Just Once, Revised

Just once, if my entrance here
came instead down chimney
not to steal St. Nick’s thunder
or revenge by grench on appeal.

Arising my spirit cross past’s future
where Santa and Savior live still-life
in the magnificence of the very young
unassumable choice resigns devoured
without hesitation by shadow’s dream
something alive otherwise for light fades.

I would walk through the walls
but that beat been over winter run
Scifi magic itself is sink with a drain
immune to flow of desires passing
but the peddlers’ junk in street
makes Dracula’s Werewolf howl
something our mech of blech
reminders would call merciful.

Shown for the illusion, repetition
generates less in interior’s face
where slumber is destined event
through which shadows abate
while all rescues long await
in a haze while craziness reigns
requests for help form echoes
saviors’ mistake sheers back
way beyond the individual
so that
here
long ago departed
already our arisen shrinking inner

we are stopped by
would stop nothing
itself

a blind self aware light.

© 11/2004 RJDuberg

~The Teeth of Shadows

The teeth of a shadow
hides certain paralysis
anthropomorphic, it's life.

Wider illumination blinds
my dearest cynic finds
in whiteout by avalanche.
Clear water shady flows
makes moisture lighten </>past and gone, undone.

Floating along is better
cycle to cynic crown </>hope drowns thereupon.

© 12/2004, RJDuberg

Recurrence Records as Resource

I keep a sliver of boards
(others’ have shoes, zen masters
their cranium whackers,
my choices concern the art of surfing
both ocean waves and digital)
to match conditions I find.
It's always been about exploration,
aesthetics, community, celebration,
humor, and effort.

Some planes and surfaces
allow for optimal magnitudes
to be broken,
I cultivate relationships
which support beautiful process
and values, even when I'm selfish
and egocentric I know not to fret
or believe it as life is
much more satisfying when shared
(Buddha farts and all, etc.),
the party rages onward
even if on the exterior all is still,
while I don't always remember
to evoke loud and simple laughter
from the start of an encounter
it never fails to work when I do
to align and ally all those present,
I'm still struggling with effort
however I suffer less unnecessarily
every day I continue to learn...

recurrence records as a resource.

© RJDuberg, 12/11/2004

gravity's rainbow

gravity's rainbow
Originally uploaded by Dr H.

Originally uploaded by notrylook.

warm ... (???)

warm ... (???)
Originally uploaded by LadyMolly.

st. ouen's bay

st. ouen's bay
Originally uploaded by jersey.

Mvc-687f.jpg
Originally uploaded by dorien.

Smithtown Sunday Morning

Smithtown Sunday Morning
Originally uploaded by Sponge.

Nov 16 2004 Sunset in Imperial Beach

P1010016
Originally uploaded by IBinSUN.

Wandering High Too

Full moon craters sun
White marooned even golden
Lazy blue for sky.

A majestic being
Petite feminine living large
Sublime bomb will fly.

© 11/2004, RJDuberg

IB Sunset Summer 2004

IB Sunset Summer 2004 1
Originally uploaded by IBinSUN.

One of the better sunsets at Imperial Beach this summer.

99 Sunset at Imperial Beach II Best for color

99 Sunset at Imperial Beach II Best for color
Originally uploaded by IBinSUN.

Nice colors

uncle

uncle
Originally uploaded by peteW.

Like this ink sketch I found in Flickr today when I was uploading some sunset pics I took. Using it as a test run on blogging pictures from there

Night of the Vampire

People who lack attention to listen
In weird wedding singer like fashion
know dramatic panache is primary
to weasel wisdom in wear and tear
with the resigned fade of forgetting.
Healing this fiendish vampire bite
is an art of training in great humor
freedom delivered by punch line
to surprise new laughter eruption.

Be careful not to mistake the mutt
who we all will find a tire and blame
once in awhile for our own lackluster.
Make no mistake on cainine value
as a genuine antithesis to vampire’s.
Human beings, closer than we admit
suck our energy in vein of sucker lore.
For their need is only to feed evilness
and they don’t know a puppy’s love.
Their loyalty and trust is oxymoronic
real impossibility never with alternate.

Put them together and you’ll observe
in a generous gamut gossip of vocals
no surprises, but a useless consistency
when collected, fit to be paved over.
You might hear it squeal as you finish
and stop killing yourself by feeding it
When you move forward in direction
You listen wellness granted to owners.

© 9/5/2004, RJDuberg

There! Eternity is there! All around! Do you know that you can extend yourself forever in any of the directions I have pointed to? Do you know that one moment can be eternity? This is not a riddle; it's a fact, but only if you mount that moment and use it to take the totality of yourself forever in any direction. – don Juan Matus

My Greatest Lie

Humility and surrender, my kneeling being of will
has not stopped the wrongness I feel in my heart.
I pretend, itself absent, for the sake of my sanity.
I don’t know why or how to speak the truth here
of an essential loss felt in the aftermath of loving.
Each day, more painful as the memory is distant.

Here and there, I imagine and propose solutions.
Pyschological babble was never more realized.
Means to possibilities misunderstood for the end.
Am I obsessed with ghosts I loved, holding tight
not letting go, I think this angle will end the best.
Like religion, if you don’t get it, blame a mystery.

But like religion, such possibilities once believed
haunt the experience in its best state with hope.
I am only learning as I waste my life in the pain.
Only by stopping the belief will I gain freedom.
Yet, it is the thing I believe more than life itself.
You are and have always been my greatest lie.

© 8/31/2004, RJDuberg

Onward This Morning

Without a look, the light rising

Outside my body this morning

Has come but within to shine

inward a notice silent and kind.

Today cracks lightly onward

Outside every word spoken

Unnoticed crackless interior

Scales the cracks' complexity.

A calculus determining lift

Organizes the rift of glyphs

The non-intuitive factuality

Our words ideally captivate.

This onward moment wanes

Unlike words said with strain

to quantum mechanical edges

My body refrains in illuminati.

© 8/26/2004, RJDuberg

Summer Whitewater

Cozy rockin’ Imperial Beach
with a half mile, into throngs
numbers up a quarter million
unlike Hampton’s ambiance,
the scenes value the unseen
leaving ghosts to roam free.
Space expands with wealthy
and divisive corrupt purchase,
creating vaults and museums
instead of a homey welcome.

Weird how life creates this dust
For signature in death's process
In outward transport of matter
excreting, separating, uttering…
It’s all the same shedded stuff,
A pooping matter makes room
for consumption or production
and a rare fast transformation.
IB Summer’s dirty causal nights
Intoxicate repeat dross offender.

The ocean sprays wet salt, spice
on constant, wash up and down.
Makes for every sort of dreamer
on beach to splash heat of sun.
Everyone is free to muster poop
without fear of shoes to distract.
The planet’s payback of poop
is sand we proudly track in home.

There’s flatline of ocean horizon
giving seashore its spectacular
clarity; sunsets or rises, bathing
color to sky, cloud, and memory
for last moments of light's ebb.
The reverse character and power
of moon led flux of fluid dynamics
rush to sandy crash of whitewater.

© 8/8/2004, RJDuberg

~Not An Option For The Dead

Not An Option For The Dead

Do you know how little I have,
how selfish and unproductive?
These social measures I dodge,
but by any standard measure
was dumbest staying with you.
A belief hiding your evil care
The unsupportive poetry boots
hesitating to pink your slip final?

Rules basic to survival I ignored.
Inviting you to be my predator,
I will not hurt you for cause either,
but wait till your finished dining
belly full on my bloody carcus
entirely gone to final departure.
Nothing to be gained trampling
Your peace offers, which alone
deserve respect and support my
psychotic mind knows not why.

Your responds became dessert
wasteland I fought in wild dust
backing off I came to my senses.
Your less than what Paula made
but you got your hook under lips
of poetry to flatter me into idiocy
onward then to worst I can offer
that was quick again to the fore
with grandest shit illusion in store.

Maturity over time gets gray pay
which I made into a goober drug
to survive the painfulest agonies
past loves will always remind me,
compounding what should never
have come to ruin like this, again!
It’s the willingness to keep pushing
through whack of wracking pain,
no matter how bad the pace slows
or how little one’s step will shorten
love is not an option for the dead.


© 7/28/2004, RJDuberg

Recoil of Mystery

The emptiness of sound
inside a bare cavern lair
hides dark in a troubled
soul's perogative there.
In the backward return,
past the future present.

Past breeze parted lips,
a floating quiver on air,
daddy sings tidal eddy.
Pink tongues its cheeky
setting fleshy to aim
blurry music steerage.

Lyrical binds aliveness.
Spirit spikes, a kinetic
crown filling the sound
word after word on words
exhale weirdest blushes
uttering spin in a thrust.

Secrets only soul knows
hear burdens overturned
unruled by thinking choice.
Listening gets conscience
encompassing next strike
to force recoil of mystery.

© 7/28/2004, RJDuberg

The Secret Stone Shapes

The odd things we receive from life
along the way, sticks of love to chew,
tasty and fine or grit to grind, eschew.
Some lasting sage, a senatorial inkblot
progressing as my aging perspective,
but never changing that original face
of love’s radiant grace we make visible.

Diamonds are shadowed by rich cliché
and only discussed by the upper crust
Elite sparkles of pricey disconnection
in brilliant rocks of inspired perfection.
Much comes through informal usages
allowing implied secrets real presence,
in object's clarity for horizoned insight.

Translucent degrees signify essentials
which support the desired resonance,
absorbing light of love and reflecting.
The crystalline cornerstone made way
powerfully, for then retained as now
a gift of grace, stones may remind us
as golden mirrors for such a memorial.

Inspired, in love, a muse begs a secret
until a lover’s essence is your moment.
Become formalized seeking structure
which if genuine fortune dares arrive
then naked, we’ll enjoy slow wrapping
foils and bowtie ribbons in toiless bids
to present a sacred space for our love.

© 7/27/2004, RJDuberg

Steel A Great Irony

That one gets lost in one’s own mind
occurs as necessity before salvation,
our nakedness robed, but unfettered.
Where the mental landscape’s redux
in all ways expresses fine moderation,
smoothing is a way for stream travels.
Where error is ruined by false images,
dance is rife on walls of Plato’s cavern.

No bonehead graybeard broken sod.
No character defines grace like that.
No good comes in whimsy of diversion
No greater feat strikes, save to a destiny.
No love shudders reverb without a beat
No life gains, born to chaotic mysteries.
No trick either to witness being present.

Essence of drama glorifies blindly dense.
Give me a hammer to pound on hollow
what word humbles the solid of masses
into backdoor hollow swinging forward?
A worst cost is my being ideal of whimsy
having to believe will steel a great irony.

© 7/18/2004, RJDuberg

Returning Word

Don't you know I would make it all good
in the image and spirit of all that is good.
There is no mountain tall enough
nor sea deeper than my love for this,
for you have touched me beyond reason
and you found my solitude
with no words spoken for the fragrance
that respects and that respect alone
will never be questioned nor rescinded.
That gift was a dawning star in a gesture
where such a gift means action
and gestures meaningless, save
that which brings forth radiant things
by such means as a simple nod
an unheard motion or voice emboldened.
A language heard by galaxies as poetry
laughing fat and heavy like any progeny
such as you, keeper of my silence,
illuminated of those listening within.
Bearer of heavenly bodies rank and file
sweet brigand radiant lovers of peace,
you manifest light silent but penetrating
manifesting now honor and my thanks
Making a solitary moment of smiling
from here below on all you've done
acknowledging you're immeasurable
surely the source of everything with
a face of peace to which I listen.

(c) 7/9/2004, RJDuberg

Originally written in 1999, revised today and enjoyed once again.

The Hidden Show Metaphor Stages

Last night about mid evening, it occurred to me to dump my bedroom trash and in so doing stretch my legs for a much needed period. On the way back from the garbage bin out back, which is wheeled to and fro from the east side of the house to the street, I encountered a rare and nice little suprise in an adult catepillar crossing the sidewalk in front of my path. The first one this summer so far I've happen to run into, my first thought was of my roommate's little girl and how she would get a big kick out of my sharing this very special form of life and metaphor with her.

The metaphor of the butterfly, of which the catepillar transforms into finally after spinning itself a cocoon and then disappearing inside for a time has always been a favorite of mine. I think the creatures are precious and in a class by themselves. It is perhaps one of the most powerful and widely known metaphors, signifying higher consciousness for some but in an even more general way it has always signified transformative power, based in its being born of the hairy worm first into this really beautiful and fragile being being of flight.

I took that hairy worm up to Zoey (1.5 yrs of age) and it had curled up into a ball and wasn't having anything to do with Zoey under the kitchen lights while only seconds before she and I (the catepillar) were dancing up a storm down stairs as I went about corralling the little queen ... Finally, Zoey began to blurt wake uppppppp, wake uppppppp, wake upppppppp. I waited patiently and no such thought of ending the game and declaring myself victor once again appeared from or near that little bit of worm now curled and looking as best she could as a dead piece of dirt perhaps.

I decided to leave Zoey on watch with her new friend and here's where this confluencd of events just continued to deepen. Not a minute afterwards, on the internet and Compuserve, who would show up like the most casual of catepillars herself? Here comes my biggest flame in the universe to chat after weeks of dodging me, Brenda C. Sounding very good and playing the old game but nevertheless wanting to still play even after I trashed our previous rapport pretty badly truth said.

It was such a powerful moment, as always when life's drama, artifacts, and props signify something outside our attentions clearly operating a precise dynamic having authority over this level of existence in the universe.

7/7/2004 ~ sincere Rift #1: Conspiracy Between Bren and Catepillar Spirit

One Above

I was the one you said you wanted
To be with and to love you sweetly
I am the one that can’t stop now
waiting for you connects my soul
to an unquestioned unknown day
with you, all ideas would stoke me
as anything and everything crazy
between and around in surprising
cloud forming union to our hearts
as one, above separation, to love.

©, 6/27/2004, RJDuberg

Finding a job at 45 after 6 years of just playing at the beach

I bought a bulldog yesterday morning fully intending to go through Ads later in the day and then spent the entire day writing about issues related to consciousness in CS new age forum. The process reminds me of a piece of machinery which was left to disrepair for years and beginning attempts to reuse are frustrated by rust and other conditions simulating a lack of movement due to "stuck and frozen".

Cramming for Effect Apology 

Getting old is a bitch! 

~The Mystic Rhythms

1st draft

The emptiness of sound
where the cavern’s inside
fumes a womb of unseen
but still pregnant darkness.

Looks backward on vision
Past the parted lips afloat
ready to form from inside
result the dirty pink tongue
makes as director captain.

Of flesh wave’s steerage
with provisions of spirit
said resonate as grace
of language heard
word spoken as sound
in the exhaled airflush
unseen utterance.

A breath for meaning
of a sake which ears
music of syncopate
hearing into turning
ideas into vibrato.

A conscious feeling
and for this choice
listening is born
to encompass
The Mystic Rhythm.

(c) RJDuberg, 6/17/2004

~Of Missing My Father

How I Miss You

I know the words, and more
You never had a chance
to daresay ever before
time wounded your being
and cancelled your existence.

The words sound hollow today.
More as I realize how late
in the span of my life I am
ready to concede we failed.
I would end my life redeemed

In your arms, atop your shoulders
your presence clarified by us.
I was a child unprepared.
As an adult, a lost promise
held memorial to our purpose.

I am alive and willing to witness
the truth of what you promised.
And I would have answers
the day my last breath ends life.
Did you abandon me twice then?

Letting you go by choice is wrong
yet waiting only perpetuates it.
I can bear witness to wisdom
an eye for an eye as necessary
to undo the deep bond of love.

I suffer doing what I feared done
I abandon my honor to words
you promised to my heart.
Leaving me to wait vainglory
as an abandoned child alone?

The echo of hollow sounds alive
with a reverbed vibrato beat
horns get to celebrate
blowing tempest of laughter
as freedom recovers the missing.

Copyright © 5/29/04, Robert James Duberg

~World Song of Child

The
first thing to a child’s future
asks of us, blazing our way
radiant, visible over horizon
value of recovery
the sacred, alpha by omega
being and consciousness
safety for all children here
narratives for mind’s play
philosophical instruction
training to disipline
spiritual mysticism of love
and a net for falling angels.

Without
violent weapons to trigger
hate buttons, censors, slavery
mercenary opposition, neglect
meaningless chatter, evil intention
imbalance, and corruption.

Fight for freedom is an alliance.

Comes from
ability, to strip the false
exihibiting world in song
calling others to dance
while alone in the dark.
faith, in one’s higher will
finding inner compass
making a difference
not stopping for result.
prayer, form of calling
to listen to what isn’t
connects us to spiritual
to inform word of love.

Singing the song, children will.

Copyright © 5/19/2004, RJDuberg

~ Gravity Rose

My pricked and bleeding hand

from a thorny rose afront…

Betray a beautiful but brutal flora

as I smell tears blossom wet.

The fault and pain made mine
must be innocent opposition

to the collapse, a bad recoil that

needs of pride, yet sovereignty denies.

Love, infatuation, ruined innocence

just like water, cures the harmful fire.

Life of the innocent, bliss of ignorance

And the inevitable spiraling romance.

Until then, you and I, dance
the tragic heartbreak tango
ever more at stake and lost

until along steps mi amour.

First - With a graced context

teaching Möbius like a trick

to faux openings for closures,

rented moves that fail in situ.

My sadness grows despite
a tender feeling so kind

no release she falls and is

broken, in words that rattle.

Her articulation on my failure

in years passed, razes future.

Her hope of change betrayed

by prickly shadow's domain.

Grown up and a bigger man,

her words strike scarred rain.

How I live feels so amiss

inside of skeptical and pissed

This live blooming rose path

has been my lucky chagrin

no grave warnings for refrain

but gravity into reddish injury.

 

Of her earlier thorns...
I never understood her plan
She never felt safe with me
Two years later, a broadside?

I cut her off in chat, my bad
she writes, I can’t talk to you
plain and simple boy slam-fest
brat she said ran me thru bad

my anger made a poor discredit
This probe escalated into strike
Laying grounds for a challenge.
Tomorrow, a sober story will tell.

© 5/17/04, RJDuberg

rev 9/2016

~In Light of Death

In Light of Death

Shiva reminds us that nothing remains
except peace, love, and divinity, mysteries
outside the dominion of that destruction
where everything cycles in the end to begin.

Only man has this hint of possibility in him
A gift of being, in light of death, with divinity
balancing the ground of mystery to ascend
making a liberty for consciousness, not death.

© 5/10/2004, RJDuberg, rev 01/2010
rev 5/2020

~

Contemplating peace and love
feels hardly real while destroying.
Elsewhere is ordered on command
killing our civil service for citizenry.

I would like to resolve this disease
of purpose, pressed by fear to lead.
In the meantime, I AM not a victim
without love, peace, and romance.

I’m just feeling lost like a raindrop
falling but still in cloudy beginning
surrounded by an ocean, now drops
so much homogenity a fog ensues.

But for myself, smiles, a passerby
Mitigates blindness, and its fallout
Only the inevitable smash of splatter
that evaporates in shadow's light.

The circumstantial cast renders
unbalanced compensation's drift.
My Omega could never justify
Iraqis killed by any command
no rationality or integrity will out

A Shadow of death veiled in life?

© 5/10/2004, RJDuberg, rev 5/2020