Sunday, December 27, 2015

Ambition, Interest and Desire - by Bob Atkinson

Ambition, Interest and Desire
(c)2015 Bob Atkinson

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 

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

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