Rocky Cats

Rocky Cats

(c)2011 Bob Atkinson

five felines moved enmass

gliding here and there

moving toward attention

with normal kitty flair

seems they're good for mousing
and kitten atmosphere

watching over stallions

and younger, yearling mares

then Rocky comes out of his stall

to exercise his frame

and dance and prance until he

is ready for his riding

buck and snort and move around

in circles he did go

tethered to the guide strap

woven in bright yellow rope

when he's told to slow and stop

he does as he is told

stopping still while the beating heart

is hidden below his shoulders

she pulls the stirrups down

to dangle at his side

then satisfied with his disposition

mounts him for a ride

around he goes in a large circle

around the arena's walls

kicking softly so she can't see

the smile below his nose

jumping would have to wait

until a better time

but tonight the angled gait

crosses hoofs in stride

then again she brushes down

that pretty shiny coat

that covers a finely formed

well trained equestrian horse

the cats return to their event

sitting on the hay

waiting for another mouse

to come to them for play

The Beat by Bob Atkinson

The Beat

(c)2011 Bob Atkinson

swayed up to the microphone

all full of confidence

telling tales with his own style

useless to resist

entering his world of devolution

killing the time machine

telling those within earshot

of his wondrous detailed dreams

he shot full the future

describing to those who'd listen

all those horrific visions

living within his edition

beating on his bongos

drawing one into bliss

not caring about real things

only his vivid descriptions

goatee pointing at

those within his crowd

who knew his words and mission

as he spoke of them out loud

all the patrons of the shop

and those down the street

could feel the strange vibrations

he tapped out with his feet

hookas pulled at working
to withdraw the pill of hope

giving wilder imaginations

some enhanced smoke filled dope

imparting to those he wanted

real and false made thrills

carrying softly their inner minds

way up onto the hill

of superstition on top of lies

and wonderful future visions

while seated on the stage

not moving or even twitching

The Second of May by Bob Atkinson

The Second of May

(c)2011 Bob Atkinson

stallions abreast

so still, in two files

carrying old traditions

brought many miles

snorts of wild breath

seemed eager to fight

these beasts of the war cry

expressing their might

scimitars held

high above heads

blades newly sharpened

to chop off some heads

the citizens shouted

the citizens begged

give us our world back

and leave us our bread

don't bring us the Arabs

again to our shores

to take from our lives

our culture and mores

this stand-off had happened

it seemed quite surreal

the edge of a fight

for expansionist zeals

a king that was weak

left his country to foes

to conquer this land

with armies of Moors

the Celts weren't foreign

were of blood like the rest

yet fought for those men

who paid them the best

ideals it was said

spread faster than fire

when landing on foreign shores

creating quagmires

and here in the heart

of the Spanish homeland

sat those who had been driven

back to their own lands

powerful stallions

upon which were men

who longed to recapture

this good fertile land

and others who felt

this wasn't to be

no long term occupation

was wanted or needed

then came the order

immediately obeyed

to put down rebellion

on this fine spring day

keep those who oppose

what had been installed

the brother of a tyrant

replacing weak Charles

they drove down the street

in columns of fours

clapping the cobblestones

the noises of horses

blades at the ready

to slash those opposed

to the orders of Napoleon

and to calm restore

Pablo stood

at the front of the pack

not willing to surrender

or even run back

to the shelter of alleys

to safety of corners

of doors he could hide behind

or walls he could climb over

he stood like a statue

dagger high in the air

this would be his fight

of his life he'd not care

his pride swelled over

his fears for his life

his sons and daughters

were safe with his wife

his country was harmed

by these despicable Moors

who teamed up with French

to conquer his Spanish home

this wouldn't stand

this force on his sands

stomping traditions

developed through eons

Tomas at his side

as always to be

his friend and supporter

in all of his deeds

not seeing too clearly

through glasses steamed

Tomas stood proudly

with Pablo his friend

they charged down upon them

to push the crowd back

with screams in Arabic

a deadly attack

Tomas held in his hand

his father's sharp dagger

with handles of ivory

and family name carved in

covered with gems

this wasn't to be

a weapon of war

but was now needed

as something to fight with

not much around

had not planned battle

yet they stood their ground

Francisco and Raul

stood by their side

nervously twitching

but held by their pride

to the center of action

to this lovely square

in the town of Madrid

with its clean spring air

the others, they followed

the mass of angered folks

the group of dissenters

their country taken over

as the stampede of horses

approached them so fast

they took deep breaths

thought would be their last

Pablo grabbed

the first horse's muzzle

and swung him around

tossing the rider from him

down on the ground

the man with the turban

shouted out loud

as Pablo's dagger dug in him

straight to his heart

beating its last

thinking of mother

and dear old dad

up the horse stood

to protect his man

giving the body

a good hoof slam

fight they gave

for what they could

some died of intrusion

of the curved swords

some had heads chopped off

some simply succumbed

to the thrust of a dagger

in the fist of someone

someone who knew

not who they were

or cared in the least

if their children were murdered

and so it was

on that fine spring day

how some with the passion

for ideals displayed

more courage than cunning

more deed than thought

more pride than was safe

in the end

being killed or caught

The Third of May by Bob Atkinson

The Third of May

(2011) Bob Atkinson

Pablo stood strong

tall like a man of purpose

arms held high into the air

not shaking, quivering or nervous

a smile on his face

teeth flashing and gnawing

his words spoken serious

about pride, country and church

posture straight

no care about dying

although bare chested

you could feel his flags flying

“kill me !!” he said

not sad with despair

“I'm ready to go

I've done my share”

those around him

quivered and shook

those with their rifles

and those with their books

those who were waiting

for their time on the stand

and those who were praying

for life mortal, too soon abandoned

hands on their faces

groaned Francisco and Raul

Tomas with his glasses gone

head back, looking square on

who were these demons

who killed those that wanted

the freedom from control

of tyrants and monarchs?

they'd fought for the day

through barrages of muskets

had known were outnumbered

expecting death as comfort

from shot through the ear

or cannon balls dancing

through soft bodies of men

shortly after their prancing

who just yesterday

were alive with great passion

for a cause which they knew

could end their lives soon

death quickly gained

from cannon ball shot

the artillery of soldiers

hardened from battle's fought

explosions of fire

sweeping through the heart

blowing friends' bodies away

tumbling them for yards

killing those who longed

to see the French departed

revenge for murdering

soldiers while marching

souls would be martyred

shot to the ground

with rifles from marksmen

not sure what they'd done

were they killing men

who should be in the grave

or just wild hearts wanting freedom

from chaos and chains?