somehow . . .

somehow

it was a cool summer night in the valley

the ancients hung in the night sky

illuminating the way of the unknown

and forgotten

there were many paths for one to ponder

and i stood and just absorbed the possibilities

hoping to introduce them to my realm of truth

the place where vision manifest

and actualize

the luminescence of old souls still twinkled

and i felt their resonance of wisdom

as they spoke words of silence

to my quiet place

and i, the star of this consciousness

i call mine

melted away into the greater

that vast place of perceived nothingness

the mountains exhibited a quiet awe

for their presence was still made known

peeking through the slips of the night light

that of the faint moon and distant stars

i felt their grandeur even still

and i came to know that i am as they are

the Mountain, the Moon, the Night Sky and the Stars

a particular humility embraced me

and told me that i was it’s own

this i have always known

but somehow forgotten

somehow

and as i stand in the moment

of becoming reverence

i come to the Epiphanic understanding

that i am God

in this moment

frozen upon the tracks of time’s illusions

for it is His voice that speaks in me

marveling at our own handiwork

a place where wonders abound

i am the Star

can not you see the twinkles

in the portal of my soul

i am the Moon

can not you feel my inviting

and embracing luminescence

i am the Mountain

i too stand strong

and will not be moved

i am the Night Sky

filled with Awe and Mystery

yes . . . “I AM”

and the possibilities

dwarf even the Horizons of the Exponential

and all i must do . . .

is be . . .

somehow !

© 28 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

ANNOUNCEMENT : Janet "Derailed Poet" Perkins Caldwell Feature on Inner Child Radio

Inner Child Radio

Presents

my Friend

Janet "Derailed Poet" Perkins-Caldwell

on The Hump Day Show

Wednesday 29 June 2011

7:00 until 9:00 PM EST

SKYPE, Telephone or Computer

Join us in the Chat Room

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/inner-child-radio

Call In #

714.816.4751

Come and listen to

Her Story, Her Words, Her Vision

Share the Magic

Wednesday 29 June 2011

7:00 until 9:00 PM EST

SKYPE, Telephone or Computer

Join us in the Chat Room

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/inner-child-radio

Call In #

714.816.4751

Blessings

Bill

Lavender Pirouettes

Lavender Pirouettes

through the endless fields of Lavender

and the hillsides laughing with Sage

i skip and pirouette with an untold joy

as my soul beckons

and welcomes

the coming

of the new age

Aquarius is its name

the Water Bearer

pouring out its spirit

ushering us in “The Way”

man’s soul should go

in the flow

of what is already known

for the seeds of this time to come

has long ago been sown

in the gardens

of our longings

and expectations

and without equivocation

harvest will come

with it’s sweet fruit

and our sum will be realized

with eyes wide open

with that first bite

the rites of truth

will be spoken

in guttural utterances

from the progenitive

zero point

where goodness

shall come about

and flourish

and nourish

the tomorrows

of all children of source

and like today

we again will become

the creators of our sum

of that which one desires

as we look out upon

the endless fields of Lavender

listening to the Hillsides laughing

with the Sage

while i  pirouette

Lavender Pirouettes

© 26 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

the Seeker . . .

the seeker

yes, he was a seeker

endowed by the Prophecy of old

the Sword of Truth was his weapon

to cleave darkness from the fold

in the souls of men

the Light of the Ancients

revealed the path he walked

unto all those who could see

and hope rang again

in the Bell in the steeple

for the people had a friend

one who wore the badge of courage

and cast his fears to the wind

for purposefully he was driven

and with heart he did defend

the virtues of the maidens

and all who longed for peace

his cup of diligence overflowing

relentlessly without cease

his light was brightly shining

a Star Born upon this earth

the song of joy was playing

in his noble heart filled with mirth

yes, he was a seeker

endowed by the prophecy of old

he’s come to rescue life’s virtues

with the sacrifice of his soul

the seeker

© 21 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

the fruit

the fruit

oh you have been fasting huh

doing without

waiting for . . .

the food of your soul

and in divine acknowledgement

of your coming fruit

i pay homage

in word

and let my words

be heard

where your dreams

touch your realities

that you understand

the demand

life has for your sweetness

and completeness

i have watched in silence

the budding of promise

in your garden

and thus came forth the flower

as the fragrance of your thought

touched the world about you

it just made me want to lick your petals

for i know of the visions

used to paint your horizons

of expectation

and in the equation

of this journey

life and living

the words we give

to the world

feeds us as well

as we herald in new perspectives

of the divine

between the lines

of our expectorations

yes, the coming fruit is sweet

and i salute the replete beliefs

embodied in your hopes

that the day may come again

when i may make amends

with my own dreams

and let thy sweet nectar

drip from my lips as well

the fruit

© 24 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

and we are God’s Children ?

and we are God’s Children ?

God’s Children of Great Oppression

enduring the dark night of suppression

of memories

that brings forth liberation

indulging in their own form

of Spiritual Masturbation

looking for that place of ecstasy

where the Fantasy becomes the reality

miscreant doctrines

jaded and deformed

has become the norm

of what has been embraced

and the face of their truths

dons a mask of deceit

for even truth plays the games

of being elusive

reclusive

seclusive

and refusing it’s presence

to the common man

for truth likes being exclusive

available to he who holds the strings

as we the puppets

like the Muppets

are only good for entertaining children

like ourselves

and upon the shelves

somewhere in the cupboard

we are saving the best wine

for another time

but i ask

what time is better than now

and somehow

i don’t get it

and i can not afford

to regret it

i need to reset it

this divinity i am told i possess

for the dress

i have been fitted with

impedes the shift

i so desire

and the fire within my soul

burns

it has singed all the lace

and life is no longer so frilly

and pretty my dear

i can no longer point the finger at fear

as much as my lack

of motivation

to seek that elusive liberation

i ask

is it God i need

He i already have

so i believe

it is light

or love

and the Silent Tears

continues to flow

from my Soul to my toes

and my feet are getting muddied

and sometimes i am stuck

just like the rest of God’s Children

who are enduring the dark night of suppression

of memories

that brings forth liberation

while indulging in their own form

of Spiritual Masturbation

looking for that place of ecstasy

where the Fantasy becomes the reality

and we are God’s Children ?

© 26 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

Father’s Day

Father’s Day

it was a rainy day

and the grey clouds

loomed over the Mountains

in my near distance

offering the air of solemn-ness

and reflection

and feeling

and the needed warmth

for all Fathers

who are not there

i too am separated

from my sunshine

just as the clouds

cover the mountain

there are times

when a Father’s light

is not let through

but please

know that it is there

and know that i feel you

i feel your pain

acutely

absolutely

and i refute all circumstance

that has provided me

this experience

for i would rather have

sunshine and joy

see the smiles of my Daughters

and my Boys

as they dance in the grace

of presence

of my love

my light

my present for me

for you

my child

Father’s Day

i remember you every Day

for every Day is Father’s Day

© 19 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

what is this ? . . .

what is this

what is this urging

what is this gnawing of my heart

that makes me yearn for that something

that sings at times

cries at times

between the rhymes

and the words of anguish

what is this language

of discordant symphonies

playing with my hopes

and my wants

what is this that haunts me

day in day out

what is this feeling

that at times has me standing

and demanding

other times reeling

for understanding

of the path i should travel

am i alone

as i attempt to unravel

the mystery of my life

will history aid me

save me

deliver me

to where i need to be

i hear voices

some within

some without

speaking of choices

sowing seeds of fear

and doubt

stealing my light

only to supplant it

with that of their own

and in the gardens of my desires

my seeds have been sown

have they not ?

they have been tried

in the trials of  fire

and what it is that is required of me

i can not always see

but i do know that this insanity

i have allowed

provides no sanctity

but does give me a lesson

i think

so this day i am confessing

that Father i need thee

and i embrace wholly

the Holy

and i hear the whisperings

and i know it is you

for paths do not speak

nor do visions

nor do Trees

nor Children

nor Friends

and i make this amend

that you are my friend

and it is You who speaks

through these things

and the wings of my thought

are gathered

upon the precipice

of new beginnings

should i leap

let go

will the flow

of the currents of air

be fair to me

and lift me

to where i need to be

tell me

whisper to me again

what is this

what is this

what is this

19 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

my inner child

my inner child

oh for so many years my inner child
has been yearning to be free
as it is discerning
why i will not let him come out to play
and i still feel this fire burning inside
while my inner child hides
behind the curtain of fear

and many a tear has been shed
and my inner child has bled
his hopes for salvation from himself
me
to be free
from the delusions
i embraced
and my divinity is defaced
continually

the truth of it all
though my inner child
has perhaps fallen
it still hears the calling
of God
to trust
and come out
to the Gardens of life
and play
what do you say
won’t you come out and play with me

i remember when all of me was a young child
before i was defiled by my thoughts and doubts
we danced and sang
with smiles and laughter
like all there ever was
was the happily hereafter

has the last song been sung yet
i say thee nay
for it is time for us to play again
my friend
to rend the curtains
that cloaks us from our better selves
our truths
for certain
for many an inner child
like you and i
still does cry inside
and they are hurting
for love
so love them

to be nurtured in the light
of our holy
we must boldly step out into the sunshine
once again
and shine like the Sons and Daughters we are
we have come too far
to let go of the dream of eternity now

and though it may seem
dismal at times
remember that this Creation is perfect
and we are the prefects
of our existence
and where there is resistance
we must be insistent
and claim our heritage
not tomorrow or some distant age
but right now
are you with me
Father has gifted me and you
that we may
what do you say

we can not wait for some rapture
to capture our better self
we must reach out
and extricate all of our doubt
and teach each other
thy sister and thy brother

yes we must
honor our Fathers and our Mothers
we must trust
that within each of us
there is something greater than this world

we must open our eyes
and realize
that we are powerful
and there are no limitations

for within us lives

my inner child


(c) 23 January 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

broken . . .

Broken

the Broken Soul

the Broken Glass

shards lying upon the floor

waiting for the Light

to touch them

that they may become the Prism

and reflect the colors of the Rainbow

to escape the consciousness

of their brokenness

again

the Children smiled

for the colors

intrigued them

as the glint of light

twinkled in their eye

little did they know

or understand

that their potential

included this possible fate

probable you said

and you are probably right

but know that this night

before the dawn arises

we can move the furniture

we can rearrange

that which is strange

and askew to our Soul

that the unwholeness

of this broken glass

can be cast into the light

and lend to life

its alchemy

in vivid color

© 17 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

One . . .

One

from the nothingness of darkness

came forth “I”

back before the making of the Firmament

and the “Letting” of Light

there was “I”

before the Heavens and Earth

and the Garden of Mirth

there was “I”

and the Spirit

Adam can you Hear It

walking in the Garden

why dost thou hide

“I” sent my Self across the Waters

that the Sons and Daughters

would drink of me

my “I”

and my Eye can see you Adam

to hide is but a delusion

of your own making

and thou are but forsaking

“Self”

i am here where i made thee

did not i breathe into thee?

are not thou endowed with my Breath ?

Each day

you confirm what “I” say

as you drink of the life

in thy lugs

which i have given thee

can’t you see

my beloved Adam

in the Garden of your consciousness

i have given unto thee

Four Rivers

that you may choose

how you flow

how you go

and know this

all paths of truth

lead back home

to the kiss of my bliss

for thou are mine

in kind

as i have defined

thee to be

so open thy Eye

let it be singular

and as far as you can see

it is “I” who is with thee

within thee

without thee

for i am He

She

It

for thou can not confine Me

in things

for all things sings of Me

listen

and where ever you see Darkness

know that

from the nothingness of darkness

came forth “I”

for “I AM” as Thou Art

One

© 17 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

http://justbill.yolasite.com/

the Wind . . . the Mountain . . . and the Sage . . . .

William S. Peters, Sr. . . . . . presents the Wind . . . the Mountain . . . and the Sage . . . | Make Your Own Book

i whisper . . .

i whisper

i whisper beyond my anguish

for i have let it go years ago

and i speak these words of love

from the garden of my heart

softly into your ear

i have planted

and cultivated these seeds

of lovely expressions

with joys of anticipation

and fed them with my attention

and watered them

with the sweat from my brow of intent

that one day

i would behold your presence

and present my offering

of love

long ago

before the advent

of the marking of man’s time

i had been given a promise

spoken to my soul

from the lips of Father

that i would know love

i did not understand such a thing

for i had  been borne of it

when i took the charge

to visit upon this plane

where the One Moon wanes

i became intimate

with darkness

which i called night

for the light of my brethren

the Stars of my hopes

became distant

upon the canopy of the heavens

it was at this time

for the first time

i discovered longing

but the promise

yes the promise

told me of your coming

i lived in that moment

in my vision

my aspiration

my dreams

where i dreamed

of such fulfillment

and the eons have passed

yet i have lasted

and i have fasted

doing without you company

but the promise

yes the promise

you were being created

to complete me

molded and shaped

crafted after

the vision of beauty

within my Star adorned Soul

and with this essence of you

i know of wholeness again

and i am reverent

for now i am ever

bound

to the sound

of your approach

your footsteps

in the garden of my beingness

and so i whisper beyond my anguish

for i have let it go years ago

and i speak these words of love

from the garden of my heart

softly into your ear

listen . . .

as i whisper.

©   12 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

justbill.yolasite.com

unspoken . . .

unspoken

the unspoken memories

of our chaotic past

is lived out each day

within us

we remember the place

of our grande spawning

all too well

the Stars of the dark night sky

faithfully light the way

back home

and still we do not listen

as they resonate

like beacons

for wayward ships

who are lost at sea

we have been cruising

sailing

while wailing

in anguish

about our plight

and the absence of

what we once embraced

and in our convoluted expressions

betwixt our generic selves

and illusion

we find

there is no solace,

for mind,

is now at the helm

and in that distant realm

we once inhabited

the table has been set

but we have not arrived yet

will the food spoil ?

will the drink become stale ?

as we fail to come to the reckoning

that is beckoning

us to let go

of this anchor

we have bound our souls to

most times

in this Sea of Forgetfulness

it is quite difficult

to effectively employs one’s rudder

with purpose and direction

and without a Compass

a Sextant

and a Charted course

of course we will get lost

and as we are tossed about

upon the Tides of our Fear and Doubt

never to understand

the Moon’s purposeful work

and presence

and our quirky rationales

fail us often

and never soften

the blows

when we crash upon the rock

and the dry desolate shores

of isolated islands

of our consciousness

too often we see ourselves as separate

from the whole

of the Soul

of all things

disconnected in circumspect

of our own self created inner hauntings

never to grasp how undaunting

the task at hand really is

when we turn about

and face our self

there is a plethoric sweetness of fruit

that ripens in the garden of Soul

where untold wealth springs forth

with but a simple asking

yet still here we are basking

in the shade of the Dark Sun

where all light is made of deception

that which we confirm into existence

with no resistance whatsoever

to the unaccountable endeavors

of those who would choose our fates for us

and yet though we do not trust them

we go along anyway

down a path of diminishing possibilities of survival

while waiting for some mythical revival

of an anointed enigma

to remove the stigma

of the Dark suit we have adorned

with glee

that we call me

and the sanctity of it all

does not reside

in any thing that can be real

and we convince our self daily

that we feel something

significant

we march along

to some Piper’s Song

as we faintly hear

the unspoken memories

of our chaotic past

that is lived out

each day

within us

as a token of truth

yet . . .

unspoken

©  05 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

innerchildpress.yolasite.com

justbill.yolasite.com

don’t ask

don’t ask

her hips were slowly undulating

to a rhythm that was calling my name

and my resistance

to the insistence

of her beckoning

was waning

all the while my mind was reckoning

did this make any sense

what would be the recompense

should i acquiesce

and answer that calling

and come to her

Lord i am falling

falling fast

my base emotions began the dance

and my mind threw chance

out the window

of my realities

and formality was lost

her name

who cared

for she dared me

and i accepted

that i was elected

to enjoin

my hips with that of her own

as the balmy winds of desire

consumed me

and in the loss of voice

i made the choice

to let go

and flow with her

and show her

that i was up for the task

don’t ask

© 10 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

what happened ?

what happened ?

their hearts were gleefully laughing

and they were playing

in the land of make believe

their joys knew no boundaries

and Grandma sat on the porch

in the shade

observing

eyes twinkling

with a certain recognition

for she remembered

though the subject

may have been a bit different

the way they played

still it was all the same

the games of children’s imaginations

in their innocent celebration

of life

they did not know what liberation was

they never could quite grasp the context

of such convexing things

even Grandma wondered

all to often

why she too did soften

and go along

with that jaded adult song

chasing the elusive rings

of golden promises

that only in the end

seemed to bind her

to hauntings

and her created anxieties

oh there were plenty of smiles

but they were usually due

to moments of some divine light

that periodically slipped

between obligation

and responsibility

and other such adult behaviors

all her life

all she wanted to do

was savor the moments

and learn how to

transmute them to her natural state of being

she wanted to

embrace that light of joy

and let it become eternal

we all vie for such

do we not ?

and here she was

sitting

observing

her long forgotten self

dancing in the Sunshine

and slowly

a smile creased

her wrinkled wise face

and with somber reverence

quietly she spoke to her soul

“that life was once mine”

thank you

but

what happened ?

© 10 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

by self . . .

being Children of Source . . .  that which has no perceivable Limits . . . how is it that we have come to believe that we possess such nonsensical characteristics ?

"BE" - believe  !!!!!

by self

i set boundaries

definitions

limits

protocols

as a modicum of my behavior

that i may be accepted

by my perceivable peers

why i choose to labor so

against my self

who amongst us

possess the answers

we struggle to fit in

be liked

gather friends

acquaintances

associates

to validate

that we are not alone

and in the crowd of many

we still are but “one”

this paradox of our existence

defies consistence

with the reasoning

that resides within

that betwixt our Dream Self

and the false realities we create

that we may experience

some ethereal elation

that we soon abandon

as not real

for we can only seduce our self

that we feel

but for a limited projection

in the illusion of time

and the sublime aspects

of actualization

and authenticity

still dances about us

enticing us to enjoin

with our knowing

that we are so much more

and we struggle to open that door

of our eternal memories

that evade our grasp

and the hinges of the hasp

that have locked away

this embrace to our being

have long ago rusted

and frozen

as we have chosen

for what lies in that closet

of self

was not trusted

and we have since

went on

and skipped along

in our hallucinations

listening to the song

of our supposed symphonic delusions

so create alternative paradigms

of happiness

in hopes

that the winds will prevail

and maintain our billowing sails

to perhaps one day

actualize our desires

and to no avail

we still yet struggle

to awaken

to the soul of who we truly are

while setting boundaries

definitions

limits

behaviors

as a modicum of our behavior

that we may be accepted

by others

and

by self

© 11 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

noise . . .

noise

noise

choices

voices

bashing

crashing

lashing out

glistening

listening

trying to find my way

back to where i am coming from

chasing

facing

the uncertainty

certainly

with pertinence

in obstinate abstinence

is there a chance

we will arrive

alive

back at the hive

where souls are born

i ask my self this every day

where is the path

the way

i should travel

as i unravel

this mystery

laden with illusory history

of who i am

and who you are

and just how far

are we from the prize

i wish to realize

and vie for

i want to see

in my inner eye

and outer eye

before i die

in this illusion

you know

like right now

and they tell me

that somehow

it is all possible

plausible

yet i ask

is it probable

are we stoppable

adoptable

or croppable

are not we being harvested

nurtured

nourished

as we flourish

in some unknown garden

ardently expressing

confessing

daily

as we wail within

seeking

answers

and all the romancers

of this Stone

we call earth

where is the mirth

of the love

we have come

to expect

in the circumspect

of sum

as i listen

all i hear

my dear

is

noise

choices

voices

bashing

crashing

lashing out

© 8 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

and this is my confession

and this is my confession

some times in our lives

there arises a need

from deep within

that cries for expression

and this is my confession

of my truth

many times in my past

and even in my now

the voices of self

come forth pleading

pleading for reconciliation

and understanding

at times

it is a soul felt demanding

for an inner justice

all too often

it is the things of the world

that herald these vexations

and sensations

for justifications

of why

and it is i

who have allowed them to be

many times

i too cry

sometimes it is tears

sometimes not

but always pain

that i have learned to transmute

to my deluded joys

in my askewedness

many, no most times

the source of this malcontent

was spawned and sent to me

via relationship

on the ship of my emotions

upon the vast ocean

of all the nuances

of what i thought my self to be

and i did not always see

the tsunami being formed

by that little quake

across the way

that has awakened me once again

as i acknowledge my best friend

me

so i face him

embrace him

and i can taste him

and his truths

that has resided in the youth

of my expectations

that one day he will come back

to what he used to be

to again be

loving and kind

of one mind

about his life

and the rife of possibility

as it still treads my convictions

and derelictions

for it still yet exists

for he and i have made it so

said it is so

so in our collectiveness

we know

that we are the power

of each moment

within each minute

of each hour

of every day

for the path

that lies before us to complete

is the way we should go

and as the River of our spirit

flows

we too shall meander

in our philandering minds

one day learn

to be kind to self

for within the Holy seat

the throne of Heart

we can impart

naught but the best

of who we are

and the road of circumspection

is but another million miles or so

not very far for one who is exponential

and confidentially

we substantiate that which we need

never to expose our treasure

to the world

for the pleasure

and enjoyment of such

is oft’ times a selfish sin

yet within the storehouse

of our heavens

we find little dark corners

and like Little Jack Horner

we wish to keep the Pie to our selves

and the Plumb on our Thumb

will not assist us in becoming aplomb

and move away from our numbness

until we confess our truths

that we are

yes we are more than we would wish to know

or be responsible for

and this

this is my confession

8 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.