Emotion of Disgust - by Bob Atkinson

Emotion of Disgust

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Poetry Critic Bob Atkinson

softly settled to my ears

those words I wished to hear

brought me to a higher level

when written well, so treasured

waiting patiently among

the throng of citizens, no guns

a gentle lot of doers well

those who praise art and tales

standing up to do their best

to settle for all the rest of us

a trumpet sound of sculpted tones

ones with meaning held upon

a field of life, pages open

emotional tags, sometimes spoken

carry me to advanced nirvana

please read good words, not trivia

when they speak these honored verses

so well received and prizes awarded

my hand reaches for the door

so I might escape these awful chords

no, they don't speak for me

blank faces in the audience
form so simply irrelevant
purpose one's only good intent
 

when sung accolades flow quickly

a million sold six months a pittance
poetry had come of age
yet nobody knew or accepted change

Chandos lamented openly
no quotes from us, our poetry
were made outside our borders
were not champions of language order

thought about this for a while
remembered friends in distant lands
who spoke Germanic languages different
no English were they aware of meanings

yet sung our tunes with impassioned voices
wildly swinging arms to chorus
the words meant nothing to their minds
but beat with rythyms to their hearts timed 

Poem: 18 Stoic Faces by Bob Atkinson 

Poem: Emotional Literal Tomes     

Thoreau, Hawthorne, Alcott, Fuller, Emerson - by Bob Atkinson

Thoreau, Hawthorne,

Alcott, Fuller, Emerson

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Henry David Thoreau

inspiration takes place today

charged in form by yesterday

times of which we're not aware

of all small details of daily fare

 Nathaniel Hawthorne

poets leave a legacy

calm descriptions of greening trees

emotions so deep, near heart's feelings

all we've got of lucid dreams

Louisa May Alcott

in our times, many thoughts

of when, where and here abouts

most ideas pass into oblivion

tragic loss of truth and vision

Thomas Fuller

poets document our lives

not time not dates, but sacrifice

truth in feelings, open display

of useful tidbits, funny sayings

Ralph Waldo Emerson

add your feelings to the mix

your experience, your simple fixes

document all you see of life

help those not yet born survive

The Art of Poetry vs The Discipline of Poetry - by Bob Atkinson

The Art of Poetry

vs

The Discipline of Poetry

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Encyclopedia

Fine Art has its alter ego

Art D'cor which also breaks

these two ideas into factions

one primitive, one more staid

Fine Art means something learned

art constructed from the past

having trained in master's techniques

meaning that will ever last

Art D'cor lies more transitory

fills merely a momentary need

more for pleasant decoration than

further advancement of the breed

in literature begins an era bold

of truly differentiated tastes

in a time of new beginnings

of newness that will rage

Poetry as an art leans

toward the wispy, mindless tripe

thoughts without complex emotions

guided by throttled emptiness

no purpose in its dreaming

no research done for its themes

no imparting information gathered

beyond simple illusion of mindless motif

Discipline of Poetry

on the other hand

takes our minds into a world

of culture broadly expanded

always purpose in those words

always thought deep in what seems

complex exploration of existence

researched flowing through watered streams

that tell us what we didn't know

what a writer knew not too

when he began his assemblage

of words that wanted to

expand our understanding

of this, that, or the other

setting us on a journey to

correctness, not toward blunder

he sets out to explore a point

be it theory or merely fact

and takes us on a journey meaty

never wanting to look back

he opens books of reference

gives those notes there for our usage

to let us quickly acclimate toward

understanding an idea's currency

here we've gotten something good

what pushes on our hearts

total construction of our world

observed at least until we're dust

Susan - by Bob Atkinson

Susan

(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

Susan

what Paris does for our hearts

town of Susan did for theirs

nine thousand years of civilized

carried on with their own standards

why could they not inform us

tell tales of their daily lives

give to future generations

what would open our eyes

we have in our true destiny

a charge of challenge great

provide that literary document

upon which our lives rage

our wants, our hopes, our charity

our dreams of love fulfilled

simple direction of our souls

how we walk, talk and feel

true, in our bustle we

don't see ourselves from afar

so let us document our dreams

thus give them to the stars

Discipline of Poetry

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 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 know 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