Friday, April 5, 2013

18 Stoic Faces by Bob Atkinson

18 Stoic Faces
(c)2013 Bob Atkinson

eighteen stoic faces
faced four who had come
to read the erudite refrains
of poets both dead and gone
readings were in earnest spoken
for respect for some who had
garnered from the establishment
accolades, awards, well sanctioned

yes, eighteen stoic faces
faced four who read so good
those meaningless diatribes
of useless linguistic words

significance became not evident
for similes provided here
metaphors vaguely crafted caused
me not them to revere

this didn't change my attitude
my demeanor didn't rise
waiting for an end to it
was my only real desire

so I couldn't clap and whistle
and be smiling in my face
that would not have been sincere
became just a little bit ashamed

whistle I didn't do at all
felt not much real emotion
gave a polite nod to those speaking
headed quickly out the door

save me from disjointed thoughts
can't those people see the truth
senseless disorganization
does not good poetry produce
of those thoughts not poetry 
I firmly do believe
the fireplace requires cellulose
for bright flames to feed

listless words written poorly
carried my imagination not
was frozen in my dreamy state
rusted any worthwhile thoughts 

next week went to Vegas
to see the eagle band
and watch as pure emotion
rocked that audience grand

ten thousand had paid apiece
a couple hundred bucks
to see those wordly masters
like Henley, Frey and such

they told of the situation
which emotion played upon
a woman's real life choices
why she'd become despondent

ten thousand cheered upon
recognition of great words
displayed while coddled with sounds
soft guitars and drums beat purrs
I thought "now here lies real poetry"
not those prissy kind of words
that speak only of the unimportant
with wispy mindless verbs

some lock credentials grand
for that which moves us not
and laugh at the suggestion
that song is our greatest art

me, I have a vision
that we shall all enjoy
songs we've grown up with
as emotional literal tomes

1 comment:

  1. Boy, do I relate. I had to laugh in recognition while reading this, Bob, 'cuz I wrote something very similar about the well-regarded poem (classic), 'Heliodora'. My poem is also an acrostic of a line from Joni Mitchell's 'Amelia' (now THERE'S a poet-lyricist who can evoke emotions via soulful renderings!) I include my own poem here...The last three words says it all, and in a certain fundamental sense, mirrors your poem, here. Warm Regards, Rebecca

    And Looking Down On Everything (I Crashed...)

    I never thought
    of 'Heliodora'
    in such a ripening


    of histrionic awe,
    making every
    lyrical insistence
    an irritant.

    Tongue wagging
    aspirations sought
    justice under
    spellbound twines:
    a feast,
    a lily,
    so elegant
    and loving.