Success - by Bob Atkinson

If your poetry or your life progresses not at the pace you'd wish, don't give up. Success requires a journey, not a destination. Success or Failure are both transitory !!!!

Bob Atkinson, Tucson, Arizona May, 2013

Success

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Goal

pitching in, we feel sometimes

our efforts cannot grapple well

with what seems stone wall hard

our tortured form of hell

keeping us away from subsequent

progress toward that lofty goal
travel through an uncharted maze
can sometimes stop us cold

desire defines success within

our memories we closely cherish
some will, some won't stay satisfied
without a distinct determined course

a hill climbed to the top, or not
depends upon our energy reserves

to reach for goals inclusive

within that which makes us certain

a goal so far out of our reach

can define with truest blessing

why we're meant to struggle hard

without pure second guessing

those fierce winds in our face

where opposition makes a stand

sometimes blow power into our sails

as motivation for our plans

achievement, not a given thing

that stated mission simply sets

us on our path of progress

to maybe get there, maybe crash

success is but a fleeting thing

won't mean much for long

our lives have meaning only

while we search for what's beyond

Adopt the Useless Reject the Truth - by Bob Atkinson

Adopt the Useless

Reject the Truth

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

cat out of the bag

ruthlessness means heartlessness

when the adamant becomes obsessed

to some point of bold indiscretion

without such simple happy regrets

as one does of a brutal callous nature

saves those dog-eat-dog inhuman animals

who become iron fisted malevolent ravens

shakily standing on tilted rocky tables

but then

their mothers love them

in spite of all their faults

senses nature gave away

defines other useful wants

fathers, wouldn't know them

either missing or concerned that they

could snatch some charity at home

or look

out somewhere in the bay

here, the meaning simplifies

when trying to explain

how one could write the truth of it

and have nobody understand

yet

here out in the open phrase

lie words of uselessness

that someone out there will adopt

as gospel and declare their best

all remains open to interpretation

although I've let the cat free when he

scratched through a paper sack enough

to quash thinking about my dreams

go figure

The Potency of Words - by Bob Atkinson

The Potency of Words

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Bear

few powerful winds approach

the potency of words

screaming eagles end their flight

when challenged with our verbs

lions stop their viscous charge

when hand raised and told to stop

bears decide there are some prey

more easily devoured

words contain the ultimate

force of which we're made

they topple foreign governments

with repeated threats of rage

words need in their entirety

containment of these powers

because of uses not sincere

or wrongness of desires

Tropes - by Bob Atkinson

Tropes

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Tropes

presumption drives us ever more

into the world we know and hold

all we feel of natural events

old and new and predicted senses

discerning connections made within

cities where many, many people live

no ice flows melting on tropic isles

whales not swimming on desert sand piles

it's not too stretched to see the point

we feel within us right and wrong

by simple conditioned reflexes made

from experience learned day to day

trope recalls conventions expected

a ship at anchor will sail soon

a kite flies on windy days

a red light means we stop and wait

codes of conduct change in time

as repetition fosters new reorders

when allowed, we find bad habits

become nominal methods practiced

in time these poor wasted ways

mutate our reflexed burdens carried

speech which gives not respect to others

actions carried on disgracing mothers

so, if you think that slip of tongue

is cute or has someone's bell rung

hold that voice you give not civil

don't compose your life with drivel

build your worth on daily actions

smiles, respect and satisfaction

tell your heart you've added to

the good around your bubbled cube

Epistemological, The Legacy of Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

Epistemological,
The Legacy of Poetry

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Epistemology wiki 

Kristin's take on this

Kristin said that word we haven't

ever heard or used ourselves

said we try to teach knowledge
written by the poet's quill

well, Kristin, that's not the point

doesn't enter into the frame of life

of why we do this thing we do

in good form or jumbled piles

poetry's only a method used

a tool for life's hard game

motivation toward action and

understanding one's inner pain

there are some words that agitate

some fill a voided need with love

some move us toward new action

some draw sympathy or fun

some cover up our tendencies

to gloss over what lies deep

in the ocean of our minds

allowing for more peaceful sleep

here we have a wrench that moves

nuts and bolts of our inner mind

to fine tune our methods of living

moving us easily through our times

if poetry gives us strength

or helps us learn a language truly

let's say we've been given a gift

hopefully we'll find it useful

Fog and other Nonsense - Carl Sandburg

Fog

Poemwriter: Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg1878-1967

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then, moves on.

I rest my case!  This nonsense was found in a poetry book entitled:  "The Standard Book of British and American Verse"

 

Bob Atkinson

May, 2013

The Establishment - by Bob Atkinson

The Establishment

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Earth

I love it when

the establishment gets undone

all their panties in a rolled up bunch

all their words shown insincere

all their ugly precepts not revered

Poe gave us nonsense to blabber

look upon, drool, stoop and lather

allowing those of dubious talent

credentials best used for wiping crevasses

don't think, myself, when given choice

would know what's right in serious discourse

just grasp what's wrong with closed eye feelings

what's plain,  clichéd, lacking real meaning

Poetry stands straight and tall

as emotional content of learned halls

not confused with dreamed up plots

similes, metaphors and thesaurus rot

flitting, flying, fermenting pictures

fluttering statements devoid of meaning

of Azure skies, rock filled basements
absolute nonsense, irregular pacing

write it so faces you see when reading

show emotional twitches, tweaks, turn red

smiles, yells and laughs not voluntary

applause not simply seduced, or ordinary

only then the power's unleashed

expanded horizons, enhanced freedoms

only then our life evolves superior

to pettiness of thought we've adhered to

Poemwriters, Not Poets Words, Not Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

Poemwriters, Not Poets

Words, Not Poetry

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

over and above my trials

extended out for many miles

search I do most frequently

for an explanation holding tea

yes, it's hard to find that which

my heart looks for, an open ditch

holding, directing, a flow of words

toward my cache of nouns and verbs

by this my meaning's been quite clear

I need in desperation some useful phrases

thoughts of which in my understanding

build ramparts and battle flags waving

but no

can't find these words of note

that which living authors recently wrote

they seem to take over vanity presses

wanting rewards for writing messes

perhaps they wish the title cheaply

"Poets" they call themselves not meekly

in my mind, they're "Poemwriters,"

a word which says nothing at all

of quality they've brought into our halls

  

sheepskins cover them with camo

words denoting their entitlement shallow

merely define actions, not quality of verbs

hold themselves harmless for being brazenly disturbed

so, to those poemwriters of today

I give the challenge, if they can take it

send your words out to the world for free

quit taking what isn't yours to keep

you are not a poet if you don't

give the world much of what you wrote

words upon words of quality value

ideals bequeathed, not held as chattel

Poem of the Month - June 2013 - Early Morning Rain - Poemwriter: Gordon Lightfoot

Early Morning Rain

Poemwriter: Gordon Lightfoot

Gordon Lightfoot wiki
Early Morning Rain - Gordon Lightfoot video 

in the early mornin' rain

with a dollar in my hand

with an achin' in my heart

and my pockets full of sand

I'm a long way from home

Lord I miss my loved ones so

in the early mornin' rain

with no place to go

out on runway number nine

big seven-o-seven set to go

and I'm stuck here in the grass

with a pain that ever grows

oh, the liquor tasted good

and the women all were fast

well, now there she goes my friend

she'll be rollin' down at last

hear the mighty engines roar

see the silver wing on high

she's a wingin' westward bound

far above the clouds she'll fly

where the mornin' rain don't fall

and the sun always shines

she'll be flyin' over my home

in about three hours time

this old airport's got me down

it's no earthly good to me

and I'm stuck here on the ground

as cold and drunk as I can be

you can't jump a jet plane

like you can a freight train

so, I best be on my way

in the early mornin' rain

Time To Recall - by Bob Atkinson

Time To Recall

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Pozo-Seco Singers wiki

Don'n Loftin played their hearts

as if headed for the lights

when Susan saw them at the school

and directed them to try

something new in her imagination

seven years they did arrange

to flow with treasured feelings

Pozo-Seco became their name

Time took off among the rest

based upon their feelings shown

about the world and its contents

emotions ever overgrown

here in Time we see ourselves

as we move through simple lives

seeking status knowing that

the world will pass us by

most folks do "go their way"

without our feelings in their hearts

not seeking gifts to give away

just looking for that treasured spot

Time

Poemwriter: Michael Merchant
Time - Performed by Pozo-Seco Singers 

some people run, some people crawl,
some people don't even move at all
some roads lead forward some roads lead back
some roads are bathed in light

some wrapped in fearful black

time oh time, where did you go
time oh good, good time, where did you go

some people never get, some never give
some people never die and some never live
some folks treat me mean, some treat me kind
most folks just go their way, don't pay me any mind

time oh time where did you go
time oh good, good time where did you go

sometimes I'm satisfied, sometimes I'm not
sometimes my face is cold, sometimes it's hot
sunset I laugh, sunrise I cry
at midnight I'm in between and wondering why

time oh time where did you go
time oh good good time where did you go

time oh time where did you go
time oh good good time

where did you go

Your Children Taught Well - by Bob Atkinson

Your Children Taught Well

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Teach Your Children wiki

Graham got the idea long ago

from watching children play

games adults thought were cool

in their much distorted way

cops and robbers shooting up

the town for what was right

soldiers killing on the field

to express a nation's might

Hollies didn't see the gain

in producing such a twist

on the age old adage

teach maturity to your kids

discipline of mind and thought

not confused with freedom's pride

instills the progress we all need

as to our egos identified

that which makes us better

not that which gives us wealth

those treasures of a lifetime

true, pure, and heartfelt

Garcia pedaled such good notes

in his effort to expand

abilities of the Dead

before dying like a man

as we travel through these themes

let us carry onward within our lives

in that tradition of full respect

for what is rightfully applied

the old song had, as cats do

many lives of some great note

filling inner needs of those

who sung lyrics and bespoke

feelings of the grateful men

who saw as their duty plain

children should be led beyond

that selfishness we disdain

Teach Your Children Well

Poemwriter: Graham Nash

Teach Your Children - Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

you who are on the road
must have a code

that you can live by
and so become yourself

because the past is just a goodbye

teach your children well

their father's hell
will slowly go by
and

feed them on your dreams
the one they pick
the one you'll know by

don't you ever ask them why
if they told you

you would cry
so just look at them and sigh

and know they love you

and you, of tender years
can't know the fears
that your elders grew by
and

so please help them

with your youth
they seek the truth
before they can die

can you hear

and

do you care
and

can't you see we must be free
to teach our children

what you believe in

make a world that we can believe in

teach your parents well
their children's hell
will slowly go by
and

feed them on your dreams

the ones they pick
the one you'll know by

don't you ever ask them why
if they told you, you would cry
so just look at them and sigh
and

know they love you

Turn Around and Mountains High - Poemwriters: Mary Sperling and Richard Gosting

Commentary:

Emotion in Literature

Simple thoughts, simple words can generate intense emotional vibrations if done well.  These two poems generate such emotional outbursts out of simple ideas.

Bob Atkinson
April, 2013

Turn Around

 Dick and DeDee wiki

Poemwriters: Mary Sperling and Richard Gosting

life grows short
and man grows old
summer's gone
and the wind turns cold

where are you going
my little one, little one
where are you going
my sonny, my own

turn around and you're two
turn around and you're four
turn around, you're a young man
going out of the door

where are you going
my little one, little one
pigtails and petticoats
where have you gone

turn around and you're tiny
turn around and you're grown
turn around, you're a young wife
with babes of your own

turn around and you're tiny
turn around and you're grown
turn around, you're a young wife
with babes of your own

where are you going
my little ones, little ones
where have they gone
our children, my own

turn around and they're young
turn around and they're old
turn around and they've gone
and we've no one to hold

turn around and they're young
turn around and they're old
turn around and they've gone
and we've no one to hold

The Mountains High

Poemwriters: Mary Sperling and Richard Gosting

the mountains high and the valleys so deep
can't get across to the other side
don't ya give up baby, don't you cry
don't ya give up till I reach the other side

I was lonely baby, I couldn't sleep
the night they took you from my side

I was a lonely soul
until you became my goal
and then I saw the spark of love
and then the stars fell from up above OH YEAH!

I know someday we will meet again
but, I don't know exactly where or when
but baby, if fate has its way
well meet again some other day

Winslow - by Bob Atkinson

Winslow

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Take it Easy

Jackson gave it first life

Frey saw it to the end

both believed in printing pictures

by jumping on the band again

sweet sounds of harmony entangled

loving moments good as wine

preening wings for eagle's flight

somberness blowing old wind chimes

"...running down that road in Winslow..."

searching for a ride to carry home

an always knowing lamp of sparkle

with which talent can evolve, well known

simple pleasured sweetness, brooding

drifting to extremes of heat and dust

for adventures golden in your pocket

hurts given attention by a lover

such caused temptation's evolution

wild gyrations of unspoken dreams

simple pleasures toward feeling good

expressions stuck in moving streams

here the words of masters ring

with wonder of their youth

circling covered wagons under

starlight aggregates within life's soup

try that sense of purpose now

doesn't feel same as moods back then

sense of duty more ingrained these days

better uses for inked blue pens

although one wouldn't know

reasons we couldn't follow home

our goals within us attained fully

years before our dreams outgrown

Winslow knew the memory of love

combined with western storied lore

that sandy sort of process we observe

to which shallowness becomes absorbed

grit, tenacity, our base talents

guts and attitude arranged in lines

without the temperament of age

unknown, which path is yours or mine

not adverse to risking failure

or surprise results sometimes

in our youth we followed fantasy

incomplete descriptions, chaotic rhymes

carry me back to a world when

all that was, was future dreams

no present in our desire then

no volume in our screams

Take it Easy

Poemwriters: Jackson Browne, Glenn Frey

well I'm a-running down the road trying to loosen my load
I've got seven women on my mind
four that want to own me, two that want to stone me
one says she's a friend of mine

take it easy, take it easy
don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
lighten up while you still can
don't even try to understand
just find a place to make your stand and take it easy

well I'm a-standin' on the corner in winslow, arizona
with such a fine sight to see
it's a girl, my lord, in a flatbed ford
slowin' down to take a look at me

come on baby, don't say maybe
I've got to know if your sweet love is gonna save me
we may lose and we may win
but we will never be here again
open up I'm climbin' in to take it easy

well I'm a-running down the road trying to loosen my load
got a world of trouble on my mind
lookin' for a lover who won't blow my cover
she's just a little hard to find

take it easy, take it easy
don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
come on baby, don't say maybe
I've got to know if your sweet love is gonna save me

you know we got it easy
we oughta take it easy

I'd Really Love To See You Tonight - Poemwriter: Dan Seals

Structure of a good poem. Here we have a story of someone's life laid out for everyone to see. The feelings, the emotion, the situation are all displayed in a perfect vision. Expert poetry.

Bob Atkinson, April, 2013

I'd Really Love

To See You Tonight

 

 Poemwriter: Dan Seals

hello, yeah, it's been a while
not much, how 'bout you?
I'm not sure why I called
I guess I really just

wanted to talk to you

and

I was thinking maybe later on
we could get together for a while
It's been such a long time
and

I really do miss your smile

I'm not talking 'bout moving in
and

I don't want to change your life
but

there's a warm wind blowing

the stars around

and

I'd really love to see you tonight

we could go walking

through a windy park,
or

take a drive along the beach.
or

stay at home and watch T.V.
you see it really

doesn't matter much to me

I'm not talking 'bout moving in
and

I don't want to change your life
but

there's a warm wind blowing

the stars around
and

I'd really love to see you tonight

I won't ask for promises
so you don't have to lie
we've both played that game before
say I love you

then say goodbye

I'm not talking 'bout moving in
and

I don't want to change your life
but

there's a warm wind blowing

the stars around
and

I'd really love to see you tonight

Poem of the Month, May, 2013 - Sister Golden Poemwriter: Gerry Beckley

Poem of the Month May, 2013

Sister Golden Hair

Poemwriter: Gerry Beckley

Sister Golden Hair wiki

well I tried to make it Sunday

but I got so damn depressed
that I set my sights on Monday

and I got myself undressed

I ain't ready for the altar

but I do agree there's times
when a woman sure can

be a friend of mine

well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you

sister Golden Hair surprise
and I just can't live without you

can't you see it in my eyes?

I been one poor correspondent

and I been too, too hard to find
but it doesn't mean

you ain't been on my mind

will you meet me in the middle

will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little

just enough to show you care?

well I tried to fake it

I don't mind sayin'

I just can't make it

Doo wop doo wop ...

Everybody's Talkin' at Him by Bob Atkinson

Everybody's Talkin' at Him

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Midnight Cowboy wiki

back when imagination reigned

back when ideas prospered

before accomplishment set in

I saw the cowboy walking

Harry, who had been so rude

got bounced upon his rear

along with Lennon at the club

they Tommy and Dickie ridiculed

Harry & John

was where later protest engaged
for closing at ten o'clock too soon
causing Peter to get busted by Sherman
inspiring "For What It's Worth," the tune
  
Harry sang the song of heart
with feeling, his voice nicely fit
that mood we all grew up with
understanding life, us not a bit 

represented that which we

all claimed as our own pages
wasn't us out of tune
was those outrageous aged

Fred Neil wrote the words

lamenting people he had seen

as having their own purpose

not aligned with his deep dreams

Grammy thought it so sincere

when Dustin had engaged

that shuffled gait of confidence

representing some who faded

summer breezes, since

warmed my face with kindness

too many to admit to strangers

here in my time of soft reflection

I see more purpose now for writing

the notes of a life lived fast

when all I could have wished for

came but didn't last

 

Everybody's Talkin'

Poemwriter: Fred Neil

Everybody's Talkin' wiki 

Harry singing 

everybody's talking at me
I don't hear a word they're saying
only the echoes of my mind

people stopping staring
I can't see their faces
only the shadows of their eyes
I'm going where the sun keeps shining
thru' the pouring rain
going where the weather suits my clothes
banking off of the North East wind
sailing on a summer breeze
skipping over the ocean like a stone

Maynard G. Krebbs by Bob Atkinson

Maynard G. Krebbs

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Dobie Gillis Wiki 

Maynard

mister Krebbs do you understand

the life you have undone

you sent me to that slovenly place

to settle upon a rock

and ponder all that could be

all that's possible in this world

of thinking thoughts of malcontent

and super critical verbs

of course, your fault you know

this kid that grew up to

follow paths which went nowhere

and characters within a stew

you gave me something to aspire

that beatnik persona taken

for many hundred months upon

martinis stirred, not shaken

mister Krebbs trust you to

be satisfied with your lot

that which you cast me into

those words held out for thought

At Seventeen - Poemwriter: Janis Ian - the prototype of mainstream poetry

At Seventeen

 Janis Ian

Poemwriter: Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
that love was meant for beauty queens
and high school girls with clear skinned smiles
who married young and then retired

the valentines I never knew
the Friday night charades of youth
were spent on one more beautiful
at seventeen I learned the truth...

and those of us with ravaged faces
lacking in the social graces
desperately remained at home
inventing lovers on the phone

who called to say "come dance with me"
and murmured vague obscenities
it isn't all it seems at seventeen...

a brown eyed girl in hand me downs
whose name I never could pronounce
said: "pity please the ones who serve
they only get what they deserve"
the rich relationed hometown queen
marries into what she needs
with a guarantee of company
and haven for the elderly...

so remember those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain
in debentures of quality and dubious integrity
their small-town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
exceeds accounts received at seventeen...

to those of us who knew the pain
of valentines that never came
and those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball

it was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...

we all play the game, and when we dare
we cheat ourselves at solitaire
inventing lovers on the phone
repenting other lives unknown
that call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
and murmur vague obscenities
at ugly girls like me, at seventeen...

To me this poem is the prototype of what's to become accepted as mainstream poetry in my dreams. Such hard hitting emotional attachment to special words instilled in all our hearts becomes part of our individual DNA. That, my friends, is the meaning of poetry and its differentiation from prose.

Bob Atkinson

April, 2013