Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Ancient Tales - by Bob Atkinson

Ancient Tales
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

ancient tales of conquest tell us
stories which we do for lust
to captivate a common hardship
powdering goodness with pixie dust

puts our evolution aligned
like herring swimming in a school
taking initiative from our hearts
replaced by actions of the duplicitous fool

a mindset mired in cold doldrums
with errant forms of culture fixed
to undo much good construction
with explosions large and wicked

traveling upon continents
not of the homeland place
an errant physical deviation
devoid of style, form or grace

to hurt souls in a mindless march
contained in a false and putrid belief
that overly saddled sickness created by
treading hard on goodness peaked

setting forth a kernel
max delay of rational thought
pushing into well kept motions
callous feelings shallow, rotten

not bent on proper usage
of power here displayed
just thrown over into waters
whipped by harsh winds of change

tailor made for destruction
repeated cycles of the past
which satisfy a need for passion
controlled by the ruling class

most wicked see themselves
as humanity on fate's cusp
while fielding frigid aspirations
to gather gold dust from the crust

giving power to those who counted
on inept fumbling of the masses
pouring into hands of masters
seemed goodness while it lasted

then walking away from comfort
duties broad and well defined
to persuade the blatant, powerful
who guide all toward some jagged line

a line of silly rhetoric
designed to command our minds
and give up power to control
what's left of our broken lives

Monday, February 17, 2014

The Poet - by Bob Atkinson

The Poet
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

thrill of indecision made
when words don't flow like in the glade
fumbling over choice of meaning
transgression mixed with emotional feelings

talent, that elusive spice
lies dormant when no words suffice
to exhale meaning toward the public
setting norms within a subject

here and there we supplement
that life force created from existence
drag forth into our combination
tales of wispy conflagration

yet, when all is said and done
we track our usage to number one
that most important task we do
having feelings for me and you

gives one purpose here in time
sets memories together, some might rhyme
some simply sit and agitate
some drive us to open another gate

history accumulates
emotional ties in a fragile state
settles upon those worn out troughs
frees our souls to move just onward

acquiring energy to motivate
onward, upward, such great agitation
feeding upon what has past
giving to the future something lasting

Monday, February 10, 2014

Poetry, Word Pictures - by Bob Atkinson

Poetry, Word Pictures
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
one's eyes bequeath a sterile look
at what, we don't really know of content
description lacking, not imbued
with something more than metaphor's illusion

language on the other hand
lays down the wisdom of mortal man
selling us one train of thought
by so many with their red blood bought

herein lies a tale of those
who listened or ignored their ghosts
lessons learned with much great danger
laid down on paper by unknown strangers

take this gift of many lives
adopt ideas, reject a premise, persevere inside
learn from mistakes of lifetimes past
keep yourself on a solid true path

tell your tales so others might
avoid pitfalls of darkened blight
prosper honestly, no thief's consequences
when life lived fully with projected honesty

carry on to a new clean page
without that burden of useless rage
set yourself a goal with merit
to use ideas of honor we all inherit

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Landfill - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
saw a three page dissertation
read every word he said
about the art of poetry
how to write on paper with pen

he seemed to know each corner
of this craft on which he wrote
bedazzled my imagination
so firmly, over and over

watched an interview with awe
that man could talk a lot
about the words of poetry
about his inner thoughts

when came time to read their words
the ones which meant a lot
came not awe and inspiration
came trite junk not worthy of

reading or repeating
or remembering concepts told
cannot in my wildest dreams
think they knew good what they had told

both these fellows were sincere
in their efforts true and strong
yet each had not a clue
about these words upon

which we rely to guide us true
to remember tales of woe
or concepts of the living
emotions sincerely flowed