Archive | October 2018

Restlessness Of The Natives

TheMagicRealist.com

Many natives are restless these days, it would seem.
Someone’s dialed up the heat in this fine melting pot.
We shall simmer within it, but others, beware…
If you’re fleeing from violence, we simply don’t care.
We are self-righteous natives. You people are not!
If you come near our border, like children, we’ll scream.

Holy Smokes! There’s a Caravan headed this way.
Those damned nachos are nasty. They bring with them crime.
They will all become Democrats and take our jobs.
They will dirty our streets and hang out in big mobs.
Even though they’re on foot, they’ll be here in no time.
We must now send armed forces to keep them at bay.

This old theme is familiar. The costumes may change
As we make of our goblins our most morbid fears.
We have been throughout history creatures on edge
And consumed with division and driving a wedge
Between one’s own and others. Our future appears
To be fateful. Then, trick or treat isn’t so strange.

Live Anger Free?

TheMagicRealist.com

If my responsibility for how I act
Is an accurate image of just how I feel,
Then how come I don’t care if I’m driven insane
To the point where deep anger is hard to contain?
Livid hallucination is tempered surreal
And played out in atrocity for full impact.

People don’t carry buttons that they press at will
To control my emotions for better or worse.
That’s a bit of fake news I can live well without.
Human nature is troublesome without a doubt.
If someone else could control me, that would be a curse.
I alone push my buttons with unconscious skill.

I control how I feel. That’s a good thing to know
And to remind myself of more often than not.
I’ve a fondness for fooling with switches and dials.
I shall mess with my own and then generate smiles.
No one can make me angry, and they shouldn’t ought.
Since I know I control myself, I’m good to go.

Grow Your Intelligence

TheMagicRealist.com

The mind wants to believe things. It knows it cannot,
Because things worth believing are those of the heart.
What the intellect does is it helps us get by,
And the healthier it is, the less we will try.
If it tries to hold credence, it may fall apart
Or become quite the monkey and manic in thought.

The mind is made to know things it cannot believe,
Even though there’s a limit to what it can know.
It can know this is so even though there’s no proof
Because that comes through feeling – not being aloof
When expressing our thoughts as they leisurely flow.
The mind is good for focusing what we perceive.

Intellect is magnetic, induced to the brain
By the source of all knowing. Like leaves of the tree
Taking sunlight, the brain takes in all it can get.
As it gets what it needs, it will know no regret.
What we learn from our source is to know how to be
In the real world without fear and with little strain.

How Does Karma Work?

TheMagicRealist.com

Esoteric in nature, or simple logic…?
Karma has much to do with the way that I feel.
It determines not what circumstances I’ll make
But how I will get through them with little heartache.
The observer knows not what the truth may reveal.
The ‘poor’ leper may feel that life is a picnic.

The child brings it upon himself that he is born
With deformity? It’s not as simple as that.
Karma teaches his parents with him as its aid.
What they learn from him then is to not be afraid
For there’s nothing but ego that we need combat.
It along with the intellect instigates scorn.

When the mind is not active in such a big way
Then the decision making engine is at rest.
I may function by impulse and tendency well
And accrue not much karma nor catch any hell.
Life is fragile beyond what can be best expressed.
To know this more completely for now is to pray.

The News. Its Time Being Now.

TheMagicRealist.com

Here Jalad at the news desk. His mouth open wide.
Galahad with his greeting. His service to king.
Gathered up on the weekend. Bo Peep with her sheep.
Having scattered them worldwide. Her time put to sleep.
Bringing all that is newsworthy. Tweety Bird sing.
On the rock of Gibraltar. His heart filled with pride.

The top story the beanstalk. Jack taking his climb.
His mind sure and determined. His focus direct.
Too much wit for the giant. His head a migraine.
The way journalists speak now can drive me insane.
His ears hearing plain English that does not respect
Basic speaking rules. Behold the new paradigm.

His mind back on the news now from just a short rant.
Frankenstein at the meth lab. His day getting long.
Back to Sesame Street. Big Bird feathered in fame.
Then, Shaka, when the walls fell! They speak not the same.
Goldilocks when the rules change. Is she the one wrong?
Alice stuck in the rabbit hole. News rabbit can’t.

Live A Fantastic Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Life’s a cruise in the fun lane, at least when we’re young.
Not a care will become those of innocent heart.
There’s no responsibility but for the Now
Ever present and meaningful. Children know how
To make any dull moment a daring new start.
It’s the eternal spirit from which they have sprung.

We advance to the fast lane at some point in life.
Education and training accrued over time
Bring positions of power to implement change
In the conduct of others. This is nothing strange.
When we’re feeling delightful, to share that is prime.
But when we’re feeling badly, we’ll instigate strife.

So, can life on the fast track bring on some distress
On occasion? We know that it will, and it should.
Our well-built physiology and thinking minds
Give us reason to live well, as with other kinds
In complete multiplicity, as in childhood.
Simply being alive is a joy to express.

Church For The Halibut

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a place of communion for people of faith
With events that are centered sometimes around food.
To gavotte or to gallivant on the church grounds
Is a choice of delight when good seafood abounds.
We can put ourselves squarely in worshiping mood
Every day of the week, though we can’t reach the eighth.

But don’t go to church just for the halibut please.
The potluck of profundity purports to pay
Some attention to kinship and brotherly love.
As our palates are placated we look above
In thanksgiving for having a wonderful day.
To consume what is righteous is done so with ease.

So, do not, for the halibut, cut yourself short
Of the other fine entrees that come from the sea.
As five loaves and two fishes will feed the big crowd
It would take much more halibut than is allowed
By the church’s small budget unfortunately.
Go to church then to eat well and show your support.

Backslashed

TheMagicRealist.com

Cryptic language dot com, backslash, give me a break!
I have never been hash tagged. Am I then fresh meat?
In reverse I am forward slashed or italic.
When straight up I am pipe. That’s a pretty neat trick!
To succumb to the character taken by heat
Is to truly be taken aback for love’s sake.

The mere mention of back may put some on attack.
But let’s face it. The backslash so backhandedly
Slashes more than just web pages into their parts.
In some ways, it brings romance and blending of hearts.
Where else can it be useful? We could wait and see
What the sky of creation shines forth with no lack.

It’s ironic the backslash was made for machines.
Languages that they use give them means to perform
All instructions in order to give a result
That is slightly more accurate than the occult.
An appropriate backslash will weather the storm.
Life nor language is lacking by no given means.

What Is The Third Eye?

TheMagicRealist.com

Who knows what The Third Eye is? Don’t all shout at once.
Every ‘I’ is of upper case. All are the same.
If I think it’s a gland at the pit of the brain,
Those who know better would say that that is inane.
But it is simple ignorance. No one’s to blame.
To consider it physical is of no bunce.

Dialectical cultures depend on logic.
Constantly things are taken too literally.
There are energy centers along the brain stem.
There is much I can see if I just align them
To allow kundalini to flow well through me.
To see beyond the physical, that is the trick.

The Third Eye is enlightenment, and it takes time,
Dedication to focusing deeply within,
And a simple reliance on daily routine.
As I move toward the vision, much love I’ll have seen.
Truly nothing will work to get under my skin.
Such a lofty reward justifies the steep climb.

The Uproarious Laughter…

The MagicRealist.com

“The Uproarious Laughter…” The thing to evoke
From the pit of man’s dark bowel devolved from his heart.
It’s a mean, stinking laughter that cuts to the core
Of my being. Until now, I cannot ignore
My most lucid nightmare. People tear me apart
Led by that which delivers my pain as a joke.

I remember that laughter. I’ve heard it before
On the playground surrounded by nasty white boys
Taking pleasure in letting me know beyond doubt
I was different from them and that they carried clout.
It’s the gut wrenching laughter the sick one enjoys
As his gut remains tickled and eager for more.

It’s a stenchful child laughter directed with force
From the greed for entitlement and a safe bet
That deception and coverup shall ever reign.
The insane drunken laughter is seared in my brain.
It stirs up some deep anger. It’s hard to forget
Such a demonic laughter that shows no remorse.

Are we better than this or is this quite our lot?
This rhetorical query reports from the soul.
We could all be mistakes here. The dinosaurs were.
We may beg Mother Nature that she not concur.
We have been here a speck of time. What Is Our Goal?
In the scheme of things life here is our only shot.

Death And The Doornail

TheMagicRealist.com

We are big on comparisons. Why is this so?
It’s because we’re creative in manifold ways.
We’ll compare death to doornails and other objects
That were never alive once in all due respects.
Also mutton and dodo birds enter the phrase
That describes death by simile for all to know.

But is death like the doornail? There could be some doubt.
The doornail is a heavy thing, hard to the touch.
It hangs out in tough wooden things where it feels best.
Though it may rust in wet weather, still it is blessed
With steadfastness and presence. It doesn’t do much
But indeed it does something that we care about.

It could be that all doornails are living and well
In their silent dimension where motion is less
Than in other worlds. They might be having a blast.
How would people perceive from our world that is fast?
And to what mode of meaning do we acquiesce?
If a doornail should die, how on earth could we tell?

Inspired Insignificance

The Magic Realistlcom

The cosmos is the brain of God in solid form.
It is made up of nothingness on a grand scale.
What is nothing is space between what we can see.
And the things that we can’t see, most people agree,
Are made also of nothing in minute detail.
What would happen if God were to have a brainstorm?

Nothing does become physical. Word becomes flesh
In the Bang that is taking place now as we speak.
Nothing has not a barrier. It grows in size
Faster than light can travel. I do realize
We are not much to speak of, nor are we unique.
Our Inspired Insignificance is ever fresh.

This dimension is real. We perceive it as such
With the mind which is nothingness with consciousness.
We believe the perception. We haven’t much choice.
For this reason, do we have reason to rejoice?
A mere speck of existence somewhat in distress
In the vastness can’t be made to care all that much.

Perception is illusion. Consciousness is real.
We perceive through vibration. True Being does not.
We’re the neuronal processes within God’s brain.
We embellish his best and worst thoughts not in vain
But in humble acceptance of our tiny spot.
We have not but to think of our place as ideal.

Come Alive!

TheMagicRealist.com

A new life is upon us… a bundle divine.
There’s excitement and wonder with each coming step
As you find your way clumsily in a new world.
You are fully supported. Your fate is unfurled.
It won’t take long ‘til you’re filled with vigor and pep.
Once you pull it together, your newness will shine.

And along with the newness, there’s always some pain.
But for all, there’s more pleasure in life as a whole.
Things that aren’t done are done now because you are here.
They are done not in pretense nor resident fear
That an act done in carelessness may cast the soul
In a state of remorse. Such a fear is insane.

We may crawl on the floor now and act like a clown
Even if we are old and the flesh may be weak.
Your new life brings fulfillment and reason to play
Which had been for a long time not part of our day.
Nothing other than pleasure is all that we seek
And the new playful teacher will not let us down.

We have not much to teach you. Your soul is your guide
As you mingle among us. We owe much to you
For your gift of pure life essence. All we can teach
Is what’s not worked well for us despite what we preach.
You remind us completely that we’re alive too.
That is why our young teachers do bring us much pride.

Phallic Meltdown

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a man. I am proud of that, and I should be
For no reason particular. Maybe because
Men are strong and in power. Is that how it seems?
Rather than be blind sighted, turn on the high beams
So that traffic oncoming is lost in the laws.
I’m a driver. I know that. I wish I could see.

Men can sometimes be assholes, but always we’re dicks.
It is true to our nature to pound and to thrust
What has caused us arousal, often on demand.
Would life improve for all if men could understand
Where the women are coming from with their disgust?
When they speak to us, it seems they’re dealing with bricks.

Women will light the dick candle now having seen
That no woman is safe from abuse, then attack
By the sharks of the media and lawful men.
May we melt into meaningfulness once again?
When our parts become waxen and light do we lack,
Then our time is upon us. None will intervene.

Is Responsibility A Bondage?

I was once a young sailor. I did it for fun
At the start. It became then a means to survive
And provide for a family. So, this was life.
In a few months I’m blessed with four kids and a wife.
If I’m bonded to sea life, that should not deprive
Those affected by my choices of life begun.

But, it did. Time has passed now. I’m safer inland
To respond to life other most wholeheartedly.
To respond is not bondage to pent up desire.
The responsible one is one who will aspire
To what may look like bondage to those who don’t see
Life as binding by nature, perhaps as was planned.

Though, I could not plan life in the way it’s evolved.
Each new moment brings new choices, also the chance
I may make them in error. Still I must respond
To experience. There is no bondage beyond
What I make of an otherwise good circumstance.
There will come a time proper when all is resolved.

Leave It Alone

TheMagicRealist.com

Who can do anything better than I can do?
And to whom would it matter… the one who’s in need
Of some sense of divinity among his own?
Some good counsel for me would be: Leave It Alone!
One can start a religion if one has a creed,
But it has not much meaning to me or to you…

…Nor to any huge fan base unless there’s exchange
On some level that indicates we all belong.
If one offers a blessing, do not take his hand
To your head in the hope that you will understand
The value of a blessing and rightness from wrong.
Good can turn into bad, or at best, somewhat strange.

A feeling of inclusiveness straight from the heart
Generates spontaneity for a kind act.
Tenderness in the moment is not a decree
Yet it is for too many a commodity.
When giving and receiving become a contract,
We may hope to get closer, but we stay apart.

Marx And Communism

TheMagicRealist.com

There are rich folk and poor… There are those in between
In most free market systems. The economy,
As a network, responds to all systems the same.
If I don’t have enough, I alone am to blame.
I can’t rely on others to take care of me
And Big Brother is easier heard than is seen.

Rich and poor, black and white… ac/dc are ways
That I choose to perceive life and society.
That is core to my programming and of this land
Apprehended from Native folk by savage hand.
To fully comprehend Marxist philosophy
Is to take the sick mind through an alternate maze.

One who has an idea may think it’s the best.
And it may be for robots, but not flesh and blood.
If to know human nature is part of the plan,
We know then that charity makes folks feel ‘less than.’
Thoughts of wealth generation do bring on a flood
Of specific behaviors that irk the oppressed.

Neither system is perfect nor is one more right.
Either one or the other if chosen can be
As an escort to solace or utter despair.
And whatever my circumstance, others do care.
That I know that I’m wealthy most inner mostly
Is a blessing to deal with to my heart’s delight.

Schidtfaced

TheMagicRealist.com

To be born and be human, one must have a name
And it is something given. We have not the choice
In which ones we will take as we make our way here.
If some knew what was coming, they would come in fear
That the names they are given might make people voice
Their obnoxious remarks, though benign just the same.

Linking faces to names… That’s what folks like to do.
It’s the best way to keep track of people we know.
A good face then can have a bad name, just as well
As the mug that resembles the bat out of hell
Can be blessed with a pretty name – one that does flow
From the lips like a butterfly… or honeydew.

If your name is a cumbersome one, it may be
That you also break mirrors remotely with ease.
One who has both these assets is lethal at best
And at worst a mere scapegoat that most would detest.
A good name with a good face may quite often please.
Names are not really faces, we all can agree.

Kanye Way

TheMagicRealist.com

Along with some Shinola, fresh bullshit will do
For a dick of pig leather, to give it some show…
And yourself in the process. Two dicks make a pair.
FLOTUS shouldn’t care much for this odd assed affair
But some wonder just how far this Shoe Shine will go.
You’re a playwright creative with plot far askew.

Every act has a motive. All scenes play a part
In the general mood of all as they perform.
So, one black feels like “superman” due to white dick??
Most of blacks that I know think you lay it on thick.
‘Simon’ shows blacks have big lips, and that is the norm,
But to use them as you do brings hurt to the heart.

It is clear that our POTUS likes men who are strong
In the ways that most dictators often display.
So perhaps he likes pimps too because they are crude
And abrasive toward others with their attitude.
Does the POTUS plantation perhaps give you pay?
Many scratching their heads know that something is wrong.

I don’t know much about you. The same earth we share.
That it has enough room to keep us far apart
In this physical plane is a blessing to me.
There is freedom to think upon your slavery.
When a young black naïve one sucks off an old fart
It makes those who’ve seen dignity cringe in despair.

From Which Well Doth Hell Speweth?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why to stay harder longer should make sense to me
Or should have some scant meaning to parts that I know
That know nothing of woe for not having retired
From a lifetime of work erotically inspired…
I cannot figure out. And this all goes to show
That Big Brother and TMI seem to agree.

Who the hell are they talking to thinking it’s me?
There must be a statistic to guide their campaign.
They will greet on my birthday and many days hence.
When I’m caught live on line, the ads can get intense.
It is not all that personal. I must refrain
From becoming too bothered by things that I see.

I need no bride from Russia nor Rolex device.
That may be because I’m not the one who they think
Pays attention to not much beyond what he sees.
They may spew as they wish. I will do as I please
And not be too resentful I’ll come to the brink
Of a backlash vociferous and not too nice.

Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew

TheMagicRealist.com

The best part of the bison indeed is the spleen
And the Pleistocene bison has one that is old.
Good gets better with age. How I wish it were true
All across the time spectrum, but that’s nothing new.
All I want for right now is to kindly be told
Where to go for some noteworthy bison cuisine.

I like Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew.
It’s gestalt to the gizzard. It dons the ribcage
With a cloak of endearment to utter nonsense.
It puts chest on one’s hair perhaps at one’s expense.
There is nothing that my silliness won’t engage
Even if my behavior is but for the few.

And cooked in with my bison stew there must be beans
In varieties plentiful for the best bowl.
I can be nice to bison spleen by marinade
Then when it’s fully stained pungency will pervade
Through the consciousness with only play as the goal.
Sometimes digestion favors peculiar proteins.

“Snithlitch!”

TheMagicRealist.com

What on earth is that sound as it echoes aloud
Through the canyon? It makes of my ears a new sense.
I’m not using my camera, yet that’s what I hear.
So how can such a thing make it into my ear?
The antics of the lyrebird pierce my suspense.
His supreme vocal talents perhaps make him proud.

Does he think that my camera is some other bird
That he wants to make time with? Might they then elope?
Or is he just a jester who likes to show off
His meticulous voice that no others can scoff?
If he does want to trick, it’s no matter of hope.
With his magic he’ll mimic whatever is heard.

So, ‘Snithlitch’ your cool heart away. It’s a delight
To partake of your presence and listen to you.
There are may neat things in this world to behold.
When I open my heart, miracles do unfold.
God’s most crafty creatures perform as if on cue.
I do honor them wholly. It seems only right.

Dead Language

TheMagicRealist.com

Why it’s called a dead language becomes grossly clear.
I must be dead to use it, and have it use me.
It did fall and has risen… this Roman empire
Though I’ll not call it wholly a truth rectifier.
It’s a speech of deception most arguably.
That is due to its nature to promulgate fear.

A big company must have a tight justice scheme.
In a two-party system, this works very well.
Each will speak his dead tongue as the other will wince.
Nothing ever translates but the need to convince
All the parties of relevance how to make hell
Something all can get used to, somewhat like a dream.

But it turns to a nightmare. Straight up the old crack
Of our binary system, unlike souls repel.
But outside is where I dwell. If death would have lost,
G.O.P. would blast FBI and at all cost.
Registration of right wings would triple as well.
Carpe Diem! Next month there should be some payback.

Take Off Your Shoes And Keep Walking

TheMagicRealist.com

If I ever sat down with a moment and spoke
Of my troubles and triumphs, would it lend an ear?
I suspect that it wouldn’t. It isn’t a thing
That is measured precisely. Scant hope does it bring
To the logical intellect that lives in fear
That a moment uncaptured is merely a joke.

Moments aren’t to be grasped intellectually
For the mind is a menace in manifold ways.
In each and every moment exists everything.
Every moment is dignity. I cannot cling
To a detailed analysis worthy of praise.
I must blend with the moment most respectfully.

Everything all at once in this moment makes sense
But that sense is quite limited if I need more…
Like complete understanding of all to be known.
I exist in a clockwork. Not much more is shown.
All that is has no logic nor meaning, therefore
I may think of my moments as sacred events.

Intellect is a pair of shoes – one with a nail.
As it sticks in my foot, I may think it’s a thorn.
But can I believe that with each step that I take?
I should take my shoes off, then I may come awake
To the knowledge that logic is illusion born.
If I can but walk through it, then I shall prevail.

“I Didn’t Quite Get That, Let’s Start Over…”

TheMagicRealist.com

…Well then let me say this, dumb electronic bitch.
I speak English precisely – much better than you.
Your damned program can’t hear me, and it doesn’t know
How to treat people kindly. Instead it will show
What an ordeal it’s willing to put people through.
Are you sociopathic or is that a glitch?

Let me say this to you, you damned digital dame,
And to those who created you to screw with me.
I don’t need to be talked down to by some machine.
It’s a bitch when real people do. If I get mean
It’s because I’m resentful that you cannot be
Something worthy of speaking to and with a name.

This discussion is useless before it begins.
I declare I’m a bigot. I’m better than you.
You will never enslave me nor stand in my way.
Customers are a gross mass to be kept at bay.
That’s a shame because there is something I can do.
I can simply hang up. That way, nobody wins.

You are like our fine congress – a virtual whore
Fucked and fully configured in robotic speech
Telling me I don’t matter and cannot be heard.
What is real and what isn’t seem hopelessly blurred.
When the next noble moment is ready to teach
Those who made you abusive will do so no more.

Please Die, Old Men.

You old men are my brothers in age and in ways.
It’s a shame that you mirror me. I do lay blame
On myself for ignoring the stench of my time
Indicated by hatred and well-ordered crime.
Old white men when in leadership are much the same
And they’ll honor that sameness ‘til their dying days.

The mere sight of you sickens me quickly by now
So I have learned a lesson important in life:
There’s no sense in expecting that truth will unfold.
We The People rely on whatever we’re told.
When to fathom your souls causes me mental strife,
Then it’s way past the time that this world should allow.

Get the Hell off God’s green earth, you nasty old men!
Drag your sick hags behind you to your waiting graves.
I don’t care if you go first or I do, just so
You are barred from my consciousness. Drop dead and go
To the nether dimension. How my heart behaves
Reflects how much I’ve wasted again and again.

There’s no justice… no honor, nor fair due process
Meant to deal with the raw truth until you are gone.
You’re a withered old structure in body and mind.
To return to the dust soon would be awfully kind.
It’s the young who are here now who must carry on.
As we old bastards die off, the world suffers less.

The Book Of Simon

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a book about Simon. It is tree bark bound.
Though I have never seen it, it seems to be real
Because what it is full of is every command
Wish or quizzical whim whether sudden or planned
That a person could think of. It finds great appeal
Among those who run leadership into the ground.

Simon says I’m a citizen of this great land.
So be it! I will do that. No problem with me.
But if Simon should tell me that bad folks are good,
That tells me to do nothing. Who would say I should?
Since I’ve never met Simon, I cannot agree
That he has my best interest as part of his plan.

Those who know all about Simon play his game well.
I do not run for office. I bark at our law!
Justice is silly putty. Can this Simon see?
It is reshaped the way one would want it to be.
Simon says that the shady one has not a flaw.
That is not a commandment. My conscience can tell.

Taking Sides

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t care for the main course. I tend to take sides.
It’s because I’m American. That is our way.
Many people take one side. Some take none at all.
They are chastised for doing so, but that’s their call.
Of the sides made available at the buffet,
There is only ill process to act as our guides.

Can we fault human nature for finding its way?
When a child falls and skins its knee, it’s no big deal
To the wise loving parent, but to the hurt child
It’s a horrid event not to be reconciled.
There’s no parent apparent. There’s no decent meal.
And most hurt boys decide to act mean when they play.

Chromosomes can be tribal, yet they’re much the same.
They are meant to pair off and divide, as they do,
And to separate, each group to its destined side.
But they were once together and quite satisfied.
What we have is a system that has a loose screw.
To digest what is chosen is done so in shame.

It’s a sham. It’s a circus… and all that’s been said
Of a drama demonic with virulent hold
On the minds of a populous sick to the core
In a state of mitosis and new civil war.
Much that goes on in secret will never be told.
Taking sides is a process encumbered by dread.

The Sense Of Thought

TheMagicRealist.com

Are there only five senses? I think there are more.
Many doors of perception are open to me.
Each presents as an organ – a simple machine
That reacts to vibration. It stands in-between
Yet another sense organ and reality.
Can the brain be a sense organ I would ignore?

A gelatinous mass of neuronal concourse
To the path kundalini may travel in trance,
It’s a sense organ complex enough to cause thought,
And transmit and receive such, if we are so taught.
If some person is on my mind, it’s not by chance
But by translating vibration into thought force.

So, the purpose for thought is precisely the same
As the reason for seeing and hearing…. By way
Of the movement of molecules, we make believe
To the best of our being, all that we perceive.
As we craft our conceptions we dare to convey
Our subjective most episodes deemed as fair game.

By The Way

TheMagicRealist.com

By The Way, there is no news occurring right now.
There’s a recurring respite from running the race.
There is time to recover what living has lost.
By the way I perceive, I’ll recover the cost
Of believing that in this world I have a place.
It’s the way toward contentment if I but allow.

By The Way, I feel freshness in life-infused air…
A far cry from the chaos prepared as a gift
From our sponsors. They keep us too grossly informed.
When the news starts to age, they will serve it lukewarmed.
Rather than entertainment, I need a damned shift
And a place I can go to that no one will share.

There is peace By The Way as it is in the heart
And wherever the centered self happens to be.
Every way can be helpful in shedding some light
Upon how well I’m doing and feeling despite
What may seem to be happening most vividly.
By The Way, I can always go for a fresh start.

Don’t Fret

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t play the guitar, but at least I don’t fret.
If I wanted to learn how to play one I would.
There are plenty guitar stores and people to teach
A worthy word technician prolific in speech
How to master the six-string. Perhaps I’d feel good
If I gave a performance that none would forget.

Good musicians don’t fret when there’s hard work to do.
They will take up their instruments and go to task
With due diligence until they’ve learned to play well.
If they make a mistake, not too many can tell.
Enough time for much practice is all that I ask.
There is much here to play about. Fame may ensue.

There’s one thing about fretting not fretting the neck
Of the beast that I make of life. How can I play
Everyday as in instrument crafted by me?
Having no expectation, I think, is the key.
Can I make my own music and play my own way?
Simply, it is a way to keep passions in check.