Gotta Have a Reason if You're Gonna Write Poetry

Without a reason to exist, poetry is merely vanity run amok.

Funny words and abstract thought just don't get it !!!!!!

That's a "who cares moment" sorta like a story told by

a stranger about their friend.....not of interest to anybody

but the story teller....!!!!

Here are some reasons to write poetry.......you can add something

to the list:

1.  Creating an Historical Record from Current Events
2.  Understanding History
3.  Appreciation of Art
4.  Appreciation of Architecture
5.  A vehicle for those in mental crisis to bring their feelings to the surface.
6.  A strong anti-drug message
7.  A strong anti-violence message
8.  The inclusion of song lyrics as poetry, (current establishment denies this relationship).

Poetry is the Emotional Content of literature.  As such, form is irrelevant.  If it is the written word, and if it evokes an emotional response, it is poetry.  

If not, it's prose.  

"Prose Poetry?"  That's a dumb statement.  

Haiku?  Nonsense.

Azure sky hovering over the deep blue sea?  Trite nonsense.  If it has purpose, it is poetry.  If not, it's just junk words. 

Challenge me on this....let's begin the discussion !!!!!

Oh, Mister Poe by Bob Atkinson

Oh, Mister Poe

(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

you say a poem cannot be long

we should not allow its length

to go beyond one's attention span

to keep one out of breath

then Mister Poe would you define

what is a poem now and ever?

and give us sense of balance

benefit of your know how's intentions

you say that poems must elevate

the emotions of the heart

and cannot, will not maintain

this useful tool for long

well that is quite a statement

how do you know this fact?

when all that really matters is

understanding why we all react

react to the inflation of our minds

of dispositions beyond our hearts

artful choice of words depicted can

carry on those old tradition's progress

you seem to infer utility

in shortness of words and lines

claiming long and drawn out works

never serve, but cloud our minds

you believe your first read

conflicts with your last

stressing good now perceived

and good things have gone bad

if we continue on your path

if we follow you again to meddle

we'll find no one to read our thoughts

no one will understand our private hell

how we felt when we did

those deeds we performed of late

how we saw ourselves as men

or women if that's our fate

you do not see the broader world

that which I ever profess

in it function triumphs over form

when the subject of poetry we address

since you died, there has been much

written and labeled such without

credentialed locks of names applied

or emotional content grounded

within the name of poetry

for some the name has stuck

to mean trite, useless phrases

contained within a vanity book

because of this you professed

because they followed your name

poetry has lost its pride and purpose

been trumped by other games

because of all you attacked

some have grabbed your form

and forgotten what in history

had been the steady norm

“...the azure sky hovered over

the deep and dark blue sea.....”

this cliched phrase gives my example

of why you missed the meaning

of poetry that subtle form

of words that do equate

to all we leave behind to others

of our described emotional state

so Mister Poe, please come back

and dine on your fateful words

so that when I mention poetry

to others, they won't smirk

there is so much to document

our feelings should be heard

so that solid meanings to our lives

can be related and observed

the Infant Academy by Bob Atkinson

The Infant Academy

(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

 Oh my the years go by

but thoughts are just the same

getting those together

who have the same game plan

to produce what is of quality

by hard work and strong desire

letting setbacks slide down

into disposal fires

Reynolds was the master

of charging minds with energy

for the purpose of advancement

in all the Arts we see

gathered those who could aid

him on this visionary path

charged them with distinction

if they'd move with skill and grace

taking literary arts to

a plateau above the median

here in the land of Britain

art left for future appreciation

Goldsmith was a writer

Wharton the Poet Laureate

Burney wrote of music

that had come and past

Paoli thought of Corsica

that land of his birth

Burke brought skills in politics

Garrick brought his mirth

Doctor Johnson

brought the proper words

to those here in this room

and Boswell wrote biographies

so deeds would live forever

Reynolds organized this bunch

as he did the Academie

all these men are not forgotten

by poets such as me

Poet Novo by Bob Atkinson

Poet Novo

(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

fondly admired works of art

looked upon as astute

yet so far apart

from that which was taught

by those with degrees

in those schools of fine art

with tuition excessive

that which the poor

can find in their means

that which the sensible

can see as esteemed

that which creative artists

long to promote

that which they work hard on

until it is rote

something actualized

in their own wild style

not copied for concord

or subdued desires

or,

as had been shown

to jump out of that box

of same old brush strokes

and simple hard knocks

those of Art Novo's crowd

let it always be known

where their hearts lie

what they love most

those original aspects

not newly minted clones

or painted abstractions

or well formed old bones

carry their own

banners to wave

strong with their hearts

upon life's page

begging for changes

in richness of Art

always looking for that

which is solid and smart

painting wild pictures

with passionate airs

good works of love

without baggage or cares

no formal format

or style to be shown

do they know it's not done?

or

just seek what's their own?

self taught manners

without master strokes

discovered themselves

new paths to go home

yet,

some have amassed

a following of lovers

grown by their style

those who've discovered

a beauty and a grace

of masterful works

brought to the public

by love and solid hard work

a presence

upon those artistic scenes

thought and dance

direct from their dreams

some people with letters

would demean these creations

some would find them revolting

clearly lacking and tasteless

surely,

I have joined

without thought to its meaning

with their group's folly

a simpleton's moonbeam

creating art of my own

silly loops disjointed

not caring at all about

constraints of protocol

pretty pictures of words

I thought quite good on my own

seems yet lacking what's needed

astute understanding by others

here with expressions

I coin myself

bringing the thoughts

direct from my belt

throwing ideas

upon blank white paper

without regard

for institution's favor

with letters and listings

with history and favorites

with quiet judgment

and hours of struggle

I find when I read

their quirky summations

I gag and I sneeze

at learned abominations

they write as if

they were the god true

demanding our loyalty

as if we were fools

I've researched their own

sad writings of note

books of some pages

as long as my notes

finding as always

their simpleton essays

of how “....the azure sky

hovered over the

deep blue sea's waves...”

accomplishment's tones

give favor to those

who give to their brothers

without large gagging tolls

decided my own way

will take me home

with smug satisfaction

if not with much gold

if all goes as it should

if dreams become real

my words remembered

in spite of artless zeal

efforts should leave

my name in footnotes

for thoughts that I had

as well as poems I wrote

to my learned friends

I'll beg their forgiveness

in short poems

with poetry endless

“....tried it your way,

but my heart wasn't in it....

so followed my own path

though my words primitive”

“Poetry Novo's the Craze”

the words that give license

to a field dedicated

to furtherance of nonsense

well versed but tasteless

forms of word order

that said all I wanted

in noun and verb order

stutters and grunts

yells and squeals

furtive thoughts

and emotional feelings

an assessment debated

in my mind at this moment

can we kick off convention

but keep it well spoken?

Puffy Poetry by Bob Atkinson

"Puffy Poetry"

(c)2011 by Bob Atkinson

those who take the stuffy path

think they are correct in tracking

where their craft should follow

while taking a poison pill

in doing this they tend to kill

their love's broader appeal

the thing they worship has no form

but that which the mind creates

poetry remains words set to emotion

holding packs of ideas to translate wholly

across the void of disconnect briefly

giving us our “tender feelings”

written in that value for others

to dwell deeply and feel somewhat puzzled

with honors tight within its frame

no fancy words or players games needed

no thoughtless puffing or ego bending

without which honesty thrives

with subjects of a universal nature

where we all can relate to

the words of choice must remain sincere

no odd or kitschy meanings here

rhyme isn't ever necessary

but gives flavor to the ordinary

so to those who turn their noses up

to simple thoughts and flavored stuff

I say to them who beat those drums

you're killing that which you profess to love


SUBMIT YOUR POEM FOR CRITICAL REVIEW

Woe is Me Today by Joey Brooklyn

Woe is Me Today by Joey Brooklyn

It wasn’t the way she smiled

or the way she walked

The better, shapely parts flowing

Looks were a definite strong suit

It was how the whole of the world
was always collapsing

And that she was always under it

At the worst possible of times

All threat levels were high

No in between, no varying shades

of critical meltdown red

hazard lights perpetually flashing

Yet she’d wake everyday

To start she would say

I did a marvelous thing surviving

But woe is me today

The bipolar joy/dread - her occupation

She’d spout daily stories of the horrors

Recount frequent tales of humor

So glad to be away, yet reminiscing

What she did was important enough

But the duress she gave herself

Coupled with the stress she did carry

Was always too much to bear

Some would say she was

An eager victim of circumstance

A glutton for punishment

A sad sack

Yet she’d wake everyday

To start she would say

I did a marvelous thing surviving

But woe is me today

****************************************************

CRITIQUE:

In all, this is a complete thought which really doesn't NEED

someone bashing on it.....it's good, no doubt, stands on its own. Where I find extra value in it is as an example, a clean slate to utilize skills in developing its language some. All which means, it is in a normal, conversational tone and gives one time to reflect on its meaning because the chosen words are not, in themselves stimulating, or even pretty. I do this style muchly myself, so this isn't a critical point, just something that puts us into another mode, that of finding more beauty in our everyday language choices. This style, without changes, is useful when you post in a non-English speaking country, and utilize Babel Fish for translation, such as on my own web-site:

http://arizona-poet.blogspot.com/

Otherwise, it's giving in to the forces of resource allocation when your mind in driving home a point tends not to explore word choice options which would distract you from your final goal. On the other hand, going back and revamping/reselecting words, without changing meaning or impact on the reader might provide you with a more finished product.

“........It was how the whole of the world
was always collapsing

And that she was always under it

At the worst possible of times........”

it

was

how

the

whole

of

the world

and

that

she

was

always

under

it

at

the worst

possible

of

times

Each and every word here is common, and none are really pretty sounding. No smooth sounding words in the bunch:

IT …....”(allure, allurement, appeal, attractiveness, bait, captivation, charm, chemistry, come-on, courting,draw, drawing power, enchantment, endearment, enthrallment, enticement, fascination, gravitation, inclination, inducement, interest, invitation, it , lure, magnetism, pull, seduction, solicitation, temptation, tendency )”

WAS......”(abide, act, be alive, breathe, continue, do, endure, go on, have being, have place, hold, inhabit, last, live, move, obtain, persist, prevail, remain, rest, stand, stay, subsist, survive ).....

HOW......”(according to what, after what precedent, by means of, by virtue of what, by what means, by what method, by whose help, from what source, through what agency, through what medium, to what degree, whence, whereby, wherewith )”.......

etc...............

As always, a good posting, as it is.

Bob Atkinson

Contact Bob Atkinson 

"Just another TGIF poem” by Joey Brooklyn

Contact the Poetry Critic 

"Just another TGIF poem”

by Joey Brooklyn

It’s always, forever a quarter to five

In chairs 23 stories high

Staring at beautiful earth and beautiful sky

So bored, I slip out of my mind

And I’m …Outside

Letting sunlight and shadow play games

While breezes flow over my face

No breath so fresh, ever the same

The seasons flow their earthly pace

Some ask “why are you sour”

My simple peeved reply

“You’re a drone so you sit hour to hour

You stare at a screen to see what you’ll find

I care to be freed, to be…Outside

Playgrounds teem with youth and vigor

Water splashed, squirted, thrown, sprayed

Fun, Movement, Running, Play

Screaming joy, and so I’m bitter

I am no fool I need the cash

A home’s not free and food won’t last

A conscious choice this is alas

Our $$ God $$ needs figures, numbers fast!

Staring at the clock as the boss goes on & on

And when it says "5" I get up

He wishes to ask one more work related question

…  ...  ...

I stand, I collect myself, I reply

“No, No you may not.”  A walkoff Home run!

Gonna be hell to pay on Monday though

Joey seems to enjoy the life at level 23. Although his eloquent dissertation says not, he really enjoys his work, as it gives him plenty of opportunities to daydream. As for the poem, well......it ranks with the best, because of its natural form and ability to elicit an emotional response from the reader.

Keep up the good work Joey, the world needs to be documented.

Contact Bob Atkinson

What Wasn’t Enough – Song – Joey Brooklyn

What Wasn’t Enough – Song – Joey Brooklyn

If I was wrong I’m sorry now
Still don’t see what happened? How
Can you not be, here with me
I sit; I wait; I contemplate

Where did it go wrong?
I meant the words I said
every day
if it wasn’t money or the love
what wasn’t enough?

I’m in the park, on grass so green
You weren’t harsh, I wasn’t mean
So where’d you go? I’d like to know
I hope you’re safe; I hope…

Where did it go wrong?
I meant the words I said
Everyday
If it wasn’t money or the love
What wasn’t enough?

//////////
Others vie to take your place,
I only keep one picture frame
In dreams I get to kiss your face
I wake…I whisper… your name…
////////////////

Where did it go wrong?
I meant the words I said
Everyday
If it wasn’t money or the love
What wasn’t enough?

Oh….


In the song version the “Oh” means a lot as it builds and then fades out.
 .........................................................................................................

Joey,
Was a song in my head as I read it.  If something works this well, others can't help you amend it, as nothing they would recommend would be useful by improving what you've created.  
Stands on its own, as is, no changes needed.

Contact Bob Atkinson 


As always, in awe of your stuff.


Bob


p.s. play Tucson, so I can buy a ticket and watch you sing it

"Strength Against Love" by Joey Brooklyn

Poetry Critic is a catalyst for developing poetic energy. Submit your poem via e-mail to the poetry critic for some stunning reviews to generate your passionate energies. Be ready for your "priceless works" to be stomped, spat and tread upon. Get mad, and get working on improving them. Good luck and don't take it so hard.

"Strength Against Love” by Joey Brooklyn

It isn’t courage if I stay

It isn’t right to love this way

To get from one breath to the next

To love or live from day to day

Without respite or reprise

No one’s wrong and no one’s right

I’ll die before I settle

But it wont be tonight

We’ll have another talk

Some things need to be to stated

Our love is down to embers

Our hearts not being sated

I cannot look at you my love

Bravados worn I am not tough

I hope but doubt that it’s enough

I do not know my love

My optimism’s tainted

Divert attention by “body tasting”

It works for but a moment

And then the moments wasted

I’ll say what’s the point

You’ll just call me crass

I want you to take my hand

I don’t want to have to ask.

Though foundations crumble

Can’t we just rebuild

I love for many reasons

But we’re both just too strong willed

The going’s getting rough

Are we made of stronger stuff

I hope but doubt that it’s enough

I do not know my love

I don't like how i am writing but i like my ideas behind it.

Agreed, Joey that your ideas are excellent.

As for the detail of your writing, here are a

couple of simple techniques that may help:

Take the first line of a verse and build another verse around it, then re-do the entry of the verse you've removed the first line from

Example:

the going's getting rough

but I remain in the game

moaning under my breath

from constant harsh pain

is our will hard like iron

Are we made of stronger stuff

I hope but doubt that it’s enough

I do not know my love

Then the shuffle cycle also helps:

1. write the poem
   2.  read and re-write things that have rough edges
   3  read it through and again fix what seems odd
   4 apply the first line build-a-new-verse technique
   5  re-write odd lines or words again
   6  re-read again thru the whole poem
   7  read the poem out loud
   8  re-write lines that aren't fitting
   9  publish the poem  
   
   
   
   Contact the Poetry Critic