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Friday, August 29, 2014

Poem of the Month - September 2014 - Lyin' Eyes - Poemwriters: Don Henly, Glenn Frey

Lyin' Eyes
Poemwriters: Don Henly, Glenn Frey

city girls just seem to find out early 
how to open doors with just a smile
a rich old man and she won't have to worry 
she'll dress up all in lace and go in style

late at night a big old house gets lonely
I guess every form of refuge has its price
and it breaks her heart to think her love is only
 given to a man with hands as cold as ice 

so she tells him she must go out for the evening
to comfort an old friend who's feelin' down 
but he knows where she's goin' as she's leavin' 
she is headed for the cheatin' side of town

you can't hide your lyin' eyes
and your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize

there ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes 

on the other side of town a boy is waiting 
with fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal 
she drives on through the night anticipating
cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel 

she rushes to his arms, they fall together
she whispers, "It's only for a while"
she swears that soon she'll be comin' back forever 
she goes away and leaves him with a smile 

you can't hide your lyin' eyes 
and your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize

there ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes 

she gets up and pours herself a strong one 
and stares out at the stars up in the sky 
another night, it's gonna be a long one 
she draws the shade and hangs her head to cry 

she wonders how it ever got this crazy
she thinks about a boy she knew in school 
did she get tired or did she just get lazy? 
she's so far gone she feels just like a fool 

my oh my, you sure know how to arrange things 
you set it up so well, so carefully
ain't it funny how your new life didn't change things? 
you're still the same old girl you used to be 

you can't hide your lyin' eyes 
and your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize
there ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes

there ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
honey, you can't hide your lyin' eyes

have seen, myself, ten thousand people standing and cheering upon hearing this poem
a sophisticated piece of literature, capturing drama and emotion, where current fare does not
the wispy mindless writings of so called "Poets" makes one cringe, and makes none stand and cheer
how can we purge the chaff from the wheat in Poetry?
good question! good question!

Wonders of the Sun
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
time plays all around us
a saga of delight and gloom
bundled with diversity
of ever present moods

circumventing directness
we dance upon our toes
feelings lightly touching skin
a throbbing outer glow

or so, that's how it goes
when we interact our minds
sending pleasures to the surface
which then dive back down inside

here with odd simplicity
we strengthen when enhanced
by nearness of devotion
without which we can't dance

we see sentiment divided
when we go our separate ways
simple salutations buried
in the calmness of our rage

sunlight feels so powerful
light burns upon the skin
does it light an understanding
of the places we have been?

Poem of the Month - August 2014 - Get Together - by Chet Powers/ Outstretched Grasp - by Bob Atkinson

Get Together
Poemwriter: Chet Powers

love is but a song we sing
and fear's the way we die
you can make the mountains ring
or make the angels cry
though the bird is on the wing
and you may not know why

c'mon people now
smile on your brother
ev'rybody get together
try to love one another right now

some will come and some will go
and we shall surely pass
when the one that left us here
returns for us at last
we are but a moment's sunlight
fading in the grass

c'mon people now
smile on your brother
ev'rybody get together
try to love one another right now

if you hear the song we sing
you will understand listen
you hold the key to love and fear
all in your trembling hand
just one key unlocks them both
it's there at your command

c'mon people now
smile on your brother
ev'rybody get together
try to love one another right now

Outstretched Grasp
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
we come to fear nature
when it's at our command
for in this world of evolution
we've got a helping hand

progress requires thinking
and a tender touch
else we've divided our species
into forks of man's disgust

take me now to the future
when we have aligned
all the souls who've ever lived
into a single file

take us to that place and season
where we stand up tall
finding good hope and reason
has kept us from a fall

we'll survive this journey
holding each others' hands
in step with all who walk
call it brotherhood of man

tell me if this dream's a fiction
of simple sadness, not real or true
or can we find doing good for people
produces that of which we're sure

come on people live to the fullest
care for your fellow man
take that selfish purpose
stuff it in a sack

don't let those who feel
freedom's gone and past
rise to take thoughts we treasure
from our outstretched grasp

Monday, August 25, 2014

The Spell of Language - by Bob Atkinson

The Spell of Language
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Webster brought an idea home
thoughts, verse, prose, tomes
should all be written faithfully
in a language with spelling honed

designed to give this nation pride
a method evolved, an invariable guide
production of all books of page
made with prideful letter placement

produced the "speller" for us all
to keep our spelling uniform
a way to say we've come of age
allowing ownership of the page

no longer centre but center stage
we go to theater, not theatre's play
with moral fiber not fibre's way
in defense produced, not defence, OK?

so if you're lax in spelling's toil
Webster didn't get your blood to boil
you have no feeling of pride involved
in separating from an island's culture

a wave here takes on the tone
works toward more union then on our own
toward connection to other men
then back toward independence again

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Statesmanship - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
"... we hold it to be the first task of statesmanship to develop the stength that will deter the forces of aggression and promote the conditions of peace ..."
Dwight D. Eisenhower

here in that time of crisis
those wayward days of mud
when those who would be powerful
gain fashion with use of gun

not seeds of perfect charity
no love do they possess
just overriding purpose
by thumping of their chests

here in our development
nature has our crossroads made
do we digress to the point
where progress reverses trend

back to a time when people lived
a life so badly blessed
with slavery, toil and pestilence
given to their masters' whims

or do we define the nature
of progress to be made
a simple organizing statement
which carries to the grave

all we seek of accomplishment
all love grown for our friends
no enemies designated
we're all just mortal men

so first we can define
the void of useful souls
that underlying demon
we can't allow to grow

when some seek to gain power
by force or use of gun
intimidation, recklessness
they need to understand

society cannot fathom
such willful negligence
needs of the many for peace
herein takes precedence

Sunday, August 17, 2014

The Materials of Criticism - by Bob Atkinson

The Materials of Criticism
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
to look upon a word fixed art
for value of the whole or parts
begins a journey demonstrated
to frustrate each of five senses

do we? could we? can we?
here in the "here and now"
produce our cultural standing
by lining up words in a row

can we? do we? could we?
put value on our art
or would it suffice to percolate
ingredients in a pot

that which makes up the whole
contains some parts plus simple hope
many seeds of doubt, some blind faith
loose fundamentals warmed to percolate

boil this stew in an open pot
wander over meanings uncovered
string appetite of mind along a line
of selfish devotion to an adept mind

thus craving credentials and accolades
with independence of well written pages
try as nature creates a need
molding most to firm fixed greed

avarice dependent, an encircled fire
aspiration drawn toward life's desire
direction fielded, ego supplemented
when open rawness becomes regimented

broadcast to those who care about
this person's rage who loudly shouts
simple signals of directional flow
mixed with endless personal selfdom

all nuance transmitted within the hope
of mending what's perceived as broken
broken carries diverse meanings
when seen with eyes of different teachings

broken, to some, fits life so tight
the critic's words lie dormant, unlighted
when not in tune with rational heart
words have no meaning, a useless art

art fulfills some need of nature
to analyze for form and flavor
tenderly we read their stuff
then regurgitate our lunch

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Grounded Squirrel - by Bob Atkinson

Grounded Squirrel
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

oh so many percolate
toward top of an open gate
a feeling proud, accomplishment
directly given true cost benefits

after all fine dust blows
settles under, between toes
form includes a spine of mush
all inclusive directed gusto

what, in meaning, here I state
why and what am I berating
nothing other than my fate
when walking on a path forsaking

all the wisdom gone before
all good feelings on every shore
purpose grand, evaporated, ignored
experience earned, quickly shelved

how can we see this without discomfort
how can we honor mass destruction
how can we find among us purpose
love of life, a determined circus

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Unreason - by Bob Atkinson

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson
"... ode to those who teach creative writing at the college level, yet have not the talent nor understanding required to produce something worthwhile ..."

to listen graciously
then turn away
feeling for the first time
wonder at his sayings

carries burdens newly minted
for my life on lumpy pavement
simply put this wreck of words
drives not my lucid statements
in fear of simple castings made
those so hard to correctly gage
find difficulty in believing
what should or shouldn't stand

feed me what to this date
has not been allowed percolation
to equate justice circumcised
against wispy thoughts berated

metaphors mixed until complete
that nonsense we all believe in
can only drive us deeply down
a path toward firm unreason

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, denunciate
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
it'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