Friday, June 27, 2014

Songs of Louis Capart - by Bob Atkinson

Songs of Louis Capart
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
simple phrases satisfy
although messages pass me by
deep within the voice of sentiment
moves a heart toward contentment

driving again down a road
simple farms of crops unknown
to Dijon up from Paris
could have been just anyplace

City of Light still inspires
six story limit gives up an aura
expanding possibilities for space
room for sidewalk dining tables

Treff am Rex written on pages
a story told of feckless craving
someday bright screen will show
how heart's desire grows and grows

Capart's voice transcends my mind
could be from any decade past
language used to paint the sun
drives in toward all meanings of

past good times or future fun
satisfaction sipping a coffee cup
successful endeavor or busted run
no matter, has all been fun

no matter now, all will wait
for this album to run its pace
settled feelings of quiet grace
all bodes well, no wild cast rage

thank you Capart for morning mood
of my time within mind's groove
language meaning escapes my thought
yet this feeling ever locks

me into awareness of satisfaction
allowed this morning from reaction
to words describing your desire
to entertain with heart filled fire

Friday, June 20, 2014

Gibberish - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
ten thousand lay within his grasp
that serious deportment lapse
how could he soothe his wicked soul
without announcing firm fixed goals

so many here within this time
so many gone devoid of crimes
task of interacting well
begins to fault his open self

herein this sad tale of woe
here lies quick wit of those
who sail seas calm, no wind to push
their everlasting comic book

no, can't shove that form into
a volume small with compact tool
to change in size a scheme so deep
requires rest and extra sleep

all is confused if not related
to the real or initiated
tell you true this can be done
for purpose of grabbing ........ 

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

put down upon a bleached page
wandered thought, some re-arranged
to settle once an for all a question
how and why our minds twist lessons

lessons of the distant past
lessons formal, lessons cast
into that wiry theme called life
how can we organize inner strife

poetry fits needs when exercised
philosophy, argument, exposition of pride
those concepts knocking at our door
motivation, deception, wretched horrors

prose depicts some facts displayed
as a mumble, jumble of cascaded pages
names, dates not related to emotion
thoughts abated of intense progress

poetry, on the other hand
humbles us and our companions
sends our cognition into that range
of supposition, alternative ways

ways of nature, ways of life
ways of simple, outlandish pride
ways to garner progress made
when nobody gives us accolades

Monday, June 16, 2014

The Fault of Social Training - by Bob Atkinson

The Fault of Social Training
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Goldsmith devoted paragraphs
to the weakness of our kind
in bringing up our youth
sending them to circumcise

all demons of disorder
all thoughts brought into
a mind with application
of respect for monies few

philosophy tears the heart out
of ambition to build again
out of nothing something greater
than we had with empty hands

empty hands no longer afflict
our sons view of themselves
when books they read of simple deeds
take the place of industry's challenge

my son did not have fire
in his head for accomplishment
no wish to work his hardest
for himself or for the man

it did not phase him dearly
that in short life he needed to
grasp every opportunity
to those mountains move

my fault, I do believe now
put books there in his hand
in open disdain for entertainment
as an alternative to seeking fame

so when I charge myself with hurt
my hurt comes from within
good intentions don't overcome
what's driven into heads

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Duplicity - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

"... the extent of falseness of which he was capable is surprising, when we consider how limited was his intelligence ..." France Under Regency

duplicity of purpose, deed
to us has become adverse
seen as an overarching putrid retch
in not giving respect for thoughts reversed

our people desire courtesy
not storms of simple hate
when one believes in this
as a group we cannot take

an idea as held within the heart
held back by indecision
and future vision failed
crime of a cloud cast vision

no, give me something to believe
that doesn't oppose my memory
of mamma's purest dreams
house built next to an apple tree

not all believe the same thing
so what's the matter with that?
as long as disagreement
doesn't result in violent spats

vile, viscous decomposition
of good intent displayed
by an unraveled monarch
applies actions destined for decay

to those who value good in us
for morality to prevail
let us give boot to monarchs
who try to cross our trail

with lies of fact or fiction
a single purpose to erode
our will to combat destruction
of safety in our homes

for all who come to these shores
to all who work so hard
we pay respect for efforts given
hats tipped when passing farms

we see our country as a place
for freedom to discharge
an organized creation
which cannot lies absorb

in time of future need
in time of energies enormous
we'll build a fabric for us all to
sit and contemplate accomplishment

where the words
not for him, nor her, but me
have no settled place
a home for us all
built with style, the finest grace

all treated by the mass
as equal in potential gain
but not given anything
not earned or needing repay

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Twilight of the Gods - by Bob Atkinson

Twilight of the Gods
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

settled down into a range
of trampled ideas herein ingrained
toward those open ideologues
who wander into and out of love

to claim kingship in a future inundated
by a flood of purposed infatuation
dries some tears on wettest rocks
as past experience sets us up

for fears beguiled with bubbled pride
when life's described by awful lies
made to control us in our place
by some who define their powered state

as righteous in giving what can't be given
proposed to reward violent heathens

 who believe this senselessness
when brains are tendered a godless mess

The Theory of Evolution - by Bob Atkinson

The Theory of Evolution
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

evolve do we as time moves on
toward what? don't know beyond
a simple statement of direction
confusion through generic insurrection

formed as if in a stew pot
our ideals, morals, the total lot
gathered openly for all to see
with blinder covered eyes of weeds

weeping for all that's not
weeping for progress ever lost
wildly swinging arms about
casting doubt on emerging fountains

here in times of greatest progress
we see the dust of massive construction
blindfold covers our vision truly
no firm resolve of honest meanings

the animal of our truest conviction
lies still as if in agony succumbed
moves not here toward evolution
a dead ended drain on resolution

to have all nerve endings in one place
disrupts communication's pace
neurons need be embedded
in the spine, in limbs extended

decisions made for local folks
made by those who know the most
about events, needs, requests
not by insulated gentry of regret

sure, we all will evolve
toward freedom's everlasting resolve
to build each being as strength allows
all of us standing tall and proud

effort comes toward meaning of
that desire to prosper with all our love
for  every living person's goodness
animals, plants, planet, great progress certain

progress made to see the time
when all live free of godless crime
forcing of ideals upon another
with threat of harm's great social blunder

So Difficult to Fly - by Bob Atkinson

So Difficult to Fly
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

so much difficult to travel
so much time to spend
waiting at the terminal
for this trip to end

will the plane be on time
so hard it is to fly
while suffering from conversation
loudly made by the other guy

taking off one's shoe
putting laptops in a bin
unbelting in a moment
regrouping on a bench
peanuts for our meal
dinner waits until we land
two hours of no real food
oh mister, I'm in pain

oh this misery we endure
this terrible disgrace
flying to our destination
at a slow marched pace

years ago would not have been
so hard to cross the land
jump up on a Conestoga
after hitching mules to it

riding on a board so soft
for months out in the rain
attacked by natives on the run
for denuding their land of game

up and over mountains
through passes in the winter
getting stuck in snow so high
made one die of shivers

what would they think of us now
our cries our sobs our howls
would they think of us as strong
or would they see our character

as that which lacks objective
spirit of release
squeals from a wobbly disposition
of the lazy and the meek

they'd think we've become
fragile squeamish tarts
backbones of elastic
souls lacking a strong part

Legacy - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
he never adapted to those trials
of decision meant to end the fire
he never gave a rational reason
which wasn't cover for indecision

time upon those reckless times
we wondered who could steer us right
the die sat cast to supplement
lives of some gross malcontent

fed those who had no pride of heart
sucked up a wilder anarchy chart
let foe who could be friend succumb
to arrogance of purpose, fools be damned

this man who sat upon the log
and watched as decisions destroyed his charge
let his legacy unwind in pain
Napoleon had killed a half-million men

in name of glory, in name of pride
in name of general suicide
the mind of one who screwed the land
ended up attached to our best man

Puzzle of the Fracas - by Bob Atkinson

Puzzle of the Fracas
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
words and rhythm find the mind
flowing deep into the thought
of emotions heretofore
deliberated upon not

Henley found in solitude
some way to move his mind
into that open space of reason
pushing ideas into the grind

give it now some overview
try to understand the way
we fit into that puzzle of
the fracas and the fray

project yourself beyond the ego
let your thoughts not ride upon
that force which tells you to survive
when all hope is gone

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Poemwriter to the Stars or Stars in One's Eyes - by Bob Atkinson

Poemwriter to the Stars
Stars in One's Eyes
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
take me to a trip beyond
those wild adventures of my mind
to heaven's gates for finding grace
a willingness of timely grindings

where do these ultimate upheavals
of gnarly composition, rhythmic steeples
ideas within my head expanded
find form, or fearful dread of people

can't see, although I try
where the new here gets applied
best stories we can find are old
written in past times when freedom flowed

take this idea again to heart
resurface it with dreaded locks
push hard to make it flow
from my aching head to toes

then call yourself what you will
if you don't cherish work and zeal
cannot give you respect due unless
you move me with word craft's best

trite phrases of the meaningless
bungled process, ever present
takes from you that mantle proud
don't call yourself Poet if
you've let all peoples down