~def Challenge II

Of 3 positions, none offered
your life rests there, each moment
Beginning, Inbewteen, and Endding.

Why no one remembers dynamic
denies many rights and genius.
This past, genius, for endding?

This little set is our beginning
and this middle plays healing
on the start of a mystery ending.

Mystery, Inbetween, Endding.
Could it be a verse of Karma?
Better yet, final recurrence?

Well, simplicity must act now.
Beginning, swings a middle process
to middle that ends to roll of end.

rj 2/2008

~Where You Is

Before you went
to inhaling insist
was effervescent

OK some roost
around a nest,
some scoot scatter
fly founder fume.
Everything poops
their own place.

Why your poop
left me so sad?
My little mask
is now offhanded.

I know better (the)
where you go
is the miracle (of)
where you are.

Rose Peddles/sun

Why do roses suffer the liquid of our being
so much we've grown yet so little sown
regarding nature's story of pain.

And the beauty of the thorn seen in water
is made by the sight of its crown in blood.
The color is a match, hook, and tackle.

My liquid rose over the lips and was free
what I don't drink runs down my face
this better be where you find solace
after you stop deifying words peddled.

rjd, 2/2008

~words of wisdom

The reason anything gets done begins and ends...

The other side becomes general in their answer
just as the sunset with its beauty draws down.
Remember there’s power when adversity nears.
Knowing the positive still prevails, brings benefit.

What is to gain by standing out in the open may...
Beyond a change of season, they’re all the same.
There’s another idea being focused on, I’m saying
that -- of what’s beyond recycling, just because...

Agreeing the present is bad risk management;
In truth, only pure stupid egomania cuts it.
You figure, converting to solar, solves everything;
And why the hell haven’t we began to live that?

The reason is once again about management...

~She Was

Longing built on the greatest loss
fading, I can barely name names
for the one I regret, cannot forget.

Falling so hard like that
defies belief and explanation -
even the story is ridiculous.

And yet, that first lover persists
as a gift to which I was blessed
and have longed for ever since.

2/2008, rjduberg

~Shock of my Family

Keeping track of numerosity, the defiance of chaos
meticulous and precise, it comes with a price.
Make a list, and notice somewhere fog disappear.
Include a mistake as a shockwave, like tsunami
against your thatchy, unrooted, shallow, indwelling.

The mistake we find is the mistake we project
the error our true self freely enjoys to a fault,
and forgeting origin, doom makes misc a lie,
returning chaos to the side of our enemies.
Hail the man with a reverence for such shock.

His humility and true incompetence laid bare
while his reverence is a design to embrace.
Most don't conceive the value of awakening
as victims and slaves, they protect their sleeps
with illusions of purpose, quite felonious skits.

In catching what lies we find how hot the steam,
the pressure which friction will invariably release.
We get good at stepping over it all for sleep,
preferring an unfocused, non-intended state;
to the work, designed to put shock in our way.

Biggest shock for me is change in my women.
I chase the projection, because love was great.
I suffer an imagination scorched by the friction
of a time producing zenith in all my attachments.
Attachment fuels illumination, shock ignites it.

I do not know what women think or feel, thou.
Not for lack of effort to discover and correct
mistakes, to restore the intimate renewing,
which characterizes my fading impression.
Interpretations abound, some keep shaking.

They could not own me, nor bitch their way in.
I have my mom, beyond bitchy, who I so love
to thank on this particular catastrophic fault.
In fact, I believe my entire family plays a role
through their mass exodous to far off fringes.

Not hard to see how little stock I'd have, to put,
after the primary carriers of that experience
ostracized, abandoned, rejected, left, forgot
me; each and every one. Aha my family is
no worse than women, that stand left empty.

Not women but brothers and in laws, mom.
Those who've passed before setting it right.
Mostly, the turning away and leaving behind.
Thus I live this core felt relation to women
they always bring recognition back to missing.

In the beginning, before the cruelty, there was
such frivolous distraction, and love. Still love,
today quite mature however, compassionate.
Not their fault, I see that, can't change this,
but only focus on source in all of this, family.

Egads, and there's the rub, I'm quite sure
I lack any standing, nor have any favor to call.
Oh well, such are the facts, and I can't believe
there aren't others who've passed beyond this.
The bleak blanket sleep brings, is a monster.

(c) rjduberg, 2008, Jan

~The Good Chase

Forget about any thoughts, I might have
for those who might know or imagine
how this poem found words and context
to begin with what surely started, parted.

And this has nothing to do with talented
beautiful voices, singing harmony, love.
Though chasing those performances may,
shouldn't they? Say the closer the better!

How exciting when you can almost touch
what you've been striving so hard to reach.
Yet can anyone answer why that touch
brings such sorrow over our hearts, won?

Even understanding this horrible truth
and passing on instead of chasing one
is not satisfaction, by simply refusing
to engage success, a turning paradox.

The good chase catches a path upwards
opens opportunities and possibilities
never before known or imagined, real.
This mystery of paradox of finding more

is perhaps the ultimate convolution.
Time spent chasing a true mystery
caught revealing wealth of unknown
preserving mystery in well's depth.

If the chase was good from the start
preserving those stakes is stalwart
a pure result from one's actions
an outcome due to forgetting self.

A vision of mystery, chasing eternity.

© 2008, rjduberg

~Liquid Rose

As the liquid rose
the brim of surprise
enjoyed full release,

stuck up so high
what came around
never dove in
nor took flight
but hung a-round
at a distance,

for what in passing
is hard choked
in its stream,
its proximity
distorts,

no retort,
just a hard surface,
a real bore
of hollow end
to open.

© rjduberg, 1/2008

~Next to Next

The hairs on my neck stood up
with the breath a world stirred up
no tweet to meet, or sets' full lull
yet desire wants to breathe in fear.

All this time spent working nights
to find nothing but an elderly pace
to create whatever fades as mine

*
The rewrite calmed a fluttering utterance
the edition, a first this time
in an info age filling in
what once stayed stained
under weight of addendums
is the same but new today
at the speed of digital light.

The influence of art is a beautiful thing
where one can indicate briefly a thing
letting imagination form its substance
in turn, an immeasurably finer appearance.

What ills can now be corrected
properly so, beautiful that way
happened just now as virtual reality,
more ocean than place for waves traced,
revises in ripples having a human face.

As revisions are next, next to next
is a new definition of what's final.


RJDuberg, 12/2007

~Back to Back

When thinking about Shelley, this popped out tonight. No doubt it will read as rubbish to most, and I can appreciate that. Explaining it would be shameful, so my understanding must remain left behind for the moment.

Back to Back

Were that you were there,
where here was its future,
I would read you, not you, I.

That not that, was that that
has found yet, that this that
not, that at all, still is, that.

The expansion of a moment
in our being empty to it
is the substance of paradox.

You brought me to this.
I risk my life to write it,
inbetween, life and death.

© rjduberg, 2007

~Nadir or Zenith?

A singular annual period
of the bourgeois parade
is here again
pulling the new year,
hiding befuddled
behind it.

Nadir or Zenith?
The nativity scene, its logo.
I have no interest in the melee,
not a profiteer;
I sigh over the slime
faithful suffer.

(c) 2007, RJDuberg

~About This

The time is taken only about this
when conflict allies with its fate
the time taken to determine that
allows one's being such impasse.

Or is waiting for the next halting
no way to be, where not proceed?
Surely, we suffer what's ongoing
needing severe shocks for stopping.

The injustice from squinty eyes
clad and righteous, dogma hard
reminds no better, of how blind
ironic pretense, masks what's soft.

Without the support of the person
any and all criticism lacks a core
like media platitudes, a pablum
attractive only as a degradation.

Sure to annoy, this false alarm.

12/2007 RJD

~In The Land of Sigh

How a little of anything can matter
takes more of it than we can handle
and in between nothing we sigh
a sign the rough landing done.

One screw loose is a blessing,
still the mission is to hide
what people can't grasp,
the reverse expectation.

Same effort, just less of it
sighs when twist is out,
yet all our expectations
fit on the tight turn's end.

For freedom I grew less
and hiding expectation
looking goofy and some,
made my sighs an address.

One piece of candy
for the eye who spies,
who sees mystery unraveling
as I address the inconceivable sky.

Beggars here are mistaken.
They want the zoo of forgotten,
the void of unconscious,
the illusion of order inside.

Here inside is a twistless
flame kept alive, on purpose,
the friction, a pain of heat
what less known grows

in this land of sigh.

12/08 RJDuberg

Eventuality, a call for response

What if some relationships were free
sources of what is beyond the events
the horizons of relativity
makers of eventuality
the hum of the ho
the twist we'll always tell
has no reach but this question.

Science and religion are caught
but is art? The perception begs us
as that which cannot be thought.
Intuition and spirituality are spots
like pink elephants, flying anywhere.

Where is there? If it cannot be heard?
What comes of this transcedentalness
or any mystery eventually? Certainly,
what can make claims on it take aim
and are eventually sent along in force.

This mystery defies the entropic event
demands philosophical resolution
if not spiritual evolution or renewal.
And, all truth, is owing to this
which turns but itself is unturned.

Necessary, not eventual, can this much be said?
Is there any more to the puzzle of one's being?
Let this call be heard for all to submit theirs
Come give precision to this question, I ask.

Give us an empowering answer on eventuality, sir!?

~Once is Enough

When doing the dance again,
have your sole on the planet
in time to begin now instead.
Where you step to spin
illusion is but a friend
easing an imprisoned mind.

Harmony is the feeling
when we begin dancing
and find it’s always been
this dance never stopping.
Music that sings like Niagra
some mistake for the roar,
while the power whisks
like nothing else before.

And all that noise, all that sound
All those places to be found
Birds there, fly at the speed of sound
To show how it all began
they come from underground.

Isn’t the next natural disaster
just as likely a matter formed
not from a pesky butterfly
but from a move in behind
a noise at the speed of sound?

Around every corner
another chance there
not to the status quo
but to puzzle the mind.

Who knows what we’ll find
how much of our world
do we miss in the hiss
of our ignorant minds?

You’ll never get there from here,
if turning that corner
becomes a habit you like.
Right or wrong, logic sticks
like a ball and chain of prison.

Letting go must persist
if we are to be fully aware
of everything out there
in the perfect harmony.

To show how it all began
Birds came flying from underground
If you could see it then you’d understand
Oh, when you see it then you’ll understand.

2007, RJDuberg

There is some very close language in this to Coldplay's song, The Speed of Sound, which I wish to acknowledge. In fact, I wrote this poem with the purpose of it harmonizing with the lyrics of that song.

The Turn

Real heroism found in a consumer's package
is turned consumable by friction's heat
perfectly designed to hold its spin in balance.

What we eat, passes...
standards insuring health and taste
so the turn takes us from what degrades
leaving purity of the essence, a theory.

Spin will purposefully conceal the negative
in order to accentuate the positive.
So like racing into a fire is justice
when the child of innocence is there.

Those stories like the fastest vehicles
don't come without dangerous potentials
capable of putting one directly in harms way.
When justice cheats, anything is possible.

Unlike the flow of ordinary social life
the turns of justice are paradoxical challenges
under the radar of most understandings'
looking to validate judgement as righteous.

For the true heroes, how could their actions,
without doubt, awesome for being just,
ever be understood by interpretive mind?
Citations of precedence support illusion,
finite versions designed into legal rhetoric,
numbs precision of open curiosity
by substituting status and power, for choice,
reinforcing conformity and effective control.

Add humility to blindness, over the flames
of courage and heart. Justice comes
when acts appear as points of paradox, control spin
before it derails, and land injury before impact.

Making the turn of paradox happy
has no precedence
when by definition, anything is possible
so that man in his weakest condition
calls the shots without selfishness
precisely when selfishness precedes.
Justice knows no limit
able to stop all comers
who would rule the world.

That is doing justice,
the opportunity is an eternal choice.
Some are better at it than others,
they are the deified, the hero.
For the rest who feed and benefit
from their achievements,
dancing in the bend is a bumpy grind
as we stumble in the curve.

~D

Savin Gestaltin

What really amuses me
is the confusion, my best
friends take it from me
let me talk endlessly, I will.
Chatting by their confusion
on it, over it, through it, under-
standing but a_part of it all
fantasizing of my princess
named gestaltin, beauty
the ideal I adore.

Everything stops however
comes to an end exhausted.
still, remaining best friends
and; I, left solidly a part.
What pieces are these
then and now
if ever?

rj, 2007
in response to Nickelback's Savin Me, Susie's choice

With a Smile

Who came today while I was standing
surrounded by a garden, a playground
fun, beauty, and the green opportunity
it's my job to serve without deserving.

The reality of this existence pays me
lets my meanial work suffer an ecstasy
where life conforming to the mediocre
is traded a time for waggling paradise.

My job cleans away what travels along
coming in, going, coming out, I find
my purpose to separate what sticks
at the time, a sludge I love to hide.

Picking up what my mates let slide
somehow expands what only satisfies
a dance in harmony with cultivation
between the best in man with nature.

The planet came today with a smile.

(C) 2007, RJDuberg

Stream of Consciousness Poem - Lonely Press of Mine

Love to write of love,
to pen on absentia
proxy more than poetry
falls as cloud of feathers.

Words all pointing to being
from which they grew
and together somehow
plucked to fall and scatter.

Rapture or heartbreak
healing or celebration
conscious love is willing,
the core of music, who knew?

Before this aboding ends
some anathema arises
in fact two intervals occur
to divert or detour the love.

Self centered love ends
turning around sadness of loss
our one sacred gift, the sacrafice
an eternal scar remains for us.

(Writing for love is not
what is higher, pure feelt.
Standards and all rules
surround token in logic.)

As such, the copy feelt
usually defies the common,
negating understanding,
moving not but stranding.

The pain involved finds us
intrinsically absentia by proxy
the rise of human spirit
tests precisely one persistence.

When failing to make the turn
learning to expect future abyss
forgetting and calculating comfort
limitations and finite time to come.

Darkness grows ever more just then
If there is persistent opposing
painful proof of the old adage
shakes as dark, being worse when last.

We love and fail to communicate
while communicating is essential
and despite our understanding
we discover a bizarre incompetence.

Born of habituated need to judge
based on the edifice built by self
our capacity to love remains pain
until we end self-love's knowing reign.

The prick of this imprisoned existence
comes at the moment we forget not
that such higher states are given
to surrender, not achieved by plot.

This remembering of one's self
supported by separating knowing
from what is purely feelt
passes as space in a needle-eye.

To forget this and one's self
and to never quit accepting help
designed to wake one to not sleep
paradoxically succeeds just as well.

There are paths and ways to evolve
despite this poem's chaotic revelation
one cannot deny in closing with verse
ending as just adoring beautiful source.

If beauty takes a beholding eye, then
ugly basically is what passes us by
such that any notice recognizes justly
the consequence of our weak existence.

In truth, ugliness seen is beyond notice
like perceiving astrophysicist's black holes,
what in fact isn't seen is beyond seeing
and will never be seen, it's beauty no more.

Thus to write about love has equal footing
while love no more would spell our demise
our particular defect of sleep is mechanical
mental, emotional, physical, and instinctual.

Freedom from that known requires an edge
sharp enough, to cut through Gordian's knot
and a place to start as mentioned above
the sacred sorrow and death to self-edifice.

Realized as a possibility, the real work begins
for that moment of grace when gift is made
the glory for all those awake to accept it,
we prepare by increasing consciousness.

So it goes... this much I remember at least.
It helps not to judge anything, recognizing
role of logic in sustaining a safe beingness.
Uncorrupted, reason isn't feeling, as thought.

Ethically, proper reason is mediated by theory
the boundary between known and unknown
where limits express orders of chaos
the sine qua non encapsulated in roll of dice
which begs the most important spiritual issue,
being the work involved in reducing our evolution
based on luck, when lucky enough is not.

So, this is neither balanced composition
or in any rigorous measure, poetry.
Here are merely the ramblings of mine
looking even less prose for the stumbling.

Question remains of value about nature,
to suffice on extract and to cohere
into a concise statement for elucidation?
Or, like more useful bandages in general
ought the receptacle for these words
likewise be the same, including its hazards?


-rjd, 2007

Dubie Digits Logo

Dubie Digits

Not Tonight

That voice,
needing so much care
place, reason, enlightenment
period of time, craft, and structure.
The design of poetry trifles not.
Knowledge is just discord.
Desire is temptation.
There is no plot.
Not tonight.

Gift of Light and Vision

The things that are seen
speak against a flat roar
of grumbling backfires
heard as tick tock blows.

The definition of ethics lost
when fog rolled in to talk
a hypnotic, imperious yawn,
some vaporous devil's spawn.

The spirit of man died,
the devil takes no care
as the rush of stupidity
moves in like real estate.

Ethics is lost in listening
whatever gets said, gets said
all petty cracks foam the drift
a toxic doom fatal to the touch.

I donned my bib and gloves
and set my art upon this
surf by the paradox
to the fading light.

Fore! Playing through it all
is a matter of visual style
integrating grass with asphalt
mastering eternity's shore.

While this cloudscape remains
I'll not waste time in harbors
no ethical meaning could dock,
but chase stupid back to hell.

Still, I'll rest to moon whispers
on full nights you might hear me
to quickly, to make the time real
beautiful is given in light and vision.

rj, 2007

This was meant to give some perspective to my absence here and what I've been doing with my time, developing myself as a graphic designer. Clearly, there is some less than masterful shore definition within the container and it continues to be wanting with respect to concrete anchors and pillars to hold it in the listening.

Some things always change, and some never do!

Little Imperial Air

Merry Xmas from Imperial Beach

Sweet Move

Guardian of the Realm ~ Jones

Being Tubed at IB

IB Pier in the Cloud

Love IB Sunsets

sunset yesterday here in imperial beach, ca

~Sung Within Surreal

Not of time or place, this heart of mine
still beating as loud, this mystery of life
because good answers, a silent kind.

Death is coming for us, each day faster
challenging is our preserve, our purpose
religion made irony a fool for hypocricy.

I’ve been already and continue besides
asking myself how long maybe can take
against the innocent slaughtered by god.

Straining against the mechanical decibel
has always been a humming that’s mine
a wrap against the elements sung within.

(c) August, 2006, RJDuberg

~How This Heart Continues

Late nights trouble me
I lose track of time
how long ago was it
when fall began
the world left to me
in the ruins of my heart

Doctor attended my survival
but nothing has changed.
How this heart continues
I'd rather not say, can't;
especially late at night
when life craps this way.

Those I love, so far away.
Men not allowed to whine.
Lonely and abandoned...
Would it have helped a child?
Back then as I began
the ignorance was bliss.

Now I'm accused of being a child.
An old guy does childish things
absentmindedly racing by time.
I feel less than way back then.
The spiritual quest didn't fail.
I awoke in a fall from grace.

Women were always a mistake
I'm obsessed over the love lost.
The pain warns me of my ego.
It's my life, it's my right to wake
on this flight more an aftermath
of waiting that's killing outright.

Knowing worse in the world
doesn't stop an iota of pain.
The wings that kept me aloft
were mythological and rotten
adding insult to the injury
of time lost in coming horror.

The dawn inflates my facade.
I know pretenses that please
despite how bitter the taste
invoked by other's whatever
like Sharapova tennis reruns
virtual power by image elite.

I have been waiting too long
for me not to whine about
how my heart continues.
I am forced to make a move
though there's no reason to.
The paradox screws tighten.

(c) September, 2006

~Eve's Secret

Why agonize over it?
The assumed quintessential source of man's pain
cannot be balanced by what makes his life fun
cannot be looked at with her cynical eye lash
from shadows of myth or mirth in rebellion.

The rib, the crux, the bone, the point of wars
men know all too well her move behind doors
her worth and the stakes that fools bleed on
if a lady would extend me her great patience
women are not men's rival or defective genius
wrecking happiness by temptation over desire.

To consider her origin, let us ignore a secret
women act competitive provoking unhappiness
their karma distancing them from this shore
where they must return this honorable desire
stepping here is a goddess' right of passage
the alternative is hope's unthinkable death.

The secret of eve is the challenge of love
man's possibilities evolve in proportion
to the heart of synchronicity, with another.
So dear Lady, men are inversely your magic
and your presence gives essence its beauty
that imperfections like Satan get cast out.

Freedom needs you to be free next to me
It's time you come home so I may survive
otherwise these creeps that surround me
will be my deminse on this sea of outrage
Could you be anymore feminine in mercy
when you step here to end love's isolation?

© 2006, RJDuberg

~Watching Grass Grow

ahhhhhhh, ummmmm, many things can be realized together
and this abundance is ironic and honestly a true misfortune.
Internalizing and understanding take time to circle yoga,
a quiet place to watch the grass grow and do catch up
with folksy music, old celtic lyrics sublime, Nicks sometimes.

With the result being future integrity's renewed compass
expands the perception in a higher more intimate plane.
Too many cooks spoil the festive grassy ground's growing.

ii.

When upon returning to the scene
of the first encounter with this theme
If your honesty is bright and real
You will find precise festivity
grown between your ears by memory.

For what is this growth in perspective
but a revealing and correction
And for the curious hint seekers
what can a cook do with a compass?

(c) copyright, July 2006, RJDuberg

~Improv This

To let the mind imagine anything
with a push pull rod connecting
the mystery of life to its living

this moment.

Very rarely can poetry make due
on the gift received we eschew
where illusions reveal this you.

Still, there is so much missing.

July 2006, RJDuberg

(c) July 2006, RJDuberg

~In The Dead Men's Chest

The first time I felt true love has remained
a high water mark atop my Everest peak.
My stand, with 360 degrees in love horizon
wasn't without its cold spot or great needs.
Unprepared, I stood destined for the falter
now fallen, I struggle to regain that ground.

Simply closing my harbor to reckless illusions,
staying committed to remembering myself,
applying lessons that stood the test of time,
keeping hope and faith distinct and apart.
For what hope desires, faith has not a basis.
Adapt to changing times is infinitely better.

The ambiguity I face to peak's preparation
compared to a one memory of being there
vanishes in immensity of starry light passion
whose twinkling silenced clambering fright
from spoiling the awesome truth I realized.
And then I fell to memories failing in decline.

My preparation sunk in blasts of resignation
with legend pointing at dead men's chest.
Life is a drama of pirates battling undead,
ghosts, represent surreal absence of light.
Though imaginary interpretation of normal
they express mystery's lament under peak.

On the fall, on the way down, they remind
if we are able to keep awake for the call
our new position in the universe in reverse
is the possibility for being alive totally in love
our basis for a faith returning hope to a chest
owned by dead men, cursed by faith in disguise.


(c) July 2006, RJDuberg

~Wakes of The Void

Jobless is a circumstance concluding in dangerous boredom.
Love seduced my soul before I knew the scourge of denial.
It ruined my life, stole my compass and sanity, in a flash to go.
I'm lucky somehow, despite being violined by maudlin romance
I continue to remember what was taken before being ready.

So powerful is true love it serves the purest opposite negative
when not guided and ruled over by higher conscious men,
and it is here where I have found the greatest divide
between dogma and pragmatic satisfactions I've applied.
Very few see to that distant far shore across dogma's plane
having its own horizon for lower perspectives, most will forget.
Those lacking access to such principals to contain soul's fount
encounter the worst liability to being alive in an ongoing grind
where souls could play lube and bearing over dying moments.

I've tried to stop the process of mind seeking solutions to find
it continues I suppose until my romantic soul, my muse is mine.
Intuition tells me the doors are locked and the guards are deaf
rendered blind to any impression resembling me from that time.
I've reached hard into the world for guidance without success
and I'm at the hilltop where knowing my limits and failure in fact
confronts me as the downside pulling me back forward to anew.

The best of times, the purest hearts in love with just being alive
The celebration was a raging roaring conflagration which engulfed
leaving the deepest imprint and causing me to face my oblivion.

To accept and share with any reader the fruit and wisdom here
requires one to understand a moment and precisely how temporary it is
at once the result and production of time, and how they vanish
and this vanishing is life today, This moment, anything, knowledge
is just a bubble of consciousness which is about to burst and dissolve.

Always and forever, this moment now, has and always will kill you.
Whether in memory, or in grim finality, this moment has one purpose
aimed at cessation, to die, to lose momentum's form, to end as totality.

This time, leaves us now. Please honor and observe wakes of a void.

June 2006, RJDuberg

~Of Sky

Must be too much time on my hands
and lost love from some urgent land
that makes memory prick of a plague.
An illness of recurrence, sad sashays
when someone was listening thunder,
our hearts resonating, so far beyond
the beautiful opening flower of sky.

(c) copyright, June 2006, RJDuberg

~Acrimony is a Midlife State of Mind

The tragedy of my being haunts me
and increasingly takes more from me
now cresting my midlife point I seethe
over the invariable moments of what
in my youthful innocence was a strut
seductively about life, an ignorant slut.

Resting upon this horrific peak of time
knowing pricelessness lost to its crime
I understand man's rise from the slime.
This mystery plagued me well then
and what I lost remains deep within
the memories making in me a wind.

Cold and bitter, biting into my soul
I exist humble on knees feeling slow
this wind of memory a ruthless mow.
Despite my acrimony over my plight
mystery, hope and beauty are right
together fusing into an inspired light.

A man is surely defined by his action
yet remember winds of complication
most strongly felt as a midlife vexation.
These times are perhaps the most difficult
For one remembers what did not result
when opportunity met this cluster phuck.

copyright (c) June 2006, RJDuberg

~Ways of The Call

The moments in life which produce a feeling
more intense than any other, we call the way.
During total movements hear spirits ringing,
calls of the most unique and singular kind
one almost has no choice but to have faith.

If the idea itself my laughter left light and dry;
The above and I would be solid, down to deal.
It doesn't mean I don't listen and learn though.
Intellectual trust is special human gift to start
and it alone exists, the suffering of spirit.

So, I don't cast my pearls before the swine
but think Jesus is genius for pointing it out
with one of his many catchy shizzl jingles.
I have one grand exception for the record
but it begs the question, they all call away.

(c) May 24, 2006, RJDuberg

~How Does It Feel?

In love with you, made tightrope a view
strung up and listing over some four years.
Not one chance, no truth made evident
while you kept my attention in fixed crisis
little yips to shake me back on the stage
to play with your great facade of a shell.

For my own delusions, I was your #1 fan
and would have kept the faith for love.
All that talk of needing time and healing
turned out as hollow as your black heart
as the years brought the opposite about,
your increasingly poor judgement of love.

That last shrill projection struck as insanity.
Imagine love that wants to knock on you
only because it stopped honestly sharing.
Telling me unkindly to get professional help
defied my ability to maintain your illusion.
How does it feel to cheat love for your hell?

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~The Clueless Grind

Running through this scene again
making up time for a greater plan
to get back the mistakes I made
after I lost my way and one brigde.
That power is my stumbling block
an intermittant awareness howl
for when it's off I recall, but a whiff
and the ferocity of spirit took.

There are certain events which help.
Certainly music like Rock n Me Baby,
extreme danger or attack by illness.
Here in the middle of life, all is passing
so fast, faster today, faster tomorrow.
There's no way to catch this stream
except by intellect and a slowdown
yet I'm tired with the clueless grind.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~Legend of Silence

After the dust, there
where time disappears,
truth waits for the true
in clearing that is real.

My selfish pins pinning,
brake, a broke rendevouz
as sadness remembering
in a burning skid from hell.

Hopeless deniablity comes
with Lucifer singing along
unmuzzled with our misery,
the voice that speaks wrong.

May your spirit listen now
and heed this revelation
about the legend of silence
over love leaving us behind.

Accept no lies about it
and let a skidding break
end, for choice of destiny
begins and ends with that.

As love renews our world.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~The Door's Door

Morrison's beach fire made band of light
and in his mad intoxicated spiritual haze
saw illuminated within a world with doors
This vision door boosting a mystical pass.

Today we work to pass recombinant DNA.
Science's answer to Jim's wildfire problem.
Just as The Doors made ruin into an art
GE will ruin evolution and nature will lie.

Yes, there are voices of alarm and caution
just as voices around Jim spoke back then.
We had need, his madness warmed us
enough, and a locked door kept him on.

It isn't enough to complain and exclaim
until those hearing can return in urgency
if only to confirm life remains truly lock free
correctly evolving on a dead-lock counter.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

More on Consciousness

Today saw the convergence of interest and encounter regarding neuronal space and I shall comment what for me matters most in my understanding.

A very clear illustration was presented in the current Scientific American Today on the physiological process associated with pain producing corresponding awareness. There was given a classical Newtonian description, scientifically verified down to the molecular level. This level is biochemical and based on electromagnetism at the subatomic level which requires quantum mechanics to calculate and begin to quantify. For my purposes, let us simply understand that our physiology posesses the ability to channel bio-electrical signals up our neurological stem into our cranial matrix we call our brain wherein our consciousness "has pain." Also, realize the speed is not instantaneous and thus there exists a measurable delay between real-time and our consciousness our sensory signalling in response. While we witness our world its important in order to negate the illusion to understand that what we witness is precisely out of phase and at best a quantum echo and nothing more. (Giving rise to Plato's Cave and our mistaking the shadows on the wall for reality)

First and most important is to distinguish between these signals ( all of them not just those signaling pain ), the neuronal space (which is the integration and maintains the "living life's" integrity on a functional level, and consciousness.

What Jim Morrison was a visionary for supports the mind's comprehending the infinite mystery or limit to our ability to measure and ultimately detect or describe how little we actually know of true reality given everything we sense combines to be nothing more than an electrical matrix of signaling taking place in our neuronal space after the fact.

No amount of useful syngergistic proposing will satisfy via the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That is NOT an answer, although it defines synergy quite nicely. Consciousness cannot be reduced to synergy. Nothing can in fact, and while this does not invalidate consciousness since those of us that are awake and conscious know who we are, what it does do is drive a stake into the heart of the content and the truth about it. The world we can sense must be recognized as unreal.

If one realizes that our link to the real world is defined by this matrix, in light of the irrefutable facts we must recognize that the world we live in is an illusion which our consciousness somehow manufactures as its content, drivenas it were somehow by the signal matrix.

How is this possible, just how imprisoned our we in this framework, and negating the bias presents us with what new possibilities. Just what can be said meaningfully in the knowledge that what we are aware of but a very small piece of the reality bandwith and then by remote and very imperfect facimilie? Given the quality of this illusion we take as reality what does that say about reality itself and when are we going to muster the critical mass necessary for the will to realize a means to directly encounter that instead of this?

This is a rabbit hole from wonderland though and the quality of our life being a relation to an illusion manufactured from a matrix of signaling neurons extends into our entire cognitive life dow this wellspring of confusion and limitation. Thus was the famous proposition by Plato regarding Ideal Forms given a foundation in reason however, to give a cue to the depth of the hole. What we consider perfectly valid notions and abstractions are just as much a reproduction of the real as our tactile sensory awareness in our conscious experience.

There are many questions which can be raised at this point and I suggest they all have merit and are worth "chatting about" as it were. I would be happy to have related discussions or join entirely different ones as well.

thank you for reading,
Rj

~A Poem about my Mom this Mother's Day 2006

Poise of Moon

She consumes your world
granite oceans to sky passions
her fuel, as light from darkness
into a shining jewel, her smile.
You pass her by but do not see
but the path faintly, her need.

I feed her, I embrace and heal her
awakening finally, weakly cursing
to see this largest of magnificences
poised, this world's only true heir
an angel fire lighting your night,
waiting to digest your every misery.

I'm a fool for her mooness blossom
I must attend now to her every one.
Her orb so brilliant to see, a mystery
reflecting more love from all eternity.

'Tis there reflected, the true mystery!
And there, to find, our immortality.

© Dec 1999, RJDuberg

revised this Mother's Day 2006 for mom

~Encapsulation of Leary's Limits

Innocence, OK?
Ignorance a shame.
Love to recall all
from the very start
immortal,
and a god.

(c) RJDuberg, May 2006

~Color of Light

Emily Dickinson
remembered the fly
before she died.

Ignorance, eternal and
innocent, remembered
science, forsooth.

MOM's liquid voice
was my recall
born with a heart.

One lover of mine
remembered for now
makes this worthwhile.

The sparkle of mind
remembered all that
and what, in time.

Dreams of Future's delight
remembered,
make color of light.

© May 2006, RJDuberg

The Furry Q

Drink Merrily

Here in the not here is calling I say.
Fit but untried and unseen I am.
Christ cried forsakenly,
yet truth was and is given.
Never surrender freedom,
the ward against unbeing,
and all things boogiefying.

Here, sing with me,
drink merrily my tears,
and touch light with light.

(c) 2006 RJDuberg

While Virus Attacks I Make Funny Noises

The truth never arrived through the front door.
It has always been waiting for us round the back.
Where some notice, in a blinding flash by swivel.
Chaos and power conjoin influences in this sway
across eternity's distances defining a balance.

Separating truth from that trauma inside out
is our choice and choosing keeping well in place
but not the corrupt sir, or the sucking of care
for we all care, driven by beating love for life.
No arguing with results, reading this proves it.

Loving life is our given for which debt is soul.
Nothing raises what purely evolves as human
but source of truth revealed in press of inquiry.
The answer we finally note, as blindness ensuing
is elegantly summed, positively put, by negation.

The other direction comes upon this one to meet.
A meeting extinguishing the Void with paradox
where that which is distinct dances to perfect
possibilities evolving existence of humanities.
By his sacrafice of leaden awareness man lends
only support he's able with import inquiry offers.

Being stuck in chaos after that flash of blindness
may be primary cause of all our early expirations.
That here always is this, all and everything to us.
And, death is a fact of our living reversed in end.
Rational faith extends truth this coherent paradox.

(c) copyright, April 2006, RJDuberg

-Not very poetic, expresses honesty of criticism, whatever. My success is that in the beginning when I attempted to write a poem and turned out something like this which was not an entirely different but yet influenced by, I was there and still was moved with understanding my own language somehow a cryptograph of reality if not deeper meanings.

It's so very beautiful here today, and in the midst of it all my system is crashing with a very nasty and insistent virus keeping the flow from its normal freedom and unfettered spaces.

I would have liked more for this poem, I know there's at least another half unwritten which belongs here somehow, and I will simply close to say that truth you'll find in the cracks of what veneer is left over after the burn subsides from flash of blindness .

Another Imperial Beach Swell

High Def Doggie

Journal

Last night I heard a story of infidelity from someone who then talked to their spouse on their cell phone, forgot to end the call, and proceeded to continue speaking on their transgression while the spouse listened in.

Nothing ever turns out the way you want it to or think that it should.

Writing, especially poetry is becoming harder and harder to do. It's very difficult to even begin and I haven't written a poem in ages.

I'm watching Adaptation and appreciating its breadth and range of applied technique expressed brilliantly. What is brilliant then? There are standards, methods, and that sort of rigamarole, but what is brilliant to me is precision expressed through the storyline. Middle of the road, is always adviseable, but brillant as long as the road is not cliche.

Recapitulation for me in which I have relived my history eventwise has revealed some odd sensorial memories regarding smell which I never remember otherwise even when I access associatively on purpose. Why is that? Smells escape our intellectual associative memory framework somehow, yet when recapitulating, a memory of a particular smells comes write in and is unmistakeable. This is of course the hallmark of recapitulating, the power of attention given to one's memory which somehow transports one's conscious awareness into the past in a way so as to have more than the memory but to relive the moment.

There is a separation between the experience and the awareness, and one's conscious awareness becomes self aware in the process of remembering a moment not present. This defies logic and is yet another mystery, not observable in others.

But what it all comes down to in the final analysis is all about action. So then, what action do I need to take now to support what I action I need to take today. What actions are successful and effective? Mostly, people have already committed to their agenda, but the trick becomes magic when they or you or I can assume some new action in that agenda without limitation or having the action item destroy our agenda's foundation or MO, if you will.

The subject of attraction and what we do to gain another's interest and attention, etc., is somehow kept fresher and more potent by a sustained mysteriousness which obsessing or analysis degrades, leading to a fullscale disintegration. Yet, once having accomplished this disintegration, one lives with the scar and may forever live hearing the echoes and speculative nuance when confronted with new possibilities of attraction and romantic discovery.

Today the Mood Changer

Another Infinity

Pigeon Posse in Imperial Beach

What do you do when you can't find the words to express what you're feeling? In the past, I've always relied on confidants or therapists to help me talk myself through to some resolution or better day. At least that was their purpose in my life. It remains unresolved for me whether this is effective or whether talking with people whose only real purpose is to "pretend"or "present" a particular listening for you or I, whether that doesn't just create another entirely different set of issues. I spent years taking advantage of the so called "help" and then a few years back I suddenly started avoiding them and closing their access.

Close or intimate relationship with another person though brings with it this form of communication however on a more genuine level and having been denied that recently (rejected may be the more appropriate term) has really impacted my balance and center, turning me even more introspective and a degree or more less confident and insecure. The genuine form of the intimate connection I'm talking about does express real value which forms something truly real and living in our hearts and souls as human beings.

Any upset or damage to bonds or relationships like that, I think have the potential of complete ruin and the disintegration of our "sense of self" or ego. The only real strategy for coping with this possibility is to diversify oneself as well as one can without stretching one's emotional being too thin and thus creating a whole other set of problems and breakdowns. And, surely for me, at this point in my life, forcing myself to focus on group support and group networking, socially speaking seems to be the best antidote and aid for keeping a more positive attitude and anticipation for the future.

Certainly, the axiom that nothing is as important in life than having positive anticipation for the future, remains intrinsically valid. Especially in a situation like this, when a person could go round and round trying to analyze the breakdown which is complete and past now. A very hard process to go through. I offer my sympathy and support for anyone who understands what I've shared out of having their own first hand experiences.

Yesterday from North Pier Imperial Beach, Hoorah!

Attempt to Articulate

In the deepest musical resonations
that matter to one, to me, to you
what exists there has always been
a dream, like you, then and now
a song that hurts with a longing.

For awhile, you seemed to speak
what I have felt as lost in sorrow
brought back with joy and love
in your magnificence I listened
only to realize tragedy progress.

Attempt to articulate this horror
finds no landing except blame
for there is nothing that expresses
that direct and in line with mine.
A confused attempt to articulate.

Feb 19, 2006, RJDuberg

My Beach Looking Like a Reef

Surfer in IB Sunset

Analysis of Q(x)=Eu

Calculate a result in terms of the achievement of X amount of Energy in units(u) which completes and satisfies the highest relevant purposeful goal. Hold cultural variance constant, IE spirituality, factors of ecology and evolution.

Analyze effort to result, and remember that every moment of our lives are determined higher levels consciousness developed for effective and efficient repetitions of this analysis in REAL TIME as is appropriate to the harmony and happiness of our life and experience.

Without an exact and complete vision of the possibilities and potentials combined with a will to act, what happens in our lives is determined by accident and our overall mechanicalized boundaries.

With success as developing beings we witness the true payment humanity was created for fulfilling. Next to all the variable dimensions and factors in this process is mankind's isolation from higher ruling faculties, and his enslavement by ignorance and stupidity.

When measures result in a certain state in man, an unfolding and rebirthing of that man takes place from which a germination of free will is incubated and given essence and being requiring a paradoxical reversal of polarity along functional dimensions, such as attention.

Regardless of the depth and complexity of this topic, a truly essential scope is termed simply Know How Much Your Willing to Pay for "THIS" and whether or not you would stake your life on producing a precise transaction in the universe. All that given and considered, those who thrive within this challenge are my heroes ad infinitum infinity or eternity forever.

(c) Rjd, 1/2006

Not Hope, Nor Hip Cynicism, but Better Day Today.

Recent yesterdays defy darkest imagination as they were and have begun to fade in their recidivism.

Sun Rays Forever

Meeting the Strays

My little flying doggy on the beach this AM after I pulled out the following two strophes reaching on cryptic legs that seem unlike doggy's but rather mired in quicksand, a destiny like that of a dump.

Well anonymous schmonymous
I'll not have strange minds
asking my dimwit a dime
when we've not the time.

Though talent unfurled in you
reminds me to curl the torrent
before I ride that broncness
and what snakeyes mean.

Beach Found in IB

When asked all I could say was 'puff of smoke?'

Glad 2005 over!

~Running Down a Moment

... is to carry a fire extinguisher
for deadly melt of self and some
a voiding transforming ~ rise.

Thank you, to luck
means what, to you
on Christmas Day
before the New Year.

The religious warring ,
factions of terrorism ,
or oppressed tourism
if you want, no matter.

Who want to charge
have ceased to exist.
Pop culture is-a low lie
tho- in light possibility.

There's tragic progress ,
our own bridges to right ,
as forever stone remains
the anchors of our floors.

My floor incessantly wonders
about yours a lot too much
and about how things turn ,
pitch, and roll into oblivon.

Remember the Bandit!!
Fastest in our southwest
ever there was anywhere.
Rest in peace? I wonder now.

Yesterday is our greatest lie ,
Here isn't desired anymore ;
No truer challenge must be
than the promise of afterlife.

RJDuberg, 12/2005

~Distinctly Different

Pulling yourself through
stiffest unforgiving
opposition
is all you can do.

What I want is what I got,
no more no less
and it is NOT my duty
despite my choice.

The moment this changes
the language proceeding
is toxic harm recognized
and personal pain arises.

Key to integrity of desire,
the peace and happiness,
is understanding flip sides,
their shadows' essence.

Backs to other dimensions
leave one ignorant, a fool.
Keeping all sides in mind
produces clearer moments.

Active search and records
testing one's education
in this case, intellect
makes spin, the distinction.

Over time, spin's moment
seen from its integral
resets stepwise focus.
Back and forth, pulls you.

That way allows words
for the self, to neutralize
itself through no desire.
Remembering shadows.

Look at the differential,
Identify what you have.
Think out everything else
grateful for what's given.

Otherwise, by day's end
hope for a new dawn
falls past the fading light
lost in darkest shadows.

It's the end of the year.
I'm writing Santa Claus.
I heard he was magic
satisfying joyful desire.

The action fascinates
by its minimalist mode
every item on the list
another degree of self.

What you are is listening.
The world remains behind
while the universe shines
to free us all from gravity.

(c)~Dec'05 RJDuberg

~Saying The Love of Spiritual Grace

The grace is known fully
by transformed listening
alpha and omega will kiss
in manifest unity, on the most
divine sexuality, spirit blessed.

The infused gross energy complete
in clearest meanings possible
paradox transpires to transparent.
The sweetest kind of mystery
unthought, yet being of radiance,
existence, intrinsic and essential.

The force faith wants not
its mustard steamy hot,
perfection without constraint,
truth without mental delusion.
This share made for us only
an infinite universe made intimate.

And in return all I ask and need is...
That, my beloved values and holds up
what happenstance of process meaningfully
to what is most worthy and unforgettable.
Failing that harm not for love's sake.

(rough TBR)
(c) 10/2005, RJDuberg

Being Done

Spiritual scripture sold to the world
gets easier to digest for every do over
we think along lies mothers got over us
after screeching in pain over a childbirth.

Our relief is seed to illusions unquestioned
our passing on the masculine viewpoint
denied value for its intrinsic detachment
yet necessary for seat of great paradox.

Silence of men responding to femininity
is greatest use of a gender's forgiveness
whereby her finish finds a sweet blossom
breathing fulfilled what fragrant love airs.

(c) 10/2004, RJDuberg

Breath Fulfilled

Spiritual scripture sold to the world
gets easier to digest for every do over
we think along lies mothers got over us
after screeching in pain over a childbirth.

Our relief is seed to illusions unquestioned
our passing on the masculine viewpoint
denied value for its intrinsic detachment
yet necessary for seat of great paradox.

Silence of men responding to femininity
is greatest use of a gender's forgiveness
whereby her finish finds a sweet blossom
breathing fulfilled what fragrant love airs.

(c) 10/2005, RJDuberg

A Break From Depression

I know the greatest need
and also my failure indeed
to honor and love intrinsic.

Once, in a great while, inspiration
arrives meterorically, a find
appearing free of time; noteworthy.

Best cliche is stereotypically grand
the missing link synthesizes holistic
alignment and reveals inner light.

More complicated than a jig saw puzzle
the key element fits uniquely
an interface connecting the knowns.

Knowledge transcends interface then,
through some magic concourse
providing consciousness its moment.

Then, and I predict again now
time somehow reasserts its evil,
erasing what grip grabbed so well.

Left relieved of power and forgetfull
our reason continues on higher
our understanding more articulate.

The reality of life less confused, is
smaller, simpler, if still mysterious too
to gain ever more respectability.

Balance, begins blooming brightly
by itself and in the myriad
this alone calms me now.

For I am weak, but desire you
as beauty abounds in the world
you are beauty's best moment.

I know the highest lofts of praise
only suggest what the eye blinks
of character beheld intrinsically.

This language is more effective
as a listening, even as I write
as I must, I seek to reconcile.

In my higher consciousness
presence purifies the great
the spiritual supreme manifest.

Simplicity equates to the slightest
any and all details harmonize
revealing a resonant truth.

May I reconcile with your grace
I wish to liberate my self
and embrace the love infinite.

How do I continue and keep awake
I've already failed, quite asleep
here with my endless listing need.

(c) 10/2005, RJDuberg

~Rememberibg II

Remembering Her II

The dreaming is the being, deliciously
imagining means feliciously beyond
in abstract acts of power and hidden.

Your knowledge makes persistence
a counter weight called agreement
so insight will be given fairest wisdom.

Feeling transits across the realm of self
providing the great portal of mystery
yet true, pure, as the original instant.

Perhaps irony needs fly gerund to say
remembering her is the great gravity.

© August 2005, RJDuberg

Remembering Her

i.
The music is no less vital to remembering you,
the glory for which goddesses get their fame,
my middle age has little more than the years
accomodating the impressive vision you were
so very long ago, yet born again in daily mass.

A memory so grand I have been days on end
to wake up, eventuality insists, in your absence
and nothing in my life approaches a withdrawl
as much as this return to reality defines a fright
no other mechanism or process has ever in life.

© 2005, rjduberg

050517 - Ugly Neon IIb

050517 - Ugly Neon IIb
Originally uploaded by IBinSUN.

Playing around in Photoshop

Between This and That

This twirling finger of mine
dancing on the wind outside
my freeway motor:fa-(çade
a play to the source of power
where calculus spells amaze.

While finger fantasy is pure fun
some actually say they fly when
they fall, free from a plane, a rock
flies then just as much, likely as not.
The difference, if sought, is grace.

© 4/16/2005, RJDuberg

Yours, Friend

 Yours, Friend

I go where my friends are
not often alone to join the fray.
I have more than one circleas such, to enjoy throughout 
the day. The difference to running
are limits to learning, and quicker age.

In a pause of contemplation
the trade off seems extreme.
My self reckons purity alone,
time stands still in my attention
Everything I sense shifts from points
to wave patterns that span frequency

My vision appears in a gaze
dazzled by a smile, 
you send me.

Can’t, won’t, couldn’t know
how to deny myself that friend.
I break free of myself for love
finding freedom itself beautified
woven greatly to enrich this life.
With gratitude I am yours, friend.


© 4/9/2005, RJDuberg
© 4/9/2005, RJDuberg
© 4/9/2005, RJDuberg 

Sung Within

Not of time or place, this heart of mine
still beating as loud, this mystery of life
because good answers, a silent kind.

Death is coming for us, each day faster
challenging is our preserve, our purpose
religion made irony a fool for hypocricy.

I’ve been already and continue besides
asking myself how long maybe can take
against the innocent slaughtered by god.

Straining against the mechanical decibel
has always been a humming that’s mine
a wrap against the elements sung within.

© 3/23/2005, RJDuberg

Morrow's Lament

The fresh smell sprang
inward notes that rang
across my range of love.

The dust of age, derailed…
a spring glitter light unsailed
death to dance in bromide.

Pain left this, a strange sorrow
morrow’s ungraced elegance
in voice lamenting innocence.

The call to never, at last
imprisons an emptiness,
a bloody failure of reason.

Life lies in essence
and the truth is beyond
the remaining crumbling
aims, lost in direction.

© 3/17/2005

Castaneda Untitled

“The problem for you as a challenge is whether or not you will be capable of developing your will, or the power of your second attention to focus indefinitely, on anything you want.” - Carlos Castaneda, The Second Ring of Power


No stopping this, my entity observed as a process
has always had me, my life is right until now
without a way to completely word it.
Rather despite every effort and result
so far, seeming to obscure and obliterate
this true flowing of process defines au natural.

Short events of clarity do nothing, in fact calm
by an evocation in spirt that allows evil chaos
to return expanding fully its utopian negations.
Left unattended, forgotten mediocrity rules life
dramatically enough to inspire myths of mystery
while willful resistance is friction making possibility.

The haze of the gaze has my droll drooling now
my mediocrity red line bottoms in short spurts
while the wretched struggle splashes cooler.
This totality worded, leaves that flow, onward.
Impeccable perception reflects pure actions
beyond but bringing magical collaborative unity.

Bits and pieces, kibitz deceives to please us.
All style points awarded and prizes given.
Real men buy better, women win the credit.
Underneath assessments and all contrariness
the flow is everyone’s worst fear imaginable
self words cannot conceive nor understand it.

© 2/24/2005, RJDuberg

The Wash

He/She sparring repartee always leaves man bloody until he sees and understands he can only be friends with women who already are in love with another, not himself.

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