Ther Vine Keeper

"The Vine Keeper . . . messages in poetry & prose" by William S. Peters, Sr. is an Epic offering of Bill's writing. It is 439 pages of a truly transformative work. The Book Size is 8 by 10 Perfect for just $29.95 . . . makes a great Gift of Love and Spirit for the Seeker.
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Tuesday, August 30, 2011

energy . . .


energy

i remember the way of the dark
before light souls adorned the skies of night
we had no fear
for darkness was yet differentiated from light
they resided as one
energy

and then the word was spoken
which created duality
and thus all thing were separate
yet the same
energy

thought began to multiply
like the virus’ they are
feeding on each other
needing but a wisp of substance
to substantiate their right to exist
energy

we began to build things
in our imaginings
manifesting thought to word
word to deed
deed to things
energy

then came that little nasty one
“mine”
further creating polarity
from nothingness
dividing bounty
for he could count
energy

and the way of the dark
comes about once again
to reclaim
all things
even the light
energy


© 30 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

he was home


he was home

they spoke of such things
as Soul Mates
Twin Flames
and imagined of the times past

could it have been
they were once “one”
yes, it is a possibility
for there was something she had
that belonged to him
and he could feel it

since he could remember
he was ever propelled forward
searching
seeking
something
never quite connecting
with the essence
nor nomenclature
nor characteristic
of what that vacant space in his soul
needed

and there she was
gracefully standing in his path
filled with a dancing
magical aura
a divine light show
whose tentacles reached out
and embraced him

yes, this was it
it had to be
for there was a peace that overcame him
and he knew he was home
again


© 29 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

the fallacy


the fallacy

beyond the understandings
of mortal men
there is the absence
of footprints in the garden
and our consciousness has yet to be spoiled
nor contained
by the boundaries
of morality

this does not go to say
there is not balance
for Karma still yet prevails
but she wears an unblemished aura
and stands naked
before the eyes of the divine
for there is not a word
for sin

again and again
we have approached it’s gate
only to cower in fear
of the perceivable unknown
yet we faintly remember such things
and we call it unconditional love
a travesty to truth

before  the advent of the keeping
of time
when weeping was not yet invented
there was but a bliss
that prevailed
in our hearts

and the song that continually played
that which the butterflies still hear
that which caused us to skip in wonder
absent of conviction
for no one judged
for there was not a need

the Adam knew not of temptation
for what we call innocence
was but the way
and a serpent was but a serpent
until the children
had need to blame

so thus the story was created
aptly to cover faults we ourselves embody
for we believe not in our own eternities

sanctioned
and bound here
we cling to the myth
while soulfully knowing
we have all the truths
for that is our breath
and our understandings

of mortal me
the fallacy


© 20 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Mount Kyllini


Mount Kyllini

the temporal fabric
cloaked the wonder of man
and consciousness
could not pierce the veil

the Seven Sisters were gleeful
for their plan
appeared to be succeeding

raining false hopes
capturing the wills of men
as nymphs do
they defiantly deceived
our aspirations
yet we reached to embrace them
and their allure
as they danced
in the cradle of the Bull

their bitterness and anguish
knew no end
since the death of Hyas
whose nobility
was their guide of a higher order

they have weeped for aeons
inside
as they exacted their misdirection
upon Father’s pride
men

suicide was a consideration
when Atlas went on journey beyond
but eternity would not release them
from it’s grasp

so they blinded all they could see
that their errant judgments
would only be disclosed
in the inner light
of those who knew
of the legend of Arcadia
upon the Mount Kyllini

it is mine



it is mine

i sit here
exposed and raw
willing
vulnerable
and
receptive

Brother Wind comes
dancing about me
caressing my skin
tickling my consciousness
into heightened awareness

animated He is
reaching in
to magical places
within me
i visit not often enough

2 eyes closed
1 eye open

i am in the garden
where the imaginings of men
are seeded
take root
sprout
blossom
and bear fruit
to our expectations
for in this realm
whatever i deem
becomes real

i realize
that i have personified
my Brother
Wind
and He follows
the Law of Source
“reciprocity”
and personifies me

as He dances
teases
appeases
Destiny’s call
there are whisperings
being actualized
manifesting
becoming my truths
of this moment

the Trees sway
in gentle acknowledgment
and their leaves applaud
the brilliant marvel
of this epiphanic moment

and my soul smiles

there are Flowers
smiling as well
blooming
blossoming
imparting fragrance
concording the symbiosis
of Brother Wind and i
for Source being Source
answers the call
of all hearts

and as i withdraw
from the Garden
and the Magic
held in this moment
my Soul blows kisses
upon it’s own reflection
exemplifying
a love of “Self”

“Self”
which is a part
of all things
and all things
are a part of me

so i pick the proverbial Flower
press it to my Heart
touching my Dreams
and i know
that
this moment is eternal
and it is mine

© 30 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Night Movements


Night Movements

a semi soft
semi cool
night wind
blowing remnants of memories
through my soul

i reach to grab the tails
as they teasingly
tickle flashes of times
into my nowness

there is a rumbling i hear
echoing from the distance
over the peaks of mountains
that stand quietly
in the obscurity
for darkness prevails

what ails me
what fails me i ask

the thunder is shaking
the very air
and Mother is quaking softly
making me take notice
that all is not quite sound

there must be clouds
for the stars too
have been cloaked
and are not prominently
displaying their wonder

they only peek intermittently
at me
as i peek at them

these are movement of the night
and the lights are dimmed
about me
and within

there goes a flash
as the cache of static
has another go at it
discharging it’s prominence
and it’s dominance
of awareness
for we all know of the lightening
and what it can do
enlightening the night
with it’s eclectic dance
enhancing
what moment before
was not seen

and the night shifts
slightly aright
emulating day
with  it’s own brilliance

in
Night Movements

and the rains are on their way


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

but we exorcised them didn’t we


but we exorcised them
didn’t we

the ghosts of wisdom
have been exorcised
from their homes

and now the houses
of our consciousness
are vacant
with for sales
and rental signs
adorning the neighborhood

our thoughts and beliefs
now are on the market
and the rental agents
and realtors
are bustling about
making deals
for whomever
can afford
to occupy the space

to the highest bidder
goes my allegiance
and my obeisance
and obedience
is still suspect
i detect

for we are all looking
for answers
to questions
that can only be formulated
in soul

and the instructions told us
by those who came
before us
have failed us

was it trust
we were supposed to engage
before our faith
so saith the Lorde

and the horde of beings
are fleeing
institution
seeking solution
to the eternal longing

and we listen
to the sirens songs
ushered forth
on the faint winds of illusion
and the demons await us
to infect us
with the eternal germ
where we will willingly submit
for one breath of fair air

we bargain away things
that belong not to us
as the universe
stand in silent witness
to those of us
who have not yet honed
our hearing
for we have spent
too much time fearing
the ghosts of wisdom
who once occupied
our houses of consciousness

but we exorcised them
didn’t we


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

this Crisp Autumn Morning


this Crisp Autumn Morning

it is a Crisp Autumn Morning
the Sun peeks through the Trees
bathing the Wood’s Canopy with it’s Light
There is a stillness
as the Trees stand in reverence to my Prayer
Brother Wind has stilled
and He too ceases his travels
as we pay homage to Life.
My breath of inspiration has a lucid touch
and i watch it’s energy touch the makings of who i am
awakening me.
i breath out and i see my breath of light
flow out to greet the world in Holiness.
i am now reconnected.
i again know that i am.

within the silence, the stillness
i feel the small voice of my child
brightly beaming
for again there is a hope that lives
exuberantly dancing in the garden of my visions
partaking of the Fruits of my Soul
that i have collected since the first Aeon of Life
Yes, we are dancing and smiling and singing
to life
with life
for we are life
this Crisp Autumn Morning


(c) 14 October 2010 : William S. Peters, Sr.

in my embrace


in my embrace

i have held you for aeons
in a place
that only my imaginings can touch
for your beauty is too sacred
for the world

when i hold your picture
in my mind
my soul bows in reverence
for you are of the Holy
a place that only Gods know of

i look at my life
and the grandeur of hope
the bounty of dreams
and i realize
that you are that epiphany
i have always prayed for

my spirit is that of the child
skipping across the meadows of life
where flowers are dancing
and butterflies prancing
for they hear the song
of my glee
i have found in thee

and if need be
i will hold you again
til the end
of all perceptions of time
beyond this rhyme
we call the infinite
beyond eternity
for now
you are here with me
in my embrace

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

"sweet" . . . with Video and Spoken Word

SWEET

love has

broken me in a million pieces

time and time again

only to come and say

“i’m sorry”

love has walked in

and out of my life

so many times

in my dreams

and my realities

there is a rut where she has tread

leaving un-erasable footprints

in the garden of my heart

and i keep getting stuck

in the that rut

time after time

i now have a ladder

to save myself

that i will not drown

when this garden is watered

with the tears

that fill this hole

that rut

i have poked a hole

in my heart

of which it’s purpose

is to let go

of all the anxieties

that over come me

and my reason

each “Love Season”

cause when in love

we don’t think right . . . do we ?

i remember all the heart breaks

the ones i received

and the ones i think i gave

but who has time to count

for love is at my door

once more

ringing that bell

asking to borrow another cup

of my sugar

SWEET

© 27 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.


Saturday, August 27, 2011

and i bleed



and i bleed

my love
the acute pains of denial
wields a dulled knife
which is carving your name
upon the walls of my heart
for it belongs to you

my tears are red
with the blood of my longings
for again
in this life time
we miss the mark
and the Gods tell me of hope
and i spit
fearingly
upon such notions

time is not honest
for it whispered aeons ago
that this time would come
when we again would commune
but it never spoke
of the prevailing space
and the absence
of being face to face
that i may feel
the lyrical dance of your eyes
as they caress
my presence

i want to feel your breath again
upon my neck
as you breath life
into my imaginings
that they may take shape
in the form
of our eternal embrace
let me again
taste the passions
your bear
only for me
and our union
of love

i sit and exact this query
that i shall bury yet again
in my soul
my expectations
along with those whisperings of old
when i cried for you
died for you
yet,
never denied you

and here we go again
the hauntings of life cycles
attempting to cajole us
with promise
of the morrow

but naught
can erase this sorrow
this day
nor that
which i still remember
of when
the denizens
of our desires
were actualized
in the eyes
of all  who were blessed
to witness such things we shared
yet again
this path
seems too damned familiar

so i sit and i ponder
half heartedly
the possibilities

and though the Sun
still lives in my heart
i shall veil it’s light
for now
i wish but to be alone
in this night
and howl to the moon
the song of my anguish
as i impugn
it’s verity

for the language of this love
this longing
this rending
of my soul
can not be forgiven
nor defended
for the Gods
have cleaved the dream
of our oneness
once more

they have closed the door
with my fingers in the hasp
and while i hold on
for that last breath
waiting for you
and i
i shall deny
this advent of fate
and my longings
shall never dissipate
for it is you
who inhabits
all vestiges of who i am
and who my heart belongs to
was made for
and your name alone
is carved upon it’s walls
my inner sanctum

and i bleed

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

Thursday, August 18, 2011

disconnected again



disconnected again

all the information one could ever want
about you, but you still don’t understand

people selling peanuts
at the Circus
and Clowns
all around

buying the Cotton Candy
letting the kids
get all sticky
and the lesson’s remnants
endures
got a Wet Nap ?

Daddy wants a Beer
or two
or a few

yes, let us drink our convictions
into submission
or at least try

and the clowns
all around
are crying
with laughter
painted upon their faces

the Ringmaster dressed
to distinguish him self
from the rest
of the performers

and the daring ones
swinging in the air
letting go
catching
letting go
catching
the rings of their salvation
challenging the odds
while we gasp in awe
at their bravery and courage

and the age of entertainment
and narcoleptic souls
for sure endures
the inquisitive minds
of the young,
for some day soon
they must sleep as well

do tell
were you ever told
about the Lion tamers
and Circus gamers
and Jugglers
and Acrobats
who mimic life
within life

funny i think
the 3 Rings of Barnum
and his magic
do make us compelled
to forget
that beyond the tent
life awaits us
with her harsh reasoning

and the Circus season
will soon end
then what
disconnected again

popcorn anyone ?


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

What is your Poetic Purpose ?


What is your Poetic Purpose ?

In this landscape of expression we call Poetry, you are bound to encounter many souls, with many thoughts as to what they feel, think or say Poetry is or should be about. Funny isn’t it. When you think about all the different flavors, colors and music of each persons influences and experiences, i must ask my self “How can that be?” You will encounter many “Notables” who have perhaps established some level of notoriety in certain Poetry Circles who feel it is their duty to instruct all who would listen to their rant. We have a plethora of Columnist, Celebrity “wanna bes”, Teachers, Critics and others who willingly offer their judgment and personal limited perspectives on such. What is Poetry any way. That is a question for the ages. No one has of yet can , nor has provided a valid answer, for the nomenclature of Poetic Expression is very personal. Sure, Poetry like every other Art From and Science has a history. But i ask, are we as Poets doomed to be Carbon Copies of such archaic and dated forms of expression ? Poetry like every thing else in life has and is evolving. We are too! . . .

Opinions . . . . like Assholes, everyone has one. That is OK. But please be aware, that no one’s opinion makes you who you are . . . unless you allow it to be so! The same applies to our personal offerings and expressions through Poetry. I am not you and you are not me and furthermore we should not vie for such things. The noblest thing we can do is be authentically our self! My focus is simply to develop my Craft in expression that i may convey what i am attempting to say in a clear and concise manner. In the practice of such my voice is evolving and distinguishing it’s self as that of my own. And as long as i have been doing this, matters not, for each day, each expression, each word, each verse, each poem is an opportunity for me to define and further the limits i had previously and thereby enhance my Poetic Expressive self. I care not about the critics nor naysayers, instructors, teachers, preachers or whatever they wish to call themselves. I am discovering me. I pray that you too take up your anchor and enjoy your own journey to self and the language of such beauty Poetry can give to you when you give your self unto Poetry.

To Thine Own Self Be True ~ William Shakespeare

I ask you again . . .  What is your Poetic Purpose ?


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

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Business of Books



The Business of Books

So now you are in business for your self ? Yes, you are now a Published Author, and that is exactly what it is !

All too often, newly Published Authors are of the misconception that their work is completed once they get their book in their hand. WAKE UP CALL !!!! Trust me . . . the work has just begun.

Speak with any successful Author, and they will have more testimony that we wish to hear about the hardships and Trials and Tribulations and the Sacrifices that go along with “Success”. Many new Authors get stuck on their achievement of finally getting Published. Yes . . . it “IS” a “MAJOR” achievement. WELCOME to the 1% Club of Writers. But if you are vying for more that a collection of your offerings to be utilized as Christmas and Birthday Gifts, Door Stops, Book Ends and Paper Weights, it is time for you to get an education and finite understanding as you what will help you make the transition into “Success”

I have in the past written a few Articles that address many facets of getting prepared for this moment, but there is nothing quite like experiencing the potential let down when you awaken and realize that people, including Family and Friends are not kicking down your door, not burning your Cell Phone Message box up clamoring to buy your book. Surprise!!!!

The process of being a productive and functionally “Selling” Author is WORK !!!
You will hear all the promises of “Next Week” or “when i get paid” . . .  you might even experience hearing “Blatant Lies” and a myriad of other excuses. Use this as the fuel for your fire. To become somewhat successful does require a heightened level of “Drive”, “Enthusiasm”, “Action” and “Determination”. I call this the “D.E.A.D.” Principle . . .  yes . . .I must die to all that i thought i knew about this process and “Re-Create” my “Self” into that persona i desire to be. I must not allow any thing or anyone deter me from what it is i seek to accomplish. I will listen to the “No” and constantly seek other avenues of expression to let people know i have said what i have come to say . .  I Am Published, and I have a Book for sale and i want you to buy it . . . NOW !

Trust me . .  you will be confronted with a lot if Indifference, Patronization and No . . .  but the truth of the matter simply is, you results will mirror your Zeal and Efforts.

and Finally . . .Remember This !!! . . .  “Every Time you hear a “NO” you are getting closer to a “YES”. . .  Happy Hunting

Blessings
Bill


"I think of six impossible things before breakfast"


 

"I think of six impossible things before breakfast"

 

i’d

tried

died

defied

lied

cried

abide

chide

dried

flied

guide

hide

collide

pried

pied

pride

ride

side

slide

tied

 

why’d

i ask

did they think

of this task

 

all things

i’d experience

non impossible

 

so what is impossible my friend

we seek it out

until the end

 

impossible they say

just another day

to find another way

away from  the fray

of life

 

or should i be bold

embrace, enfold

do as i’m told

desist and scold

my predecessors

my ancestors

for laying this path

through this wilderness

of mess

that lies

before me

 

6 impossible things

impossible i say

6 impossible things

today

before breakfast

 

when not eating today

for the way of the fray

is impossible of it’s own

 

had i know

perhaps i would have brought

my magic seeds

to be sown

in the gardens of possibilities

 

for i can not think

of six impossible things

before breakfast

 

 

© 16 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

 


still . . .


still

i wonder if i am awakened
will the dream continue
will i be here
laying next to you
holding you
as lovers do

what is true
the dream ?

it seems
that is where i spend my time
Rhyme after Rhyme
in your embrace
looking upon your face
wishing never to awaken

so i wonder
if i am finally awakened
can i please
please
awaken in a place
where your face
will never part my company
a place
where Dreams are my reality

i wonder if i awaken
will you be here
still


© 16 August 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Meet some of the Authors . . . Inner Child Press




Christine M. Fulco
Poetry
New Book to be released
September 2011



Janet "Derailed Poet" Perkins Caldwell
Poetry
New Book Coming December 2011



 

Michael Jamison
Children's Stories
Coming Soon


 

Janice D. Johnson
aka
Heart Spoken Niecy
Poetry
New Book Coming 2012




Jeffery A. Sanders, Sr.
aka
Cali
Poetry
New Book Coming 2012



 

Miguel Keaton
aka
A Poetic State of Mind
Poetry & Prose
Coming October 2011



Kalissa Powell
Poetry
Coming November 2011


 

Pauline "Cookie" Jordan
Poetry
Coming 2012


 

Valerie Burton
aka
Poetically Spoken
Poetry
Coming October 2011



Mel Atkins
 
aka
Poetically Wriiten
Poetry
Coming October 2011



Teresa E. Gallion
 
Poetry / Quatrains
Coming September 2011


 

Rita Tatum
Poetry
Coming Soon 2011


 
Manish Kumar
Novelist


 
Terri L. Johnson
Poetry
New Book Coming 2012



Rev. Dr. Theresa F. Koch
aka
"Teri"
Novelist / Biographer



 

Vicki Acquah
aka
Momma "O"
Poet / Historian
Coming 2012



Regina Ann
Poetry




HALOS 711
Arthur and Sandye
Spiritual Writers
Reiki Masters
Reiki Instructors
New Book Coming End 2011




Susie Ian
aka
Crystalin
Poetry / Artist

Coming 2011


William S. Peters, Sr.
Poet / Storyteller
New Book Coming End 2011


You can Read more about all the Writers and Purchase their Current Books at Inner Child Press