Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Wit, as in Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

Wit, as in Poetry
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

of all manner of eloquence
wit stands out from the rest
by instituting cackling noises
among our crowd of turned up noses

a form of speech inclusive of
a quip or repartee derived
from deep within a consciousness
developed over an expanded chest

wit, as written in poetry
pretends containment of alacrity
into the verse of construct made
to wow senses on a casual page

yet similitude begins to wear
upon the reader's outer ear
like a wolf devouring deer
a part of nature to be feared

metaphors strange, vague in appearance
carry burdens of the useless nurtured
like a train without an engine
not moving fast as intended

these tricks of language aggravate
sometimes useful, mostly wasteful
turn up noses when allowed
to remove wit from poetry proud

Sunday, September 28, 2014

The Tempest of Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

The Tempest of Poetry
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

there blows in stiff wind
created by the word
an everlasting frozen
collection of nouns and verbs

like a whirlwind of change
these letters spell the thoughts
of minds evolved to think
and report facts back to boss

here, in an open world
where flies the dust of change
we find restitution
in words thus re-arranged

cannot give to the giver
much more than we have done
for in an underlying thought
he knows what we have spun

stories of our past
tales of our future deeds
garnishment of life
on all we can agree

freeze emotions for all time
let thoughts be translated then
into a world evolved from us
as simple mortal men

let them know all we were
let them like us some
let them know we tried our best
as we from danger run

let them see what we were
back when we were young
and how we gathered wisdom
when older we'd become

trade our sincerity
for that truth of which we knew
let them see our tears of pain
when success we couldn't view

hopefully they will exist
if we don't destroy their seed
for if we continue on this path
we'll be devolved by greed

Friday, September 26, 2014

The Realm of Humans - by Bob Atkinson

The Realm of Humans
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

holding wonder, amazement
here in our palm of hand
we view a life disjointed
as if just grains of sand

we flow down when picked up
we blow in solid winds
we fly when thrown across the room
we slide when stepped upon

we're only one of many who
can't force much here in life
but when we stick together
we become that slab of granite

a solid piece of architecture
which stands for eons to
tell of those left behind
our timeless brooding moods

we can gain togetherness
with those not yet born
if we leave emotions for them
for those who become forlorn

our poetry describes our being
tells of feelings deep
tries to explain our rationale
our deepest inner seed

so, to those of distant future
we say hello to their hearts
present what we can of our times
of how we lived and thought

why we did those actions
how we viewed our situation
how we stood upon the earth
seeing planets in wild gyration

simple in our makeup
we're a link from history
to the future unknown
that finite mystery

Monday, September 22, 2014

I Need You Mister Goldsmith - by Bob Atkinson

I Need You Mister Goldsmith
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
having now a dearth of thought
my concern for inspiration's broad
Mister Goldsmith come talk to me
need more ideas on which to breathe

to me your deep ideas impart
all you believed in all you garnered
you learned so much from your long walks
recite to me what happened on

this trek beyond those national borders
from here to there, then in reverse order
people you met, all they spoke of
where did you find food, warm beds, clothing

who called you the smartest idiot
who couldn't understand your whims
who knew you to be absurdly prolific
who sat with you and spoke indifferent

here in my waning years
my desire to accomplish perseveres
no rest at all for a wicked man
not in my desires, not in my plans

Mister Goldsmith tell me true
has all you've learned been set to music
so we might study your perspective
while driving in our horseless carriages

wish I had been there in your crowd
to absorb the meaning of your frowns
to feel the purpose in good sayings
and forever languish in saving

all the wisdom of your time
brought forth with and without rhyme
set in that small type font of book
an everlasting wall of good

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Hunter Gatherer vs Farmer - by Bob Atkinson

Hunter Gatherer vs Farmer
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
here we have the pickle
a process openly made
of how we can secure some food
upon our table displayed

coax nature to grow what we
can use here in our lives
or let her openly produce
wildlife for our smiles

gather berries in forest lands
and shoot the game therein
plant those berries on our farms
or domestic animal pen

either way we feed our needs
produce what fills us full
setting into motion purpose
of why we're here at all

catch what lives out in the wild
earn a living with skills of mood
choices based upon our luck
born with fathers' tools
here in these times we've seen
farmers do it all for us
ranchers raise the animals
butchers do the rest

we see not toil of production
only toil of using things
produced in abundance
allowing us to slink

into that morass of uncertainty
a feeling of despair
where our skills cannot be utilized
to procure a decent fare

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Sir - by Bob Atkinson


Sir
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Sir, can we sit and talk
so I can give you my concerns
about this life
and all its worth

no, not for something profound
just for my own provision
to keep me centered in my life
satisfied and soothed by pride

thank you

softly, I see the scene, displays a dream
velvet in its touch, smooth, sweetly draped
across my eyes visible, told with delight
as if a work of art derived from emotion

prevailing winds keep this person
upon an edge, as if on a knife
whispering go on, keep your attention
centered on your dreams

brave in your leaning
toward your constant dreaming
all arranged so elegant
from dusk to dawn visible in effect

then, during the night
dreams fold as if so frightened
afraid to show their openness
asleep, not recalled when wanted

dormant

Sir, if you will pretend
that my meaning has recompense
can use some support
thank you for all your notions

I'll sleep now

Monday, September 8, 2014

The Statement of Youth

The Statement of Youth
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
where do I go?
what do I do?
how do I fit in?
where am I of use?

what do I need?
to whom should I plead?
where is it all going to?
am I in an endless dream?

or am I just another soul?
lost as if a soldier
facing bullets of the enemy
which can tear arms from shoulders?

do I really live this life?
or is it a side-stepped dream?
carrying duties unimagined
into that life force stream

maybe never revelations
will wander through my heart
only pleasant salutations
giving nod to what God wrought

Wonders of the Sun - by Bob Atkinson

Wonders of the Sun
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
time plays all around us
a saga of delight and gloom
bundled with diversity
of ever present moods

circumventing directness
we dance upon our toes
feelings lightly touching skin
a throbbing outer glow

or so, that's how it goes
when we interact our minds
sending pleasures to the surface
which then dive back down inside

here with odd simplicity
we strengthen when enhanced
by nearness of devotion
without which we can't dance

we see sentiment divided
when we go our separate ways
simple salutations buried
in the calmness of our rage

sunlight feels so powerful
light burns upon the skin
but,
does it light an understanding
of the places we have been?

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Judging Unfairness - by Bob Atkinson

Judging Unfairness
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

the ideal situation
sends messages to the brain
we have a perfect union
of risk, reward and gain

yet,
when we dive in deeper
to the bottom of that pit
our eyes enlarge so fully
our breath begins to pant

desire to control direction
leads us to outcomes tasked
toward filling empty efforts
with remembrance of the past

our prior glory expanded fully
fading memories brought out clear
to detail some false reality
appropriate only for our cheer


we dominate a function
adding power to our muscles
by tasking of our brothers
method's using advantage thusly

we love to impose on someone else
our will of pure desire
for that which follows creases
toward rising of hot flamed fires

this doubles capacity for one's goals
that dubious drag of nature
an overburdened useful gimmick
which translates to desires and favors

we all object to heathen souls
sitting on a couch devoid of purpose
doing nothing while engaged
in a useless negative circus

to trend always in a direction
which fills the needs of man
overcomes inertia, supplying strength
to directions strangely blended

by grabbing another's hand
forcing ideas upon his brain
we tend to feed our egos
by imposition of ideas plain

hence we're part of nature
not a good part which speaks the truth
when called upon to self describe
our own lazy attitude

some thoughts directly navigate
down that curved river of desire
which fills our ego with puffed air
satisfies selfishness of the liar

Macho Violent Culture - by Bob Atkinson

Macho Violent Culture
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
rising up from natural origins
of animal lust and bucking horns
we see and feel a pressing need
to expand thoughts, expand our breed

look at dry seeds of wisdom's flow
look at the power of faith in destiny
look at herds immensely grazing
on grass beneath the trees

look at some open gates
not holding back our spirit's tide
giving flow of opportunity
to accomplishment and pride

conquering environment requires
breaking through of fences built
setting back astute observations
of why we've lost our sense of guilt

ideas of violence from the past
have developed feelings in our soul
control us in our marching stance
not letting goodness flow

we can survive in harmony
if our methods find revision
tighten grip on our humanity
keep an ever crystal vision

we need to see these actions
in their native form
which sends us to the future
not calloused, mean, nor bored

natural evolution creates direction
allowing change with gentle tone
construction of the sensible
using skills with which we're born

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Something Special - by Bob Atkinson

Something Special
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

daily feeds include our dreams
that sum of deeds presumed
to cheer our hearts completely
drawing warmth from darkest gloom

send me always accolades
if my purpose tells it true
drown those feelings of remorse
store them under bed so near spittoon

take that thought to a higher level
draw connection from open space
near flowered canyons seeing sun
shine in those darker places

suppose these days of super rage
call thunder to my home
allowing mindless meditation
in my heart to ever roam

Monday, September 1, 2014

Puppets, Pawns, Prognosticators - by Bob Atkinson

Puppets, Pawns, Prognosticators
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
those who view this life as challenge
delve into lust of powered standing
using puppets to unfold
their dreams of controlling all inroads

they give a sniff of ideas or change
to those who possess putty for brains
molding some with lack of character
into an army, a semi-forceful barrier

what do these puppets get for this?
what benefit have they, in broad solace?
do they find here in the end
they have lived the life of men?

taking of their humanity by criminal action
trails in its wake some monster analogy
never could we find ourselves
proud of that in which we delved

these pawns who give their lives away
find only grief of dastardly days
removing from them love of life
buried by this loud yelled tripe

tripe which feeds their brains to pigs
tripe which sees their goodness shrink
tripe which finds their lives remote
from love of humanity or mother's milk

so, if some tell you they know the truth
'tis only they know how you to use
in their quest for selfish direction
feeding lust with their lack of complexity

Same Show, Different Century, Progress Barely Made - by Bob Atkinson

Same Show, Different Century,
Progress Barely Made
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

look around to find the new
can't do that if you try
nothing of this world's unique
just a repeat of hard old trials

can we climb this hump of ours
which seems to portend disgrace
or will we end up on the deck
by extinction of the human race

only new in this repeat
leverage of our bloodshed's force
which takes breath from humanity
charting precisely an uncertain course

in our sad embrace we find
we cannot comprehend events
seen through force of ambition
shown us through colored lenses

our desire for survival
flips beliefs on end to end
changes vision of reality
by force of true pretense

during clashes of ideals displayed
goals apparent or defended
seem to us quite logical
as our views become upended

survival by carnage multiplied
how does that work for you
making a better world by force
by wanton killing of quite a few

let's put numbers to this deed
a plus, a minus here
will this overloaded task
prove an end of man's good cheer

or does the flow of progress
outshine the flow of tears
by setting into imagination
a gentle kind of fear

fear of foolish actions
which bog the cogs of fate
and flutter through the ashes
of progress barely made