for fear of attack
From the life become part of. This hard replica
Of reality can be a pain in the ass.

Yet, it’s all just a dream, manufactured and played
Like a cheap sci-fi movie with elements of
Situational comic relief. Tragically
Actors perform unscripted so others can’t see
How the drama plays out. Thus, there is need for love
In this Dream Between Dreams where my spirit has strayed.

Does survival lack joy? Is the nightmare by day
Something I can see any way other than that?
Any dream is as ethereal as the next.
When perceiving the harshness do I become hexed
By forgone mis-conclusions through mental chitchat?
It’s a dream worth engaging with in my own way.

Compassion

TheMagicRealist.com

When you are not identified with anything
Then you will become virtuous absolutely.
Only then you are capable of compassion.
If in some way you’re biased then you will have none.
You can be most compassionate genuinely.
It exudes from the heart in a loving wellspring.

I can be sympathetic to a certain cause.
Can I call that compassion? It’s compassionless.
The root word here is passion. It means energy
In the form of behavior that’s not about me.
I am somewhat deficient in that, I confess,
As sometimes in attempting, I wait for applause.

All encompassing passion about everything
Precludes pity or sympathy for anyone.
Everyone is as oneself, and life is a breeze.
One becomes an example that everyone sees
As a person of virtue. It’s not a reason
To become self-appeasing. Just let the heart sing.