Ther Vine Keeper

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Tuesday, June 28, 2011

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

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.

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

Inner Child Radio

my Friend

Janet "Derailed Poet" Perkins-Caldwell

on The Hump Day Show

Wednesday 29 June 2011
7:00 until 9:00 PM EST

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Her Story, Her Words, Her Vision
Share the Magic

Wednesday 29 June 2011
7:00 until 9:00 PM EST

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Sunday, June 26, 2011

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.

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.

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.

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
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

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.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

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
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.

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.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

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
to be free
from the delusions
i embraced
and my divinity is defaced

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.

Friday, June 17, 2011

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

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.

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

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
for thou can not confine Me
in things
for all things sings of Me

and where ever you see Darkness
know that
from the nothingness of darkness
came forth “I”
for “I AM” as Thou Art


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

Monday, June 13, 2011

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
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.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

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
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

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 . . .


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

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
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
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
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
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
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
as a modicum of our behavior
that we may be accepted
by others
by self

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

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

noise . . .



lashing out

trying to find my way
back to where i am coming from

the uncertainty
with pertinence
in obstinate abstinence
is there a chance
we will arrive
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
yet i ask
is it probable
are we stoppable
or croppable

are not we being harvested
as we flourish
in some unknown garden
ardently expressing
as we wail within

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


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

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
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.