Saturday, December 16, 2017

Dissimulation - by - Bob Atkinson

©2017 Bob Atkinson
rarely does a word have meaning
so deeply drawn down upon our souls
how could someone find within them
adoption of these goals

seldom, thank goodness, do we become
so devious in approach
yet some believe this opportunity
gives advantage to their boat

seems to me desire for dominance
comes from life's good form
where survival gives one leverage
when stepping on a stone

a stone of independence
where control becomes a tool
and simple honesty begets
merely simple fools

well, that's something to ponder
and think about with brain
a mental process analyzed
by those with diplomas framed

my take on this subject
my ideas gotten by thought
carry a simple lesson
of what here gets bought

careful consideration
with analytical tool of brain
says this notion's not so simple
one must here refrain

refrain from giving away so fast
what one has so little of
respect, honor and admiration
of honesty which we love

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

End of Existence - by - Bob Atkinson

End of Existence
©2017 Bob Atkinson

we fly when young of age
no telling where we’ll go
no firmness in our plan of life
in a future we don’t know

some of us leave too soon
some leave later on
when confronted with mortality
we ponder life’s beyond

can life be a video
which ends when closing eyes
a fertile field of vision
kept open by our lives

does immortality begin
with our end of days
when all our thoughts become
a basis for worlds far away

where machines rule destiny
but need an emotional eye
else they’ll think only rational thoughts
no human touch derived

kindness, that sly notion
which tempers meaner souls
we find only in our emotions
when thoughts grow soft, yet bold

Thursday, December 7, 2017

Pretense People - by - Bob Atkinson

Pretense People
©2017 Bob Atkinson

how we love those pretense people
who shove their sophistication down our throats
with everlasting verbiation
and adjectives meant to gloat

how we love their love of self
now who else would do that?
while carrying words of evolution
beneath their large brimmed hats

how we feel not complex ourselves
when complex finds a way
to flow into life obliquely
like a scurrying little rat parade

how they seem so sensitive
to whims of fashion's task
which makes one feel up to date
chic clothes upon our backs

how they reach for more when more
finds nothing much to smirk
at artistic imitations laughed at
by those who could be jerks

how my sense of order
flips when seen as old and stale
while some who foster pretense
seem not thin and pale

how can I settle for my style
when style I have little of
oh well, doesn't matter much
my pretense lost its love

Thursday, November 23, 2017

American Foreign Legion - by - Bob Atkinson

©2017 Bob Atkinson

they felt their lives worthless
those who went astray
drugs, gangs, and institutions
on innocents had all preyed

senseless in outlook
not without guilt did they see
an invitation for something
where they could be free

recruiter said would be hard
this trip to the other side
perhaps they'd die a cruel death
while taking it all in stride

never ever had they worked so hard
as they would if they joined
this military force of those
whose lives had gone all wrong

training becoming routine
sharp uniforms like gentlemen
steps aligned precisely timed
formations of soldiers under arms

proud officers guiding
those willing men of hate
who found themselves tightly bound
to hell's fiery gates

dressed in red, white and blue
so enemy could see their fate
for always in a battle would
this unit obliterate

obliterate opposition
whether good, bad, or in between
for our world wields a stick
which never has been seen

seen fight with such fury
for eyes of pacifists to behold
a world bent on opposition
which nature had unfolded

fight they would for country
fight they would for world
fight like banshee herds
no quarter given fools

fools who would believe
they'd live opposing these
men of iron formed to live
and die a fighter's creed

no, didn't start out
as our best example soldiers
but since their souls weren't alive
their lives then didn't matter

knew when joined would die
in service to their land
for this foreign legion's soldiers
emptied prisons throughout our land

and rather than a square cell
locked up for their lives all tight
this prison population
trained well for any fight

for gods and country everywhere
where truth need be said
an institution formed of those
whose souls had been shed

Monday, November 20, 2017

Linear Perspective - by - Bob Atkinson

Linear Perspective
©2017 Bob Atkinson

we see ourselves in a line
progress from here to there
yet if we doubt this reasoning
we’re sure to find good care

for all our world progresses not
in form or settled fare
our likeness gets overcome
by weakness in our airs

my heart thumps ever gladly
when kindness comes to front
and sadness overcomes my soul
when hurt becomes well done

keeps me ever in frustration
as all isn’t what could be
leaving consternation when
ideals aren’t freed

progress seems not a straight line
a wave or jiggled graph
which forever doesn’t show our strengths
only our good or wicked paths

paths which lead to who knows what
end of a road unclear
leaves us to search for meaning
which may or may not be dear

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Unpliability to Novel Circumstances - by - Bob Atkinson

©2017 Bob Atkinson

here we go with question marks
can we mold ourselves to new
or do we garner enthusiasm
only when tried and true

do we find good order
in what we’ve seen before
playing out our future
with skills honed prior for

for that situation
we found ourselves within
fearing fully those unknowns
or mysteries of sin

can this be a sign of age
when new becomes so feared
no longer in our element
just standing here with beard

beard of age resplendent
do we have to ply our way
only with older skills
learned back in our early days

ponder this good fellow
let my message sink in deep
unknown’s not disaster
if you your wits do keep

calm in face of danger
skilled in face of rage
when an open invitation toward
security you do crave

for never in a billion years
do animals project
secondary knowledge of
what a future projects

and thus you’re not alone
in fear of things obscure
let this fear subside
you’ll be much more secure

Monday, October 9, 2017

Utopian Dreams

©2017 Bob Atkinson
frame of reference rules a statement
made with broadly structured purpose
not without lagging meaning
or simple will of usage

poetry’s not without
form or function’s gait
something we all need
in order to relate

relate emotional aspects
of some real or imagined event
a laugh, a cry or even smirk
our reaction to predicament

here’s some useful aspect
for a genre’ allowed to decay
with Poe and Ginsberg leading us
from utility away

when 18 Souls cannot find
they relate to Poets Past
we need to alter course
away from stinkiness at last
toward a new dimension
built upon that foundation’s platform
some way to differentiate our lives
from strange to an honest norm

a norm for to guide us
on a path toward gentleness
away from wicked violence
toward Utopian dreams at last

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Lucy - by - Bob Atkinson


©2017 Bob Atkinson

Wordsworth had his Lucy
and so did Bob to follow
down a path so open
as ideas he had to swallow

someone who would listen
when he read those words of late
fleeing institutions which
left poetry at the gate

and further inflamed, an orator
who yelled at things not correct
wandering through this meaning
at first more vague than set

then when this simple mind
found complexity in his times
realized to say an absolute
did his people wrong, so blind

for one person only feels pain
takes two to analyze this
and three with concurrence
gives an answer best

so he sat and wrote these refrains
to tell his people true
one can only tell how one feels
not statements make of truth

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Drums of Ancestry - by - Bob Atkinson

Drums of Ancestry
©2017 Bob Atkinson

oh how pounding in my ears
contains such complex thoughts
primal urges coming forward
without which I am lost

lost in recognition of
a past which I don’t know
a struggle for a million years
a battle which I know

know took place for sure as
my muscles here get taut
when holding sword with tight grip
ancestors survived to live on

guts of brave beginnings
evolution bringing forward
multiple capabilities
of growth, war, song and stories

but here I stand without a word
in reverence to my past
that beat which I should love
turns my brain to glass

shatters all emotion
except one of disdain
for throbbing restitution wanting
peace to replace hard pain

pain of banging in my ears
no rhythm there again
keep me filled with history
or stop that awful din

for banging on a rattle
shows nothing to my eyes
except a lack of expression
torment to quiet lives

drums gave armies orders
told them how and where to go
that drum set in your song
tells not a story bold

merely that you dropped out
of school before were done
and left your constitution
thinly constructed, on the run

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Definition of Poetry - by - Bob Atkinson

Definition of Poetry
- by - Bob Atkinson

Poetry - the Emotional Content of Literature

Sunday, July 23, 2017

Definition of Poet - by - Bob Atkinson

Definition of Poet
©2017 Bob Atkinson


One Who Gathers Emotional Words Into A Cohesive Piece.
(does not include those who merely write words and call them poetry)

Friday, June 23, 2017

A Prideful Child - by - Bob Atkinson

A Prideful Child

©2017 Bob Atkinson
Walking along on Congress
from parking box to Fox
a warm night of illusions
showed me comfort on a lark

to see old Gordon Lightfoot
in his glory of today
with strings of gentle feeling
as if in pride's parade

a soul passes by me
a younger kind of lass
not breathing hard just gliding
to her destiny she did pass

had leggings like those others
who thought nudism's all a rage
but this one's more conservative
neatness her best page

my thoughts left me amazed
how people could progress
with these two divergent cultures
finding togetherness in press

but thoughts of similar nature
found a brick wall there with my glance
for as we came upon a street
our harmonies there did pass
for a red light shown oh so brightly
"don't walk" there on display
but this beauty of gentle nature
kept her pace without delay

she strode as if was nothing
to violate this request
no vehicles from this side street
why stop, and for seconds rest?

wasn't that this ignorance
harmed but any soul
purely displayed lack of character
to our common goals

mine and many other people
there on that sidewalk's route
stopped and waited for this light
to tell them "go's" alright

you see pride lives in one's mind
not on one's tongue alone
character resides in one's heart
not on a chair-like throne

for pride alone made us pause
not in her mind that day
what you can get away with
was her mindset there displayed

right and wrong lies absolute
not only when one sees
no danger in quickly passing
against red light there on a street

most people feel honor
cannot be bought for seconds past
where doing right comes natural
watching another fight a distant past

where we all took care of each other
and children weren't afraid
although they never would
in front of adults mis-behave

for rebuke of bad behavior
would be firm and would be quick
but now that's not the way
people think, "that wasn't slick"

we see ourselves evolved from that
but really have not devised
a societal institution which
creates a prideful child

they walk through life without a nod
to simple right and wrong
only concerned about themselves
not seeing harmony in a throng

no pride for only pride's sake
no clear idea of ethic's hum
as their honor can be bought
with a few seconds gained beyond

beyond a simple concept
we'll never here agree
that's the only real difference
between her mind and me