Sunday, December 27, 2015

Ambition, Interest and Desire - by Bob Atkinson


Ambition, Interest and Desire
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motivation


how to motivate our lives
do we automatically react
or may we with overt desire
send folly to the sack

will we in our weakest moment
try a key which fits just right
as want of duty instills in us
a method to be lighted

lighted fully, backed by effort
interest made to fly
in face of need, desire's thrust
warped into a ring of fire

ambition, interest and desire
contain seeds of performance true
a wonderful event of time
to carry accomplishment to

to fruition sensed by those
who cannot stand so still
wanting more than contained
in sedentary skills

skills laying dormant yet
not used nor exercised
need for motivation's firm
artistry to be utilized

constructed of accomplishment
as an everlasting hope evolved
into a process building upon
an idea to stand up tall

tall as buildings in city center
or roads out through the land
or bridges over widest rivers
or farmers tilling land

here, we have accomplishment
therein our nature's best
to feed a future built upon
our muscles and our backs

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Santa's Pause - by Bob Atkinson

Santa's Pause
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Claus 

Santa gives me pause to think
about his effect on me
his way to make me ponder life
as if a growing tree

when I was a kid so young
thought he was older than
those oak trees in our front yard
upon which we climbed when ten

didn't think real people
got that old and lived
they weren't ever wanted to
be called upon as friends

he represented Grampa
with beard so white on pink skin
belly broad as that hood
on daddy's Mercedes Benz

now, in my older years
have changed my tune again
don't see Santa as I did
when he brought those presents in

into our living room near tree
mom had decorated with her charms
by lights, glass bulbs and tinsel
and lolly pops hung on

hung on a hope of happy times
lasting forever through the years
a wish that couldn't be fulfilled
as future events brought tears

now in these later years
see Santa in a different light
seems so young, with cheeks so smooth
as if kid from different times

and that belly I thought so large
seems smaller now than my own
and how he ties those boots of black
so far down, I'll never know

things in life adapt when we
don't watch them with an eye
to seeing different devices
changing progress of our lives

now at the other end of life
opposite my childhood days
feel as if Santa gave me something
a remembrance of better days

not that they were so much better
but bad things fade away with time
leaving only joy of days gone by
when bells were rung like chimes

chimes that gave us an anchor
to lay our troubles on
when we thought of memories
so long ago they're gone

Sunday, December 6, 2015

The Compulsion of Barbarity - by Bob Atkinson

The Compulsion
of Barbarity
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

some see living in their dreams
a different world upon
which we rely
to carry ourselves toward dawn

some see peace and justice
as goals for which to rise
toward that institution
of derelict disguise

me, I find unusual
a soul who cannot see
simplicity of our germ of life
when we set it free

free to wander openly
beyond constraints of pride
free to send our children
toward the other side

free to search our feelings
for all who walk near us
and free to find sincerity
as a well defined plus

while jumping on those teachings
which never were that good
for faith in understanding
tells some what's absolute

absolutes have no place in life
leftovers from those times
when life carried less of value
than a pocket full of dimes

Friday, December 4, 2015

Self Image Who We Think We Are - by Bob Atkinson

Self Image
Who We Think We Are
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thinker

who we think we are
determines how we act
an overblown delineation
of fiction over fact

as life progresses toward
that end we hold so dear
wandering determination
overcomes our fears

'tis said this mental picture
describes what others see in us
and forms articulated vibes
which point to us what must

must be done or carried with
to fill our duty clear
a cloth to cover up our faults
and wipe away our fears

no open form caged within
or sweetened beyond a thought
we live for everlasting words
which engulf us in our lust

lust for power carried through
to loving gentle ways
as we follow those who dance
with practiced steps in purple haze

that fuzzy view of all we see
allows some folks to find
a pure description of what's good
fixed conflicts with yours and mine

they give themselves something to
hold on to in their fright
a means to violent destruction
quick construction of a fight

a fight which knows no boundaries
'cept those eliminating
all progress from memory
combined with wild mood gyrations

so if you view yourself in marble
not changing with these times
you may, if nothing grabs your heart
be tossed out with your lies

those facts you see as absolute
which fix you in a form
a truly fouled up mess of life
that alters all good norms

and feeds on insincerity
casting truth out with the trash
and sets what shouldn't be believed
as firmly established fact

Thursday, November 26, 2015

The Barderer - by Bob Atkinson

The Barderer
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bard_%28poem%29
she wasn't sure to do this
was not a twist of fate
purely inspiration
of a thought she had made


her family had provided
all to her she'd need
yet, to foster innovation
she with this man agreed


agreed to allow him insight
into their world of lifetime events
a poet of distinction writing
a poem to document accomplishments


from aunt Millie's flings
to Aaron's success on stage
and grandpa's infatuation
with a red head's wandering ways


she saw an opportunity
to document these lives
which held so much meaning
for a family's lengthly pride


he didn't fuss or bother with
profusion of fanfare or pretense
as she asked him to write some
experiences of success via excess


made her nervous in her thoughts
a feeling of disarray
yet, on she wrote these paragraphs
to set him on his way


so, here he furnished her with words
that showed fallibility on display
and said of this family
we're gone, but from where we came


the book lived on for hundred years
provided smiles on those who read
about a family who lived a life
years before, but live again


every time one reads lines
the poet wrote about
daily events of this family
who cast descendent's here abouts

we find we're not the first
to lay claim on leveled tracks
just first to know where feelings came from
and where to send them back

as history's not just read in books
in school for learned fare
sometimes history's personal
about those for whom we care

Monday, November 23, 2015

Academy of American Poets - by Bob Atkinson

Academy of American Poets
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

here we have in our land
a purposed version of that band
which tears across a broad landscape
taking words up to scrape

scrape language from gray dust
and bring glory down to us
for words arranged in bright patterns
focused here with ideas not tattered

yet, when we trust them to lead
us in our journey on feeble steed
we find them lacking in broad skill
to cull out garbage from this mill

where grains get crushed of seeds so bright
instead of planting rows of light
they plant here feces on our page
and let us think we've been enlightened

but, in reality 'tis a charade
where purpose languishes today
our country's words don't mean much
in view of this rotten dust

will they wake up someday
and square away this awful page
of literature deranged
or will we still get muck on our shoes

well, I for one will stand up tall
and say to them "get on the ball"
don't feed me droppings from the horse
give me words that stay the course

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Creative Minds - by Bob Atkinson

Creative Minds
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/collections/works-in-focus/painting/commentaire_id/homage-to-delacroix-2952.html?tx_commentaire_pi1[pidLi]=509&tx_commentaire_pi1[from]=841&cHash=98f57917c3

settled here in absolutes
these men of creative minds
all who, in their own way
transcend with bonds of time

we still remember what they did
they knew us by first name not
left us with soft legacy, a gift
of times otherwise forgotten

to build upon another's work's
so much easier than from scratch
for those who did much dirty work
and help us look back to past

past achievements duly made
to bind ourselves to dust
making rocks of sand pebbles
with eagerness of thought

an open secret wandering
through simple calloused hearts
until becomes a memory
so purposed in thought and art

feeds progress of creation
what wasn't there before
becomes our pride evolved with time
teaches us to ask for more

Monday, November 9, 2015

Elegant Solution - by Bob Atkinson

Elegant Solution
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

some reaches of our universe
contain what we surmise
an articulated benefit
with open, loving eyes

appeal not fully understood
simplicity wished for gain
we, of an unknowing kind
knew not from where we came

I feel, in this moment's pause
as if my brain's on fire
why don't I understand this
why don't I knowledge desire

carry me beyond those trees
beyond those mountains great
to an equality of sound
to an awareness plain

plain for simplicity of mind
plain for knowing well
how we, in clinging to what we know
give chatter to ourselves

chatter only serves to calm
us in our lack of fire
something we try to overcome
with energy of desire

to solve a mystery requires luck
and luck's what we have much
to be here on this oval speck
of gasses and brown dust

took ever so much overcoming
of process duly made
an elegant solution to
an empty, useless phase

so here, we sit and ponder fate
yet fate's what we stand living
we look to each other's help
please be kind and giving

Saturday, November 7, 2015

SheWolf - by Bob Atkinson

SheWolf
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
 
there glides a monster so salty
as to find herself adrift
on waters south of islands few
out in a wet abyss

she sees herself so tall of mast
and creaking in her ways
ropes held taut all through a gale
rudder locked firm with firm hands staid

men of a certain twist
hard worn in sailor's lot
these cut throat demons
on land not sane
but here with duty locked

she falls beneath the upper class
yet, high above some tramps
here in an open ocean's winds
sets yards of sail on masts

masts so tall as to embed
themselves in low clouds down
near to deck of uncertainty
meant to earn a crown

where bound this lady of the wind
where from this crew sincere
about their duties ever keen
under captain long of beard

what lies beneath her decks
in holds so dark and damp
why can we not see her cargo
on a ship's good manifest

why can we not ask of men
where goes this wooden ship
why, “sir if I told you that
I'd have to slit your gullet”

so, on we sail toward westerly
winds of time gone by
so some, in future, can surmise
this ship's eventual prize

Friday, November 6, 2015

God in the Hand, Not in the Heart - by Bob Atkinson

God in the Hand,

Not in the Heart

(c)2015 Bob Atkinson


he carries scripture in his hand
yet knows not love of man
he bombs and murders many souls
who cannot understand


how someone professing purity
has no purity deep within
why does he take a mantle of
forced leadership of man


when he goes upon his way
he leaves barbarity in his path
stirs humanity with spoon
a devil's sincere conscript


someday, when he awakes from slumber
he'll understand those hearts
who beat only for power's goal
and tear this world apart


they love man not, these demons
only wanting to grasp what's insincere
by forces deep within our thoughts
mind control, an art despised, feared


when all who get caught up in this
understand where they fit into
a deviant progression of
a dishonorable ancient attitude


we'll begin to build together
a place where love reigns supreme
and all within our boundary
have feet washed in a gentle stream

Friday, October 30, 2015

Going First Class - by Bob Atkinson

Going First Class
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airline_seat

flying seems a sweet dream
soaring high above white clouds
into the stratosphere we go
on mighty tubes of thundered sounds

we board buried in our thoughts
don't get caught there in the aisle
they'll yell at you and kick you off
if you don't at them smile

don't joke of things of terror
we're all frozen in our place
by some who use a tool of life
and their brethren wholly disgrace

me, I have my complaints
most aren't really harsh at all
a snide ticket agent's ego giving
a second security check's result

result that no, I'm not a threat
a pacifist if anything at all
a person caught in imagination
since was a kid not tall

but, here goes my thoughts on this
first class on airlines decks
seems to me a problem
a social thoughtless mess

why do we treat the public different
when in a communal state
does cash in pocket say of some
not run of mill, they're great”

me, I'd fly coach even if
had $$$billions in my pocket
same plane, same destination
why allow them classist nonsense

no people when with community
have privilege in my heart
over other souls sincere
not a thought here in my pocket

treat me same, no different
no better or no worse
exactly as the next guy
else we're a society cursed

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

The Kitten and the Beast - by Bob Atkinson

The Kitten and The Beast
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson


18 Stoic faces told of a night back then
where simple want of usefulness
fell flat as facial bends

there in a setting of
tranquility prearranged
a group of souls tried to pretend
those words had meaning caged

yet, when those darling readers
who had practiced their good art
spoke strange metaphors
this hardly looked the part

no emotional conditions
no meaning universal
no grabbing of my soul
to attach quivers to my thistle

why do I harp on this
well, we need to revamp “us”
to better understand our place
in universal dust

and begin to gather form
to press on toward a future
where division doesn't cause
wars of famine and derision

life lies universal
not divisible in the least
in the end we're all the same
the kitten and the beast

Monday, October 26, 2015

Poet - by Bob Atkinson

Poet
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

who is this masked man pontificating
about this silly world of ours
he seems so pompous, overbearing
in his pushing of strange causes

why does he feel he knows truth
when billions know more than him
why does he laugh at those souls
who with so many sardines swim

why does he try to change this world
in ways only he can see
why does his heart cry out in pain
when people aren't freed

well, taking something from a past
where all stood a lonely vigil
to create our world in its entirety
working fingers bony, brittle

gives meaning to some lonely souls
who only wish for good
and cry at gruesome outcomes
engaged by dopey fools

one feels so intensely pained
when cornered for an answer
something wished for in a dream
as if a subject mastered

we feel more in control
when we put our thoughts in print
makes one think before the act
of jabbing keys for sentiment

so now in my lonely room
will write these words of mine
even though nobody else
will find them good in time

to be so useful to a world
where ideas sit on the top of heads
and generate such movements
as to advance a theme ahead

words must form ideas in clear air
where everybody can relate
to themes with passion openly
brought forth to soothe the hate

hate brought on by selfishness
a simple thing so cruel
something given by nature
returned as an unused tool

we don't need this thing no more
don't need to hate each other
we're only saddened by the need
to scold our wildest brothers

peace through form of action
be our mantra from now on
no time for callous persons
no acceptance for badness of cause

Science Fiction - by Bob Atkinson

Science Fiction
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
 
to dream gives legacy another try
our world, our lives, our sad goodbyes
we feel as though more should reign
on good hopes, and real life pain

to read some thoughts of another gives
a sense of order not in life's mix
so many possibilities prevail
yet we see just one here on our trail

straight toward destination we glide
not going left or up or down in life
winding roads go misty on us
fog of living hides all good promise

fiction believes in what could be
not what exists by some guarantee
drives our thoughts out of that pit
overly produced by effort, grit

science on the other hand
means observation by mortal man
of a world not seen, unknown of character
beyond what humans control through barriers

unless we see we can't believe
we can't suspend that finite need
for proof of validity ticketed
by repeated scientific experiments

then comes science fiction to
save us from reality's brew
gives options less sincere in focus
let's us believe in hocus pocus

there goes a wondrous invention as we
can work ourselves out of tall trees
no need for right and wrong to live
when we our imaginations give

give sanction to believe in all
that we can dream of or describe as logic
those times of undulating cries
exposing imagined, created lives

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Who We Think We Are - by Bob Atkinson


Who We Think We Are
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

wildness of words portends
some future life event
where buildup gives in to love
and future chips get spent

so, here in my later years
I think of events past
where things I thought were temporary
weren't such, they lasted

and permanents would seem
endless in their nature
but disappeared without a trace
as endurance, for them, wasn't natural

so goes with our self image
we see ourselves not much
evolved with open ended dreams
and stately aged crust

to flutter on toward immortality
was once our greatest dream
then we find perpetuality
not in the scheme of things

finding we in our hearts
did all the best we could
transfers to reality
of assimilation in a world

a world of like minded souls
who work with what they have
hoping, in the end
they've done something grand

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Avidance - by Bob Atkinson


Avidance
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson
Avidance:  
"The avoidance of logic or reason entering into one's life.  
Working solely on reflex learned by life's ancestors, not by logic or reason.
A person engaged in Avidance has no understanding or concern
for right or wrong, merely what one can get away with"
Bob Atkinson

always, in my memory
have pained me to appraise
those who travel without purpose
on this our living stage

they never see a single thing
on which to hang their hat
no facts to anchor meaning
upon their this and that

I have a name for this event
which seems to fit this notch
a working title for which we can
place observations on their lot

avidance” with some reflection
becomes a perfect name for not
thinking through our actions
when dealing with our problems

removing most of reasoned senses
back to those wilder days
training ourselves in insincerity
no gentleness for sake

for sake of taking us toward goal
as human's with good purpose
a step above that character
which only serves the surface

yes, I know you don't believe
we need to label lame
attitudes of our children
in this lifeless game

but some will find life foolish
without reason in the mix
I choose to observe these friends
choose to ponder senselessness

senselessness which ties us to
a past of wild jungle life
that reflex touting attitude
which continues mortal strife