Thursday, August 28, 2014

Who's Smarter - by Bob Atkinson

Who's Smarter
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
we look upon ourselves as smart
we see our ancestors in dimmest darkness
we find old actions not sincerely made
with live scenarios broadly recreated

take, for instance, second guessing
of our environment, that breathing lesson
smoke, carbon, radiation multiplied
all because we're not satisfied

no, we're not on road to ruin
that's just stupid, not mass confusion
we're on the cusp of better things
we drive toward greatness, openings

openings of potential good
grand illusions catching moods
moods revolving ever changing
from top to bottom rearranging

here, right now, with open mind
do we, could we, straight paths find
toward production of useful goals
which fit humanity, reducing toil

only purpose of this tirade
lies in thought of progress made
sometimes progress hides itself
within old books on dusty shelves

Monday, August 25, 2014

The Spell of Language - by Bob Atkinson

The Spell of Language
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Webster brought an idea home
thoughts, verse, prose, tomes
should all be written faithfully
in a language with spelling honed

designed to give this nation pride
a method evolved, an invariable guide
production of all books of page
made with prideful letter placement

produced the "speller" for us all
to keep our spelling uniform
a way to say we've come of age
allowing ownership of the page

no longer centre but center stage
we go to theater, not theatre's play
with moral fiber not fibre's way
in defense produced, not defence, OK?

so if you're lax in spelling's toil
Webster didn't get your blood to boil
you have no feeling of pride involved
in separating from an island's culture

a wave here takes on the tone
works toward more union then on our own
toward connection to other men
then back toward independence again

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Statesmanship - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
"... we hold it to be the first task of statesmanship to develop the stength that will deter the forces of aggression and promote the conditions of peace ..."
Dwight D. Eisenhower

here in that time of crisis
those wayward days of mud
when those who would be powerful
gain fashion with use of gun

not seeds of perfect charity
no love do they possess
just overriding purpose
by thumping of their chests

here in our development
nature has our crossroads made
do we digress to the point
where progress reverses trend

back to a time when people lived
a life so badly blessed
with slavery, toil and pestilence
given to their masters' whims

or do we define the nature
of progress to be made
a simple organizing statement
which carries to the grave

all we seek of accomplishment
all love grown for our friends
no enemies designated
we're all just mortal men

so first we can define
the void of useful souls
that underlying demon
we can't allow to grow

when some seek to gain power
by force or use of gun
intimidation, recklessness
they need to understand

society cannot fathom
such willful negligence
needs of the many for peace
herein takes precedence

Monday, August 18, 2014

Grand Establishment - by Bob Atkinson

Grand Establishment
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
tell me surely in your words
why and how this has occurred
take me on a trip of legitimacy
not diving into your own vocabulary

by telling me it's not my job
to control that ruthless angry mob
or pointing out disloyalty of
people harshly mistreating love

liabilities they have accepted
yet ignored, personal worth rejected
while in the act of mob reaction
telling me, I'm not with passion

fold me into that veracity of life
rarely seen through all hard strife
find me willing to support
a direction toward mutual accord

set me up and keep me warm
when my feelings disagree with yours
train my eyes to see with all
clarity of purpose through it all

don't jockey toward that power stand
which designates you as "big man"
keep your purpose pure as ice
let not your deeds develop avarice

take not from me to give away
all I worked hard for on days of labor
ask return for wealth spent on charity
receive back energy not sloth and disparity

show me how you can survive
when disaster hit all who tried
to guide the people toward a goal
with simple ideas of mutual warmth

govern well my home of choice
take in all who love a gentle tone
discard quickly those who would detract
from harmony of purpose on our path

let us be settled in our home
no boundaries of doubt for conscious tone
which builds upon the greater good
peace, harmony and brotherhood

Sunday, August 17, 2014

The Materials of Criticism - by Bob Atkinson

The Materials of Criticism
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
to look upon a word fixed art
for value of the whole or parts
begins a journey demonstrated
to frustrate each of five senses

do we? could we? can we?
here in the "here and now"
produce our cultural standing
by lining up words in a row

can we? do we? could we?
put value on our art
or would it suffice to percolate
ingredients in a pot

that which makes up the whole
contains some parts plus simple hope
many seeds of doubt, some blind faith
loose fundamentals warmed to percolate

boil this stew in an open pot
wander over meanings uncovered
string appetite of mind along a line
of selfish devotion to an adept mind

thus craving credentials and accolades
with independence of well written pages
try as nature creates a need
molding most to firm fixed greed

avarice dependent, an encircled fire
aspiration drawn toward life's desire
direction fielded, ego supplemented
when open rawness becomes regimented

broadcast to those who care about
this person's rage who loudly shouts
simple signals of directional flow
mixed with endless personal selfdom

all nuance transmitted within the hope
of mending what's perceived as broken
broken carries diverse meanings
when seen with eyes of different teachings

broken, to some, fits life so tight
the critic's words lie dormant, unlighted
when not in tune with rational heart
words have no meaning, a useless art

art fulfills some need of nature
to analyze for form and flavor
tenderly we read their stuff
then regurgitate our lunch

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Jail - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
'tis such a waste of life
to banish fear of jail time
so many lives which could be saved
dive into boxes no more than caves

if, on the other hand
should horror of incarceration stand
then life among us would be so gentle
dread not bottoms nor donkey lasses

would we in our daily lives
see or imagine painful cries
of those who took a sacred trust
and dumped it like the morning dust

would we view devil's island
as the sacred land of civil propriety
shrinking waste of lives disposed
who would otherwise harm the folks

Monday, August 11, 2014

Action Forward - by Bob Atkinson

Action Forward
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
follow me toward the sea
that watered world of life's true meaning
where all our landed simple feelings
can be seen from ships sailed by reason

look out
see this world a different way
wild when winds blow
waves undulating

live well, while you breathe
find good purpose, truest meaning
to discover you're given life
to believe in and delight in

trade in greatness not destruction
feel for those who cannot fathom
how and why purpose, wonder
grind into this world of thunder

settle under that open sky
which gives, takes, moves our eyes
all these pieces accumulated
assembled for us to activate

our action forward, let nature tell
us where and when to ring our bells
drive toward that glow beyond
lives guided by star light, evolved

Whim and Fancy - by Bob Atkinson

Whim and Fancy
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

what should we do today
has hope diminished our display
trending toward that bottom line
of fishing for a sequenced rhyme

tell me should this find arrangement
or should discussion broadly frame it
sensing toes can stop a sneeze, as would
covering shoulders against a breeze

squarely putting mind in box
do's and don't's of perfect caution
herein lies that open point
we're told by nature what's important

whim and fancy deviate
from that purpose by opening gates
which let devotion diminish fast
dissolving quickly as if a gas

so balance needs some edges firm
what can and can't find us drawn
toward some independent nature
which satisfies our staid arrangement

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Unreason - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
"... ode to those who teach creative writing at the college level, yet have not the talent nor understanding required to produce something worthwhile ..."

to listen graciously
then turn away
feeling for the first time
wonder at his sayings

carries burdens newly minted
for my life on lumpy pavement
simply put this wreck of words
drives not my lucid statements
in fear of simple castings made
those so hard to correctly gage
find difficulty in believing
what should or shouldn't stand

feed me what to this date
has not been allowed percolation
to equate justice circumcised
against wispy thoughts berated

metaphors mixed until complete
that nonsense we all believe in
can only drive us deeply down
a path toward firm unreason

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Ill Defined - by Bob Atkinson

Ill Defined
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

bravery settles on a shore
willingness to find me more
evolved of daily recipe
pumpkin pie or ice cream treats

drag me screaming percolated
onto hills where scenery displays
flowing rivers headed seaward
for oceans deep, many shore locations

to please a fundamental need
youthful, strong, not weak indeed
a hope within this mind gyrated
trending fast, underlined, satiated

see my wants begin to seep
down my chest onto my knees
then spread around on the ground
until evaporation destroys the vision

yet, hopes, wants, true desires
begin to find my head afire
dozens of wild thoughts devolved
in process of red, blue, ordered smoothly

surreal fire, that true desire
nocturnal or daytime formed
feeding upon truth or scorn
righteous in speech or action cloaked

down in a scene where we cannot see
behind some thin facade of reason
personal desires festered cleanly
causing painful numbed out feelings

lamenting always what cannot be
hurting those who desire freedom
while rewarding many of callous deeds
with false promises made to keep

toes of puppets on the line of precept
restrained by purpose, no friends of mine
who take their fervor into the realm
of humanity traded for cause repugnant

blowing up where construction might
fill the needs of some who fight
when they should lay down their arms
after living harshly as peasant soldiers

give me peace, my lifelong mission
lay down with softness in your feelings
keep all safe with gentle hand
don't kill the future of all good men