Showing posts with label Poetry Emerson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry Emerson. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

~The Case for OpenSource Code on the internet

Works for me. The open condition will invite a better tone to the across the "netboard," which is always preferrable to me when especially when I'm seem like I'm in a slide.

We decide the reasons why.
That always entails a justice
that nails eloquent, we quote
our own brand answers, on wind
It's out there stalking, and waits
there's is a trick, Carlos said...
Funny guy, one time serious stu
as I became my own, I laughed
hard, in roll jerking my head too

still not convinced of a difference
to the wave of the hand, by grace
to a voice, speaks a unique name
you call it, This foolish little fiasco
we both know what peeps-seem
I can't tell you what ain't real-see
That's how I talk about that reality

I'll never forget the young times
a boundary moving us through.
Be that as it may, jack...
There's a forested mountain
you can still find your way back
if you're willing to climb a mass
of rock, past more mass on it
way up, where there's wind
for the joy and strangeness
incomparable listening makes
especially of the countryside.

So many women, (then) one day
and that was that for the girls
Like beautiful thought, came
ecstatically, always orgasmic
Waking up the young of yum

Who needs to check this out is...
Dave Matthews with is find guitar
And a butt like mine, spanked
over the time spent - I ran there.
Always its mis-communication...
never, is anyone on time, here.

The more important ghost echos
falling music in my soul loudly
and all around my head, not fun
my ass takes the biggest beat
must be why I get so confused
ending up at the casino then
But I'd swear she's right there
laying on her side, smiling wide
Just the darkness of shadows
The travel can be harrowing

Now Emerson wants the eloquent
to say that people are quoters
at heart their identity is absent
and indicates men are asleep
Trying to work in a segue for that
and not upset awake strangers
I'm reading Emerson for fun
and consult with a number
of potential goddess models
and nothing more eloquent
than the tricky Shamans today.

I got miles to go on that
before I can get out da way
Take that last slide in sand

That's where she'll be
if she's not playing something
needing better resonation
instrumentals she allways loved
In the beginning, it was chaos
nonstop madness, pure hor-

Here's to those that putt it
There's nothing like a round
to get the juices flowing
But, working at a course
there are so many calls
made to fit for Emerson



Sunday, October 24, 2010

~View of the Plain

View of the Plain

Above the Plain, there's a special space, Emersonian
The argument is rather a lame duck, brutal nevertheless
I'd rather give more room to having fun writing my poetry
But the truth is far more nebulous, causing little in interest
What is real for Emerson regarding words, asks the question
Even while we may voluntarily investigate these paradigms
what he makes specific is the involuntary part of perception
forming a common parlance to a hidden entrance of the soul.

It's very hard to see, especially since any clarity is less than nice
the resulting 'event' seeks to exit life's flow with extreme predjudice
rather unconsciously, due to past reactions of trauma, add as a fact
that there's plethora of variation to what all that is non-voluntary
including a special complex case of active will, the one exception
The importance of this kind of socially based knowing is provocation
Agitating a reader in a just way which calls something important
in the reader, into question, not to invalidate but compel a living answer.

Just playing around with poetry, exploring Emerson's genius is arousing
I can post this View of the Plain as a introductory poem for the time being
Though it doesn't impress me with approaching Emerson's level of tension.
The thing for Emerson seems to be the quality of provocation made for us.
Gonna try and spark a little progressive segue in smooth transitions in here
for now....

© 102010 rjduberg

note: First in a series of poems that will span my current reading of Lysaker's book about Emerson and the notion of Self-Culture