Best Atticus Poems
If a poet falls in love with you
you will live forever.
Atticus Finch - To kill a mockingbird.
In the midst of conundrums, of 'what ifs.'
I dislike the ocean,
its bitter saltiness, brings no joy.
Perched safely, upon the highest cliff,
watching waves surge upon the shore.
They are a constant reminder of
how you waved goodbye.
Each ripple carried you away - forever.
Lost in reflection,
sentimental memories remain eternal.
Recalling how the sun caressed your face,
mirroring your spirited smile -
like a lantern in my darkness.
Still unforgettable -
the joy in those soulful eyes -
each time you glanced at me.
Nonchalantly, I would follow you.
As we walked without a care -
you never seeming to tire.
In our youthful playground,
rusty see-saws and swings
still remember our laughter and tears -
that first sophomoric kiss
and I can still taste you.
When night would arrive,
there was no fear, hand in hand.
You were like a mystical pixie,
glowing in the enchantment of moonlight -
it would illuminate through your eyes.
We could have danced all night,
our souls ascending to the heavens.
But, I was afraid of new horizons,
because, I knew you would depart -
just like a shooting star.
Without thinking,
I broke your heart -
before you could heal mine.
I remain in the silence of 'what ifs.'
But, I smile, content -
knowing that once there was a time,
your heart and mine,
merged like day and night.
Simple Musing
4 July 2020
This is a fictional poem.
An example for the 'One who got away' contest.
I look for you in the stars,
and in the streets,
and all the people I greet.
I look for you in books of poetry.
Such a place to find,
yet unaware that I'm
lost, like a button.
Arrive home from work to flip through pages
of a book I knew as a child, yet still
not remember the reason, so special
then.
It was though, so special..
Watched 'To kill a Mockingbird',
recalled fond memories of Scout and Jem.
A proud Atticus Finch..,
and Tom Robinson.
But today's me isn't the same,
as the me I remember.
More akin to a cartoon, a paper cut out,
a meme.,
compared to the wide eyed child of then.
~~~~~ To Kill a Mockingbird - Novel by Harper Lee, 1960 ~~~~~~
Poetry is what happens when your mind stops working, and for a moment, all you do is feel. ~The 2nd-century Greek philosopher, Atticus.
giving lip service to trending topics
might ensure a broad reach
with ample accolades
but does the multitude
actually read the words bleeding on your page
written to the heartbeat of fear?
history does not prepare us for the reality
where we are now adrift in uncharted waters
our voices drowned out
by a tsunami of opinions
even in the legend of Noah’s ark
the basic human need of a partner
is understood
I don’t have a need for the populace
but an innate need of you
just to sit with me
as we ignore the broader reach of Lilith’s shadow
washing over mankind
Dresses, bows, make-up, this is who
I am not, don’t put me
In a dress
I’ll give you an insight of my life, I have a neighbor who
We call Boo
My brother Jem, who is older
Believes he is bolder
Atticus we call him, never dad
He never says we couldn’t, but I don’t want him to get mad
There is a boy name Dill
He comes every summer, to his aunts
He can be a bit of a pill
Together we act like mice
Sneaking around
But a price
We have to pay
To see another day
No, sir Atticus
I am not leaving
I am not like a beaver, who runs and hides
In the sight of danger
Who am I, you may ask
A boy who is older, and so much bolder
I will stick by your side Atticus
Sitting in that court room
Everything came to me in a rush
And boom
He is crushed
Why Dad, can they do that
I’m so mad
Now I see how people treat people
Dog eat dog around here
I can’t bear it
"Intermission: Ad Infinitum Lux Vitae"
Intermission
I wait
You call
I have loved
I wait
Lux Vitae
I have loved
Through the Storm
Lux Vitae
I have loved, to love You more
Through the Storm
You call, Open Door
I have loved, to love You more
Ad Infinitum
You call, Open Door
I walk with You through the Storm
Ad Infinitum
My Love is always Yours
You walk with me through the Storm
The Waiting Room calls
Intermission
(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
for "my" Georgia,
who is entirely her own person
The inspiration for my poem -
This "Pantoum" is about Birth, Life, Death. There are all sorts of "Waiting Rooms", in this Life and the next. Of course, this is my belief. The reader may interpret Birth, Life and Death distinctly separate from my belief.
Georgia, the 'True' inspiration for your name, below. x
"I decided to start anew, to strip away what I had been taught.”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"I had to create an equivalent for what I felt about what I was looking at - not copy it. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"I said to myself, I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me - shapes and ideas so near to me - so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn't occurred to me to put them down. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe"
"Marks on paper are free - free speech - press - pictures all go together I suppose. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"To create one's world in any of the arts takes courage. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"Anyone who doesn't feel the crosses simply doesn't get that country.”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
Artwork, Georgia Totto O'Keeffe (November 15, 1887 – March 6, 1986)
“Ram’s Head with Hollyhock”, 1935
https://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/ram-head-with-hollyhock.jsp
Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross
"Technically Missing"
https://youtu.be/EBaa0k1y57w
"Politics is a dirty business. If you are going to 'write' policy, fabrication is not advisable, make sure you have ALL the true facts in front of you and that TRUTH is delivered by whatever means necessary". Quote, Leanne Lovejoy-Burton to daughter, Georgia - April 2018.
There’s no one as funny as Atticus
To go fishing he wrote out a syllabus
He outlined his day
Made a magnificent play
Yet caught with his squid more octopus
© Sep 27 2010 Charles Henderson
Placed 7th in Carolyn Devenshire's "Sea Tale Limerick" contest
.
High
moral
character
("To Kill A Mockingbird")
"We were
strange in love,
her and I.
Too wild to last,
too rare to die."
- Atticus
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She left me brokenhearted
When we parted
She loves no more
She left me lone and crying
Heart is dying
I feel so sore
She left my soul in pieces
Now time ceases
I barely live
She left me sad and broken
Words unspoken
Won't she forgive?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He left me brokenhearted
He departed
Can't live with me
He left me in deep anguish
Now I languish
We couldn't agree
He left me shattered and hurt
I didn't assert
My love for him
He left me bare, my soul cries
Tearful my eyes
As chances dim
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We left each other too soon
Our passions croon
It's not too late
We give it another chance
Now our hearts dance
True love's our fate
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
30th January 2023
Smoke Screen of Suspense
Was such a smoke screen of suspense;
Seemed to start getting more intense;
Labored a while;
Had been style;
Riot they did incense with their incense.
Perfect can be created with much practice,
Unless you happen to be sitting on a cactus;
Screeching loud,
But still proud;
In to Kill a Mockingbird you will find Atticus.
Truly Holy God has been and thou art;
Lives with us and forever He won't part;
Was pure jubilee
For you and me;
Which we always knew from very start.
Jim Horn
Before Matilda, before Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,
When I was a child, there was Pippi Longstocking, full of danger.
Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden were my mystery go-to books.
You could not rouse me from their adventures with grappling hooks.
I discovered Jo March in Little Women Christmas Day 1964.
Robin Hood and Little John I was soon also rooting for.
Atticus Finch in to Kill a Mockingbird was lovely to read.
I devoured books the way a horse eats with a bag feed.
Today children have so many heroes and super heroes.
But back in the day, we did not have nearly as many.
After I discovered science fiction and Guy Montag,
I guess I started opening my horizons; then I had plenty.
*The poet waits quietly to paint the unsaid*
6 million or more flowers to honor the dead
It's such a little thing-- remembrance, with flowers
a labor of love that would take many hours
Hardly even a start to make reparation
for the Shoah's lost lives, mass graves, and cremation
Wish this project were allowed, and I could take part
at the very least I pray --garlands from my heart
*by "Atticus"?
(This is a poem I wrote just now, in order to illustrate a point with this piece of art I did recently on FineArtAmerica, now giving it the same name as this poem, Hours of Flowers. So... I found an old photo of a guard tower and empty concentration camp field behind barbed wire -- in the public domain -- and eventually revamped it using Pixlr... I placed and re-sized each blossom, and added prayer-warrior faces and hands to the scene. I think it's also inspired by reading "Behind the Canvas" by Alexander Vance... imagining that if only my canvas could spring to life and make a positive impact on humanity...???)
We live our lives so free and easy
not thinking for a moment all we hear
stop for a moment think what you've heard
even in past 24 hours so much so near
Our minds taking into our thoughts
so much dirt and damaging stuff
we need a cleansing filter there
to make a stop, say that's enough!
Why do we drink this poison easily?
can't it be seen in the glass?
surely it's clear, your eyes to see
we really listen to too much gas
Why don't we turn it off at source?
take no chances again anymore
the effects makes us feel sick
just get up out the exit door
Poisoning our mind from a glass
never should it touch our lips
knowledge increased to cut it off
be clean be spotless on your trips
("We drink the poison our minds pour for us and wonder why we feel so sick.")
- Atticus (Philosopher)
In the tangle of if and but, we reside,
Decisions unmade, regrets as our guide.
Stuck in a quagmire, unable to soar,
A frost-covered window blocking the door.
A message I received late at night, to which I replied:
With Santiago's spirit, we'll get through.
We shall rise, like bruised Hemingway's hero,
Through if and but, we shall find,
Decisions ahead, leaving regrets behind.
With Atticus Finch's courage, we shall navigate,
Through this difficult path and curvy strait,
Breaking free from the quagmire's hold,
A door to new horizons as mysteries unfold.
Cid once said that I was his Final Fantasy
Cid lied...or did he?
I am thinking of all the sweet cucumber melon frits I have eaten.
And as a strenuous Soul once said to the Earth Goddess, "I am impeccable.", I roared back, "Impudity."
For I once was a seagull, high in dementia. Now I'm a porecilan pear just barely stinging TO dementia; my collar bone has no quarries. I am alone in this vast world unraveling, unwavering itself as a steady snail's pace at me, unto me. Unto ME.
For why in the world am I in such worry, Fizzle-Mc-Drizzle? Why am I seeing myself grope and sweep and sweat the night away into musty odors fit like a king of Barnaely?
Have I no compassion? The voice I hear as my echoing consciousness from Spirit World seems to think so.
For what world have I come from, strange inaudible Titan Atlas and Atticus still murmuring over the book, "To kill a Mockingbird?" Am I THAT preconscious?
Have I no compassion? The voice I hear inside my echoing head seems to think so from Spirit World.
Oh! Spitit Word...! Oh, of WGAT?