And So It Was - by Bob Atkinson

A Whiter Shade of Pale

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 trip the light fantastic

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, implicate

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

Sound Turned to Silence - by Bob Atkinson

Sound Turned to Silence

(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

Oceans

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