Wednesday, August 15, 2012

American Poetry by Bob Atkinson

American Poetry
(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

everybody feels the world by touch
a different texture, different cuts
diverse ways to see the sights
some feel kindness, their given right

some feel pain in every move
some deliver hardship, acting foolish
protoplasm of evil construct
devoted to composed destruction

battles good and new directions
face of ever changing projections
guilt and pride in the same thought
living out their quiet hopes

age old struggles haven't changed
direction constant, forever strained
toward what and where, not in our sights
only live out our given desires

simple by nature, reflex directing
all we are and who we hang with
why we do that we do in life
why we set selfishness in our sights

American Poetry reflects this all
yet behind hard covers, hard to tell
poets who write and see only dollars
give humanity not their free poems

they hold their works published in
vacuum of sales to family and friends
and claim distinction not really earned
gives them not credentials, merely saddle burrs

search for poetry on the line
you'll find not much more than mine
only content easily mustered
comes from distinguished, both dead and dusted

here's the challenge to all who hear
let us create some poetry here
content displayed for all to see
most important of all, should be free

those who have these false credentials
need to improve on their essentials
carry to the public something
which may or may not provide discovery


do they fear open discussion?
or
do they not possess real compassion?
does their form not fully function?
are they self-absorbed and crusty?

can't give openly their artistic side?
freely distributed to become archived
that soul of man we hold as our hearts
set out in plain sight for all to ponder

those of today
and 
those we can dream
those who develop schemes

those who hold humanity close
and those who need guidance
us normal folks

 I only laugh violently
whenever someone else decrees
themselves a poet of some note
when nothing's free of which they wrote

The Dance by Bob Atkinson

The Dance
(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

music played emotions swayed
as people danced with lust
forgetting cares of their lives
was worries they had tossed

friend and foe and family
came together as if just one
a night of dancing to the tunes
Henry played his bagpipe songs

take me back to those old days
when beyond trees I wouldn't look
no deepness in my inner feelings
past those of summer breezes

celebration with my peers
those with whom I grew up proud
destroyed feelings of remorse when I
carried sword to the battleground

people here and now with me
are all I care of the living
beyond those hills may be seen
broad, stout horrors brimming

tonight I'll woo my honey
reservations thrown to the winds
forever letting harsh life's trauma
bow down to these good friends

American Poet by Bob Atkinson

American Poet
(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

tell the tales of no regret
tell them with your heart
tell them truly all you feel
before you this world depart

tell the truth in all you write
try to find how emotions
hold a mirror to their souls
for change of inner devotion

describe the tightened chains
which bind us closely to our brothers
then breaks us free of all constraint
in the name of progress cautious

wander over time and thoughts
years gone by with those who had
fought the battles of their times
which made them alive or dead

marvel at ones who held
your imagination in its place
and gave you feelings of pride
or sometimes such gentle shame

put all these thoughts in words
so another might possess
strength and purpose for all time
combined with quiet gentleness

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Fourth Wall by Bob Atkinson


The Fourth Wall
(c)2012 Bob Atkinson
just ran over an article
about trouble on a continent
the Hutu's fighting Tutsi's
or some other bloody argument

horrors created by submission
no morality in the gut have they
people slicing people with
machetes or with foul gun play

parallels our problems here
with drugs and gangs and such
politicians bought and paid for
with money and with lust

have in our own towns
so many problems to correct
don't need all this social distraction
produced by violence of the sick

well, 
we have many resources
2.1 million souls for one
ready to do their work
by pointing a rusty gun

we can invade the continent
place our flag on fertile soil
build a prison with stone walls
to give our jailbirds homes

could save lots of money by
building only three walls for them
with strong containment on three sides
fourth open to freedom's wind
fourth wall won't be as hard to build
a foot high is good enough, I'd think
no barbed wire, fences or armaments
just an open freedom gate to quit

see a problem with our stance of late
some wish to live their own way loud
seeking to utilize violence as a tool
while system manipulating unbounded

for only barbarity can provoke
expanded power of weak minded twits
thrashing fully any hope of resolution
to follow this play with eloquence

dollar meant more to them
than safety of someone's mom
a wicked way of conduct among
those contained within the throng

if they need to behave this way
no need to keep them from
their peers who see it their way
or detain them from a free run

doing that sewn in their heart
doing what we feel bad at home
no need to bury them in walls
or some overcrowded dorm

place them near their brethren
be kind to one and all
let them live with those people
who think violence a rightful cause

let them feel how we feel
seeing violence used wrongly
let them live among their friends
and die by their own rule of anarchy

would cower in their weakness
wetting leg when others take
from them their lives or money
without that safety cage

see them babble when
opposed by another just as strong
see them leave their wetness
on the pavement stones

from them no safe world of rules
anarchy replacing ordered thought
satisfied their dire need to thrash, and
match their mind's disordered process

most feel a need to stay among
the gentle lot those civilized
people who, advanced in mindset don't
propagate more wrongs than rights

some protect these heathen souls
say we should treat them nicely
breeds an attitude immensely sick
preys on the innocent nightly

I say to anyone who protects
these less than human souls
blood of the innocent
is in your hand to hold

say also to those who take
to the street with clubs
you'll be joining with your friends
if mother's words you shun

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Secret Element to Success by Bob Atkinson



Secret Element to Success
(c)2012 Bob Atkinson
tried and true methods
seem more than they appear
taking with them attention
away from that sincere

tantalizing as they glisten
they mean not all they show
stabs the green banana
you know where that goes

first and fundamental
to this worthy prize
comes attention to the deed
that masters as it flies

a quick and dirty profit
from screwing all your friends
returns those favors many times
as they peel off your top skin

same goes with those you
don't really know so well
always returned, the favor
good or bad with interest paid

focus, lately, diverted to
what works, no matter how
it fits into the moral scheme
describing our human shell

can we be kind to others
or, do others not matter much
do we wish to see ourselves
as people, or merely puppets