Follow by Email

Monday, July 28, 2014

And So It Was - by Bob Atkinson

A Whiter Shade of Pale

Poemwriters: Booker, Reid, Fisher
we skipped the light Fandango
turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kind of seasick
but the crowd called out for more

the room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away
when we called out for another drink
the waiter brought a tray

and so it was that later
as the Miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly
turned a whiter shade of pale

she said there is no reason
and the truth is plain to see
but I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be

one of sixteen vestal virgins
who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might just as well've been closed

she said, 'I'm home on shore leave,'
though in truth we were at sea
so I took her by the looking glass
and forced her to agree

saying, 'You must be the mermaid
who took Neptune for a ride.'
but she smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died
if music be the food of love
then laughter is its queen
and likewise if behind is in front
then dirt in truth is clean

my mouth by then like cardboard
seemed to slip straight through my head
so we crash-dived straightway quickly
and attacked the ocean bed

and so it was that later
as the Miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly
turned a whiter shade of pale

and so it was

And So It Was
(c)Bob Atkinson
to stop and tell a story
to those who hadn't gone
has quick implications
being right or wrong

doesn't really matter
do we tell the truth in all
we say, do, implicate
or do we just revolve

around those reflexed feelings
what seems comfortable today
in feeding image of self-worth
or contentment toward our graves

to set in motion accolades
and minds tuned to a song
garners ornamental tweets
allows us to belong

to a mood of indecision
strictly aberated in some way
you think it normal tuning out
some think it's moon gyrated

Saturday, July 26, 2014

The Time Machine - by Bob Atkinson

Roll Over Beethoven
poemwriter: Chuck Berry

I'm gonna write a little letter,
gonna mail it to my local DJ
ot's a rockin' rhythm record
I want my jockey to play
roll over Beethoven, I gotta hear it again today

you know, my temperature's risin'
and the jukebox blows a fuse
my heart's beatin' rhythm
and my soul keeps on singin' the blues
roll over Beethoven and tell Tchaikovsky the news

I got the rockin' pneumonia,
I need a shot of rhythm and blues
I think I'm rollin' arthritis
sittin' down by the rhythm review
roll over Beethoven rockin' in two by two

well, if you feel you like it
go get your lover, then reel and rock it
roll it over and move on up just
a trifle further and reel and rock it,
roll it over,
roll over Beethoven rockin' in two by two

well, early in the mornin' I'm a-givin' you a warnin'
don't you step on my blue suede shoes
hey diddle diddle, I am playin' my fiddle,
ain't got nothin' to lose
roll over Beethoven and tell Tschaikowsky the news

you know she wiggles like a glow worm,
dance like a spinnin' top
she got a crazy partner,
oughta see 'em reel and rock
long as she got a dime the music will never stop

The Time Machine
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
Berry stopped the time machine
in May of Fifty-Six
telling stories of his life
and his darlin' little Sis'

piano played those tunes of ages
tradition here abouts
which stopped his flow of agitation
not letting his feelings out

those masters played without rage
a sublime performance settled
to those who found tradition kept
what mattered in their kettles

some found those past arrangements
an irritant, of no real use
because here their egos bent upon
that pole of newness used

to arrange a process in their minds
of clarity without a doubt
twinkling notes to be floated
from front to back of house

Berry found to vent his anger
he told this story well
of sister and those ivory keys
and Bo Diddley's brassy bell

for us, back in our childhood
we heard these efforts great
which fed good our self image
to new minds as we left the gate

to do this well as Chuck did
produce what could be kept
in thoughts of many citizens
putting perspective on a rail

could only begin to fulfill
desire of myself
don't know if I can do it good
but will try, oh what the ****

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Sound Turned to Silence - by Bob Atkinson

Sound Turned to Silence
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
we all, in our own way
struggle through pursuit deranged
broadcasting our thought processes
in that in life of little gain

how much snaps your memory
to where you hear my tune
and sift your own experience
to drive home my good moods

how much of who I am
rubs right off on you
am I just noise in your cabin
as you ignore my attitude

silence knifes the book pages
as if cutting sentences in half
spewing waste out through a gate
and pulling shards of glass

silence feeds the open echoes
trundles through my past
and forms that open crust
of my ocean as I laugh

silence fills my need for clarity
non-ambiguous in its tone
the world defined by nature
or total lack thereof

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

As A River That Roars - translated by: Bob Atkinson

Comme un fleuve qui gronde

Je voudrais m’endormir
Tout au fond de toi me blottir
En cet endroit
Où l’enfant est roi
Confondre ton corps et le mien
Dans un ballet où mes mains
Ne cherchent déjà plus d’autre chemin
Que celui qui semblait écrit
Au tout début du monde
Les plus beaux moments de la vie
Sont ceux où l’habit même prend sa source à l’amour
En plaintes profondes
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Je voudrai me fondre avec toi
À l’endroit où mes doigts
Ont écrit tant de mots, tant de cris
Comment peut-on vivre en hiver
Entre la peine et la guerre
Quand l’amour seul efface les frontières
Entre nous comme entre pays
L’existence est si brève
Les plus beaux projets de la vie
Sont ceux où la vie même
Prend naissance avec nous en cet instant de rêve
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Comment éteindre le feu
Qui brûle au fond de mes yeux
Au fond de mon cœur
Comme un grand bonheur
Ne plus rien retenir
Et dans un dernier soupir
Oublier autant d’années
À ne plus respirer
Désormais, tout me semble écrit
Comme la fin du monde
Le plus bel instant de la mort
Celui où là dit même prend au fond de corps
Ce sang qui nous inonde
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
À l’aube, aux premières lueurs
Le ciel change les couleurs
De la nuit pour celle d’aujourd’hui
Il me semble entendre le vent
Mais c’est peut-être le chant
Des hommes qui marchent maintenant
Sur le sol de ce beau pays de la mer et des landes
Les plus beaux matins de la vie
Sont ceux où la terre même
prend au fond de nos corps
Notre force en offrande Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde
Quand mes jours coulent dans tes jours
Comme un fleuve qui gronde

As A River That Roars
translated by:
Bob Atkinson

I nearly fall asleep
as you turn and snuggle sweetly
shifts my thoughts toward the sensual
my inner child emerges pleasured

meld into your anatomy
dance with hands out freely
commited to this engagement
which begins as life began

during creation of our world
elegant as time and space unfurled
this softly sensual embrace
buries resistance to selfish rage

we flow our lives together
in a channel running fast
not thinking of past mistakes
conflict ebbs as fear's outcast

like a waterfall of feathers
we forget what sure won't last
our love's consummating fast
in a circumstance of delight

desire forms us together
my hands become a scribe
to document our sighs
not conflicting human minds

we struggle toward acceptance
of reality's clashing pride
softness of your body
takes my mind off of that life

sometimes cold besets us
no talk can fix this mess
but when lying in each other's arms
this war of words quietly rests

Friday, July 11, 2014

To Rise Again - by Bob Atkinson

To Rise Again
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
oh, but I can rise again
have died but live to get
up to the top of my life plan
oh, but I can rise again

you say I've made mistakes of time
yes, they are many but I find
you have in your resume' dear friend
many dreams faded, ended

oh, but I can rise again
I'm not so down that I can't mend
here in my soul I know I can
oh, but I can rise again

here in this time of hardened mood
I've come to change your attitude
bring you to that frame of mind
which satisfies your needs and mine

oh but I can rise again
have died but live to get
up to the top of my life plan
oh but I can rise again

The Civilized vs The Decomposed - by Bob Atkinson

The Civilized vs The Decomposed
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

nobody now cares to admit

our cities have become drug pits

civilized moved on so they can live

without the blight of depraved kids

these heathen souls who have become

that part of nature known as dung

get not trained in setting goals like men

go simply lost to propriety, in any event

money has not to do with this effort

purpose and goodwill toward everybody

carries all material needed for good life

yet the guns of animals fire every night

with broom in hand and gritted teeth

we all believe in widespread freedom

we can choose that gentle path

or stop the carnage with heavy hand

pick up your boots and settle down

don't brood and take the easy ground

get to work with mop on fire

take back your humanity, respect desire

ambition finds its place in time

to clean out flotsam requires nose-grind

quality of life defines a city safe

kindness, love, stand at those gates

towns begin to percolate

grow grass, trees tall in parkland spaces

schools and places of learning grow

we give each other a respectful bow

we can accomplish all our goals

with effort stand up on our toes

takes not what we don't have

sane recognition of the worth of man

They Feel - by Bob Atkinson

They Feel
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
they feel they're in the right
all tallied, set up finely
thoughts true, until refrain
lays doubt upon their brains

power comes, and power goes
sends will to kill down hill toward those
who allow themselves finite divinity
giving up on their hope of humanity

right and wrong lie somewhere here
between luck and perseverance
not when the strong survive
but when we sift out another's lies

take from those who give
and feel strength of will to hear
what can't be said in public
killing never solves it

A Quality of Time - by Bob Atkinson

A Quality of Time
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
send me into mind spin
as you take my imagination
toward a twisted gyration
without parachute's release

just flow with destiny to heaven
not trying to scrape sides to stop ascent
with fingers raw from pushing ever
toward that goal that ends in death

I'll just enjoy position
of my time here on this earth
that point which shows my vision
keeps me from scraping dirt

when my mirrors shows the past
will smile and say I tried to live
as if one not with feigned pride
all that could be done I did

with simple tools I had
all my friends found me to
give more than was allowed
not asking gratitude

'till then I'll spin my story
so some can with smiles so sweet
look back on this simple life and
imagine what it could have been

to live in times of trouble
when hurt was passed around
and flowed into our being
before it turned around

Friday, June 27, 2014

Songs of Louis Capart - by Bob Atkinson

Songs of Louis Capart
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
simple phrases satisfy
although messages pass me by
deep within the voice of sentiment
moves a heart toward contentment

driving again down a road
simple farms of crops unknown
to Dijon up from Paris
could have been just anyplace

City of Light still inspires
six story limit gives up an aura
expanding possibilities for space
room for sidewalk dining tables

Treff am Rex written on pages
a story told of feckless craving
someday bright screen will show
how heart's desire grows and grows

Capart's voice transcends my mind
could be from any decade past
language used to paint the sun
drives in toward all meanings of

past good times or future fun
satisfaction sipping a coffee cup
successful endeavor or busted run
no matter, has all been fun

no matter now, all will wait
for this album to run its pace
settled feelings of quiet grace
all bodes well, no wild cast rage

thank you Capart for morning mood
of my time within mind's groove
language meaning escapes my thought
yet this feeling ever locks

me into awareness of satisfaction
allowed this morning from reaction
to words describing your desire
to entertain with heart filled fire

Friday, June 20, 2014

Gibberish - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
ten thousand lay within his grasp
that serious deportment lapse
how could he soothe his wicked soul
without announcing firm fixed goals

so many here within this time
so many gone devoid of crimes
task of interacting well
begins to fault his open self

herein this sad tale of woe
here lies quick wit of those
who sail seas calm, no wind to push
their everlasting comic book

no, can't shove that form into
a volume small with compact tool
to change in size a scheme so deep
requires rest and extra sleep

all is confused if not related
to the real or initiated
tell you true this can be done
for purpose of grabbing ........ 

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

put down upon a bleached page
wandered thought, some re-arranged
to settle once and for all a question
how and why our minds twist lessons

lessons of the distant past
lessons formal, lessons cast
into that wiry theme called life
how can we organize inner strife

poetry fits needs when exercised
philosophy, argument, exposition of pride
those concepts knocking at our door
motivation, deception, wretched horrors

prose depicts some facts displayed
as a mumble, jumble of cascaded pages
names, dates not related to emotion
thoughts abated of intense progress

poetry, on the other hand
humbles us and our companions
sends our cognition into that range
of supposition, alternative ways

ways of nature, ways of life
ways of simple, outlandish pride
ways to garner progress made
when nobody gives us accolades

Monday, June 16, 2014

The Fault of Social Training - by Bob Atkinson

The Fault of Social Training
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Goldsmith devoted paragraphs
to the weakness of our kind
in bringing up our youth
sending them to circumcise

all demons of disorder
all thoughts brought into
a mind with application
of respect for monies few

philosophy tears the heart out
of ambition to build again
out of nothing something greater
than we had with empty hands

empty hands no longer afflict
our sons view of themselves
when books they read of simple deeds
take the place of industry's challenge

my son did not have fire
in his head for accomplishment
no wish to work his hardest
for himself or for the man

it did not phase him dearly
that in short life he needed to
grasp every opportunity
to those mountains move

my fault, I do believe now
put books there in his hand
in open disdain for entertainment
as an alternative to seeking fame

so when I charge myself with hurt
my hurt comes from within
good intentions don't overcome
what's driven into heads

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Duplicity - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

"... the extent of falseness of which he was capable is surprising, when we consider how limited was his intelligence ..." France Under Regency

duplicity of purpose, deed
to us has become adverse
seen as an overarching putrid retch
in not giving respect for thoughts reversed

our people desire courtesy
not storms of simple hate
when one believes in this
as a group we cannot take

an idea as held within the heart
held back by indecision
and future vision failed
crime of a cloud cast vision

no, give me something to believe
that doesn't oppose my memory
of mamma's purest dreams
house built next to an apple tree

not all believe the same thing
so what's the matter with that?
as long as disagreement
doesn't result in violent spats

vile, viscous decomposition
of good intent displayed
by an unraveled monarch
applies actions destined for decay

to those who value good in us
for morality to prevail
let us give boot to monarchs
who try to cross our trail

with lies of fact or fiction
a single purpose to erode
our will to combat destruction
of safety in our homes

for all who come to these shores
to all who work so hard
we pay respect for efforts given
hats tipped when passing farms

we see our country as a place
for freedom to discharge
an organized creation
which cannot lies absorb

in time of future need
in time of energies enormous
we'll build a fabric for us all to
sit and contemplate accomplishment

where the words
not for him, nor her, but me
have no settled place
a home for us all
built with style, the finest grace

all treated by the mass
as equal in potential gain
but not given anything
not earned or needing repay

Saturday, June 14, 2014

William Ernest Henly - I Am The Captain of My Soul/ Puzzle of the Fracas - by Bob Atkinson

William Ernest Henly
I Am The Captain of My Soul

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For My unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul

Puzzle of the Fracas
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
words and rhythm find the mind
flowing deep into the thought
of emotions heretofore
deliberated upon not

Henley found in solitude
some way to move his mind
into that open space of reason
pushing ideas into the grind

give it now some overview
try to understand the way
we fit into that puzzle of
the fracas and the fray

project yourself beyond the ego
let your thoughts not ride upon
that force which tells you to survive
when all hope is gone

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Poemwriter to the Stars - or - Stars in One's Eyes - by Bob Atkinson

Poemwriter to the Stars
Stars in One's Eyes
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
take me to a trip beyond
those wild adventures of my mind
to heaven's gates for finding grace
a willingness of timely grindings

where do these ultimate upheavals
of gnarly composition, rhythmic steeples
ideas within my head expanded
find form, or fearful dread of people

can't see, although I try
where the new here gets applied
best stories we can find are old
written in past times when freedom flowed

take this idea again to heart
resurface it with dreaded locks
push hard to make it flow
from my aching head to toes

then call yourself what you will
if you don't cherish work and zeal
cannot give you respect due unless
you move me with word craft's best

trite phrases of the meaningless
bungled process, ever present
takes from you that mantle proud
don't call yourself Poet if
you've let all peoples down

Poem of the Month July 2014 - This Land Is Your Land - by Woody Guthrie

This Land Is Your Land
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie

This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.

Friday, May 30, 2014

Dreams - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

block the sun with hand held high
as you move from place to place
shunning all forms of irritation
with style and practiced grace

call those simple pleasures
ones we seek so many of
strip those dark incantations
down to the barest love

sweat pours from a body
from feelings held to chest
our needs reduced to simple forms
our loudest protests held with breath

tell me if I'm overdone
am I so out of place
as to dream some dreams of glory
impossible in these days of strong duress

I pass the tree of wonder
growing from the salted ground
as we discover growth comes fast
when life forms here in the round

tell me if I'm never to
see dreams come under light
those perturbed by simple pleasures
strength of will thought out by night

send me through that maze complex
of interactions with the crowd
and let me form my own opinions
some fruitful, some unsound