this is a dumb ass poem for all the dumb ass people

this is a dumb ass poem for all the dumb ass people


for all the dumb asses who think having millions of dollars is not enough

for all the dumb asses in uniform who misuse their power and position

for all the dumb asses who covertly or openly seek to exploit their fellow human being’s weaknesses

for all the dumb asses with the letters behind their names that believe that makes them smarter or of better ilk than those without

for all the dumb asses who have it to give and close their hands and their hearts

for all the dumb asses who would take the life of another human being arbitrarily

for all the dumb asses who create wars to further covert agendas

for all the dumb asses in politics who don’t give a flyin’ fuck about the people they serve

for all the dumb asses who abuse children, women and each other

for all the dumb asses who marginalize themselves and their fellow humans deliberately

for all the dumb asses who sit in judgment and are blinded for their heads are stuck up their own dumb asses

for all the dumb asses that think the colors of their skins, their politics, their religion, their economics provides them some sort of advantage that should be exploited over others

for all the dumb asses who think they are better than someone else

for all the dumb asses who do not recognize they are dumb asses like me

for all the dumb asses who do know they are dumb asses and take pride in being the dumb asses they are . . .  like it’s cute or something

we thank all you dumb asses because it is your dumb asses that are causing us dumb asses to wake up and get rid of your dumb asses

this is a dumb ass message from one dumb ass to another


© 29 June 2012 : Dumb Ass

last night i sat and i asked myself

last night i sat and i asked myself

if we are co-creators

that is what i surmise

for so many things

i have thought

and spoke

did come to fruition

and it is now time

to examine

my seditious ways

so . . .

last night i sat and i asked myself

these words that i speak

these words that i pen

do they offer any amends

to the ills i speak of

do they heighten my sense

our sense

of love

and the power it can be

for you

for me

or am i just making commentary

on the things

we already know

last night i sat and i asked myself

am i serving a valid purpose

beyond my own

co-created validities

the conformity

of my delusional normality

or is this but another face

of my frailty

and the things

i can not quite grasp

as reality

the milk has spilled

and i cry over it

when i should be getting

over it

and seeking

some sort of resolution

solutions are what we need

will poetry

bring this about

help us mitigate the doubt

that things will ever

get better

because of the words

we spout

or shout

is hope enough

is message enough

is verse enough

to disperse

the terse

attitudes we see about us

between us

last night i sat and i asked myself

if “once upon a time”

things were different

then what, who and when

spawned the indifference

amongst us

last night i sat and i asked myself

what am i going to do ?

write another Poem ?

last night i sat and i asked myself

and then . . .  i wrote this

© 29 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

i must

i must

‘tis a strange mixing that makes a poet

a brewing

stewing

of the unseen

with that which may be to some

evident

to another

unnoticed

yet it stirs within us

temperatures elevating

begging for a liberating

an expectorating

in to verse

a blessing ?

or a curse ?

yes we suffer to speak

tweaking our lines

trying to find

a common mind

among an audience of one

but one

they say a poem

is never done

of this i can attest

for the quest of life

is but one continuing journey

where words serve

a purpose

to relieve the anguish

and share the joys

those evident

as i said before

and those not quite so

i have tried to rest

seeking to alleviate

my needs

but they can only be relieved

when i write

it matters not the time of day

nor night

whether the voice is melodious

or trite

embracing

or fright filled

the words must be spilled

for this fullness i feel

must be let

yes . . . i must

© 24 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

without tears

without tears

skins and layers have encapsulated my memories

and i was peeling this onion

with a tearless disdain

refraining from an emotional investment

in this testament

to self

i wanted to see

if it was my fault

or the circumstance

happenstance

afforded my path

yeah . . .  shit happens

they say that life is fair

i can buy that,

but sometimes

people need a break

for they, we

were not prepared

to travel this journey

without a map

so we are expected to get lost

at times

aren’t we

there have been many wrong turns

i think

but with perspective

i do have the choice

to look at them differently

don’t i ?

these supposed wrong turns

have brought me to this point

of reconciliation

hasn’t it

if i could but gather the lessons

and apply them forward

yeah, i am confessing

to some degree

that i need some help

perhaps a little Cosmic understanding

is now due

for me

for you

and the world

and now here i sit

peeling the onions

trying to get a peek

at what lies beneath the skin

what lies within

and i shall not shed a tear

i shall remain staunchly clear

embraced by resolve

to overcome the fears

that impeded me from doing this

so many time before

i do not wish to be blinded anymore

by my own bull shit

nor convenient delusions

we at times cosign

and label it as an illusion

created by others

this day i am confronting me

and i but want to see

who i truly am

if i can but finish

peeling this onion

without tears

© 28 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

painfully so

painfully so

she was a submissive

sort of woman

she had been in training

since childhood

she did not know

that which she endured

and tolerated

all these years

would lead her to this,

a life decorated with

disdain, tears and fears

a life she secretly hated

every adult she had ever met

met her

with their own list of demands

from dishes to dicks

from kisses to kicks

all stealing a piece of her light

her soul

parents, aunts, uncles

and weird cousins and neighbors

wanting favors

like

“can you keep a secret” . . .

and she did

for who could she tell

her screams were silent

the yelling could only be heard

in her nightmares

she did not dream anymore

save for the endless torment

that vision

her closed eyes would bring

she just wished those

haunting images

and faces

would go away . . .

but they would not

they refused her demands

took no heed to her cries

her beckoning

her pleading

they refused her demands

for they too knew

that

she was submissive

painfully so

© 25 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

this is why i sleep . . .

this is why i sleep . . .

i want to have sex with my dreams

i want to impregnate them

with not possibility

but a certain verifiable probability

that will bear a flock of children

all named “Reality”

this is why i sleep . . .

© 27 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

but i’m not sure it’s poetic

but i’m not sure it’s poetic

many poets write about poetry

and then

a few write from an objective

point of view

about the writing of those poets

who write about poetry

a sort of subjective / objective

quandary

this is a very semi-disconnected

examination of inanity

an insanity

that only a poet

can understand

for what is semi – disconnected

like being ½ a virgin

only a poet can be a virgin

and a whore

simultaneously

objectively speaking of course

now that’s being subjective

i think

but i’m not sure it’s poetic

© 26 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

won’t you climb with me

won’t you climb with me

i exuberantly embrace

the toils of my day

as i make yet another arduous climb

of this mountain

which stands before me

i but hope to ascend

and sit upon it’s peak once again

hoping to grasp a peek

at a passing muse or two

bring to me a verse

bring to me a word

that entices the clouds

to undress their wonder

and stand before my throne naked

that i may see clearly

the once held mysteries

heaven has veiled from me

and my empirical nature

the wind ushers forth my Terpsichore

whose perfectly syncopated choreography

speaks to my soul

in a tango like shuffle

awakening a divine reason

that only when i in-spire

can be translated to paper

my pen is my rapier

and it cleaves me

from my “Self”

and the reasonable values i held

but a moment ago

they becomes as dust

a countless thing

that will cloud one’s earthly eyes

with anguish

and confusion

and a lost melancholy

that teases our need

to become an unsatiated prevalence

look from thy inner eye brother

and the sound will manifest

in to a syllabic courtship

with your soul

speaking in alchemic tones

as you vibrate

and resonate

a strange bereft music

that can only be expectorated

from your prodigious being,

your unquantifiable regality

a sovereignty

that is foreign

to our way

but this can only be experienced

upon the mountain

come my friend . . .

won’t you climb with me

© 23 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Dedicated to Myiya Imani Rai

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

shall be raised

shall be raised

who built these walls around me

was it i

am i the Warden of my own prison

am i the one

who is the keeper

of this fruitless garden

where the soil it’s self

has died

all the tears i have cried

in my life

offers no lasting resolution

nor solution

to this matrix

i co-created

nor has it flooded my mind

with any viable possibilities

of how i may overcome

these frailties

that recur along the pathway

of my journey

the gurneys are lined up

waiting for our lifeless bodies

to wheel us to our new home

don’t bury me

again

cremate me please

and let my ashes be cast

to the skies of ether

that i may taste of the brevity

of a freedom

my soul always sought

in this excruciating stay here

let my soul exuviate

this purgatorious stench

that cloaks it’s wonder

with finite lights of reason

that live not beyond

the earth borne logics of man

understanding is always tethered . . .

to some thing

and in truth

i seek a liberation

that allows my exponential-ness

to breath

beyond these walls

and bars

that encases me

in this dismality

where our children . . .

shall be raised

© 23 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Be

Be

i am the one seed

that becomes an orchard

that produces a fruit

that will feed a village

i am the one seed

that becomes a vineyard

that produces a grape

that becomes a wine

that inebriates the minds

of a country

to think and be at peace

i am the one seed

that speaks but a syllable

that manifests in to a word

that carries forth a spirit

that changes a world

back to that which it has always been

love

“i am” . . . thus i “BE”

© 23 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

the Storm is coming

the Storm is coming

i stand in reverence

watching the changing of the guard

as the heavens above me

begin to speak of what is to come

the clouds become ambiguous

submissively relinquishing

their personal definition

to a great presence

that not so silently approaches

they enjoin to speak

with one ominous voice

as the Storm begins

to make her presence known

Brother Wind wisps in

tickling the leaves of the Trees

awakening them from their slumber

as they prepare to withstand

or yield

as will be told

with “Storm’s” fury

or her gentle caress

they applaud

i smell the scent of Nature

in the air

as the once fair day

gives way

to the need of expression

found in the loud voice

of the thunder

there are flashing lights

in the distant skies and

i am in awe

as the horizon

beams with a wonder

we often do not see

the soft pitter patter of rain

walks in softly

touching all that it can

the leaves

the ground

and me

who is grounded as well

be still

that is what Grandma used to say

she even prayed

at these times in my younger life

somehow

i forgot the drill

but today

i too shall spill my heart

my thoughts

and let them go back

from whence they came

and perhaps a name to call

will come to me

as they have done

for Grandma

that name that gave her a peace

that was stilled

when Storms did come

© 22 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

when the lights went out

when the lights went out

the Government of the People

employing Fear Factor Tactics

it’s a trip

sounds like a script

from Hollywood

no good can come of it

the people seem like

they are no longer equipped

to think for them selves

Fox news

with askew skewed views

feeding the sheep

the peeps

what they wish for us to eat

but are you really trying

vying to satisfy your hunger

by eating this shit

ain’t no news like old news

and still we do not acknowledge

that we have the power

to choose

what is your choice

where the hell is your voice

you are in a foreign wilderness you know

do cry out

at some decibel above silence

for the violence

we accept

will deceptively

be turned upon us

our souls

that make holes

in our hearts

that we may bleed

the infectious poisons

of the noise and

the bullshit

we did not comment on

yesterday

is this to be our way

the movie was called

Silence of the Lambs,

yeah

dr. lecter

was lecturing you

but we slept through it

shit

while watching

the view

and Oprah

no Ma

i ain’t asleep

liar, liar

pants on fire

the sires of our world

have herald in a new

understanding

yeah

fukk your demanding

for justice

for just us

the people suffer the regime’s greed

to hell with your need

for a bit of humanity

that’s your problem

and perhaps our vanity

to think that they care

where were you

when the lights went out

© 15 July 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

yet we shine

yet we shine

the valiant quest of Perseus

has not gone unnoticed

by the Gods

sword drawn in victory

brandishing the head

of Medusa

for his prize

he was given an Galaxy

of wonder

we now call Andromeda

whose beauty they claimed

exceeded that of Nereids

but who stood in judgment

the contemplative aspects of man’s quest

to become inscribed

in the annals of time

as His Story of sorts

contorts our reason

as we resort to such antics

with our frantic

logic loosed movements

the Zeus’ of our world

herald in new edicts

confounding our good intent

but good intent

serves no master

save that of reward

in the end

the Persephone

win always

and the Queens

do relinquish their realms

and perhaps sovereignty

to another Cassiopeia

who waits in the folds

of time yet to arrive

into our Now-ness

and what is the “Myth”

of the 12 Olympians

will there ever be a clarity

that allows us to

see the light of

each Star’s Soul

yet we shine

embolded

enfolded

in a flux

with a crux

to bear new tale

yet we shine

© 17 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Cogito Ergo Sum

Cogito Ergo Sum

Epiphanic convolutions

devoid of solutions

grip my soul

with a scurrilous embrace

in a life-death struggle

of co-dependency

my tribulations

continue the march

forward / backward

cloaked in a dark veil

for i just can not let go

of that which i have been fed

whether it be Christian Sciences

or other compliances

or indoctrinated propaganda

matters not much these days

for the relevance to all

that i think i know

exceeds not this empirical containment

we have labeled such misnomers

with pretty little collections

of letters

as we attach semi-cosigned

significance and values

for a determined outcome

that can project

and chart the movement

of the people

and thus the Souls

Faith, Trust, Belief

are quantified

with intangibles

and an etheric fabric

called the unseen

my soul does in fact

recognize its self

in this wisping curtain

of abysmal nothingness

or it created

such a reflection

for we do vie

for valuation

at some point

don’t we

but in the nearby end

of things

our champion of spiritual indifference

remains but a few unresolved

age old questions

such as . . .

why

and

what if

and hearing not any

verifiable retorts

we resort

to impersonal validations

for “Self” begs for reflection

that errs not

through time

and through the dark, the light

the dawning, the night

we are left

with but one possible truth

which Descartes’

so aptly coined

and that simply is

“Cogito Ergo Sum” . .

i think therefore i am . . .

© 16 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

but the letting go

but the letting go

the perdulous children

were in need of a place

to rest their weary souls

the journey

from here to eternity

has been an arduous trek

and they have yet to arrive

in the “Now”

sunshine avoided their way

like a plague

for they have been ostracized

from the realm of men’s’ acceptance

for they dressed their countenance

with a different light

there was no aguish borne

that could embrace their convictions

they counted all things joy

and joy it was

for lessons

were littered every where

and they were the students

who have come to impart

to those who would listen

a means to pierce Illusion’s veil

the dichotomous aspects of existence

they knew all too well

for without Joy

what purpose would pain serve

it is through pain

that seeds may shed their hull

sprout

crest the furrow

blossom

and hopefully

some day bear

a fulfilling edible fruitful delicacy

that liberates man

from his self induced bondage

that which we all secretly vie for

have died for

so many times

over and over again

these children were the emissaries

of something beyond the absorption

of our reason

so we rejected the possibilities

that we not be disturbed

we would rather

be perturbed with them

for the shaking of the bridge

that connects us to something

beyond the grandness

of this mess

we have and choose

to endure

yet the door remains ajar

for in truth

it can not be closed

and the light remains vigilant

though we do not the same

there are names

etched upon the walls of our souls

that have not been spoken

since that Christed One

“parabalized” in code the wonder

that liberated us from the anchors

which keep us submerged

in the Sea of forgetfulness

as we slowly drown

we claim we want to swim

and thus fly

remembering such things

as wings

we once adorned

so many aeons ago

can you feel the wisping ghosts

who whisper in your ear

telling through your verse

that they still live

to but liberate you

from your self enslavement

i do

the Flowers and Butterflies

are but deliberate metaphors

that are strategically placed

in your journey

as are smiles

they are placed to perhaps

provide a spark

that may ignite

that torch you carry

inscribed with a

“woe is me” credo

you have ascribed to

without question

but what is the question

you would pose to God ?

another “Why”

and i ask why

why do we ask of things

for which we are the answer

the power

to alter

the way we should go

let us not falter

any longer

let us remember

that we are the children

of the Source Prime

and that which has abandoned us

was never really worth having

and if we are the children

who have been cast away

from a formed  world

of a dumbed down

numbed down

dense expression of life

we should as James did speak

count it all joy

for there is nothing for us to deploy here

but the letting go

© 14 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

as i am alone

as i am alone

looking for burdens

i walk the path not alone

to prove the reproof

of my back

give unto me my brother

your hand, your load

and hope will accompany

us to a certain victory

that has already been won

let us speak to the Day’s young morn

as the new Sun rises

to kiss our dew laden aspirations

let us break a Holy Bread

that has been prepared

with a yeast of promise

we shall turn the Stone over

that light may bathe

the underside of its hardened stature

and awaken the unseen

into a familiarity

that shant be forgotten

none too soon

with a smile painted

upon the face of our soul

we shall go forward

and give them to the world

as does the wishful sower

who plants a seed

in the garden this day

only to but sit and witness

a coming harvest

yes.

the day soon comes

when that of the vine

has been pressed

and we shall be drunken

as we sit at the table

of the holy offerings of Mother

with a reverent knowing

the children are dancing

as we the elders observe

with a patient tolerable embrace

the blossoming of their hearts

let us not harness their wonder

let us cast expectations to the side

for they serve only to restrain

what may come to be

let us join hands

for the two of us

be joined in a 3^rd

and this bond

is not easily broken

as  am i . . . not alone

© 14 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

Blessed Be

Blessed Be

wherever you are
whatever House you dwell
make that your Home

Build not your house upon a foundation of indifference, prejudice nor bias, for all the hinges to the doors of your heart shall rust and seize, and no one may visit and you will become the prisoner of your own shortcomings.

Vacate the thought and cast to the fire the word “Hate”, for its very presence in you abode bears a spiritual energy that taints and soils all good thoughts and things with an antithesis of goodness we at times will stumble upon.

Be “High Minded”! Open the blinds to all the windows of your Soul that light may enter and that you may see out and take in the grandeur of creation. Look Out . . . Look Up.

The Universe as we see it is but a reflection of the Divine, and we are an integral part of its Cosmic Fabric. Express, Speak, Think Goodness always and Goodness will “BE” a committed Friend to your Life Path.

When Darkness approaches, show it your Light and it shall flee and become but a mere shadow of it’s former self being reduced to a faint etheric memory, yet an affirmation of your greater self. Look to the Light and shadows will be always be behind you.

We Are Divine
believe it
embrace it
think it
speak it
“BE” it
and others about you will enjoin you with a grace of their own that is commensurate with such.

Consider the Blessed Gift of Breath . . . we give . . . we take, for it is Life.

We are created and we are Creators. Thus is the Perfect design. Honor this symbiotic dichotomy with your consciousness and consciousness will honor you.

finally . . .

Let us no longer seek nor strive to define such things as God or Love. Practice a “letting”  . . . “ALLOW” the magnanimity of God / Source and Love to define us.


Think Goodness always

Blessed Be

Bill


it is impossible for a Heart that is filled with love to employ the lips to speak of such things as Hate and  Dispersion calling it forth into life, for they are of the same body and thus the same spirit.

a certain destruction to come

a certain destruction to come

i have thrown my hands in the air a million times

expressing my frustration

pertaining the destructive propensities

of man

the war wages on

the once felt pains

the anguish i once bore

is not a numbed experience

i live just to feel

that occasional tingle

evidencing hope

i know, the logic is twisted

long lost brothers

whose Fathers were brothers as well

vying for their blood

to be spilled

that they may mix and dance

in the soils of anguish

of all the Mother’s tears

leaving a legacy

a lore

that the Children to come

yearn to exceed

more death

more destruction

i never did understand war

hate

bias

nor indifference

but through the years

i have used them as tools as well

i could blame it on

the conditioning

and my non seditious embrace of it

though i never quite acquiesced

the taste of it

there are countless Holocausts

and countless 911’s

that man has endured throughout the ages

that snuck in and out of the pages of history

with alias’ and pseudonyms

mindless megalomaniacal murderers

we call “Heads of State”

and other such lofty titles

think nothing of the common people

their homes

their families

their culture

their villages

nor their souls

maybe Clinton had the right idea . . .

i walk down the pathway of crumbled brinks

which used to be the street where i lived

where children once played

laughing and smiling

and offering to the universe

their glee

those precious moments

still live in me

for i was one of them

perhaps it is all in the growing up

it does come to fast

and then we are dead

just when we think we have a hold on it

life

i somehow sense there is a greater time to come

when we actually will

as an insensitive humanity

succeed

in our destructive proclivity

for our civility

is now held at ransom

by an economy and laws

that support our ultimate demise

don’t be surprised

when it was time for us to vote

we were either sleeping

or inebriated by our desires

for keeping up

with some proverbial Jones Family

and now, even the Jones are out on the street

begging for understanding

solace and peace

a job and a meal

even a Happy Meal will do

but even Ronald has been pimped out

turned out

just like us

funny the illness we have allowed

promulgated

to feed our children

is so mildly accepted

and we smile

in the face of the looming death

that encircles the globe

and our hearts

and our hopes

in truth i think that we do know

that death is a necessary journey

we must take

before resurrection

and in our own way

we welcome . . .

a certain destruction to come

© 10 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

what i am

what i am

i am still being discovered

uncovered

bared

exposed

as the skirts of possibilities

are being lifted

and my position

is shifted

that i may have

a peek

i speak

with many tongues

all are true and direct

none are forked

that you may detect

who i am

i am a collection

of vibrations

whose congruous essence

has been gathered

and slowed down

that you may see me

and enjoy my presence

as i do yours

First Father

Progenitor

Source

spoke

and evoked a magic

He said

“Let there be”

and i was

as dust in the wind

i settled

the word of creation

formed a resonant vibration

and it fell down

to the ground

to form this mound

you call earth

I am the Great Mother

and She is e

and you

the Hands of Father

picked me up

and spat upon me

and molded me

to become a shaped

entity

with a definitive

density

and enmity

you can hold on to

so hold me

i have Cosmic Consciousness

enfolded in me

in my DNA you see

that enbolds me

to know

that life is as i deem it to be

so i flow with ity

go with it

shit

i am it

you are it

for i

you

we

speak it

every day

every way

when i say

anything

so say something good

would you

could you

can you

imagine

the womnder

of perfection

it is our election

our choice

our free will

our voice

the fountains of actualization

that alters the vibration

it moves the mountains

or makes them

out of mole hills

laced with our ills

as we turned our powers on

and direct them

errantly

fearingly

towards one another

instead of with

one another

our Brothers

and our Sisters

it is but the wrong preposition

and if we were even

to consider

the pre-position

of our supposition,

the if in

“to be” in

the you and i

in we in

we could alter

the condition

of our self made

perdition

we so often bitch about

no doubt

what do you think

do we even think enough

or too much

these are but extremes

of our actualized dreams

which seems

to be out of control . . .

but is it ?

we act as if

we are here

just for a visit

so we take no responsibility

for the frailty

and the lack of

our civility

within us

within humanity

as we seek to quantify

our own vanity

claiming a sense of sanity

WOW

so now the inane

rules the day

it’s insane

isn’t it

what do you say

shit ?

what next

wait a minute . . .

i’ll get back up in it

but let me

answer this text message first

it’s from God

He’s telling me

what i am . . .

© 17 May 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

the mindful mental meanderings of a madman and his myopic muse

the mindful mental meanderings of a madman and his myopic muse

nefarious shadows dancing

omniscient possibilities prancing

enticing

beckoning

a reckoning

for the enhancing

when we come to in-brace

the embrace

of our in-finiteness

quite a nice mess

isn’t it

the Oil mixes not

with the Vinegar

but it’s good on a Salad

is this a valid solution

it is edible

ingestible

digestible perhaps ?

i see the light

but my feet are stuck

i am immobilized

upon the path

betwixt convictions

which i was fed

and the voices of the “Dead”

who speak through the fears

the tears

the years of illusion

that time is real

can you feel it too ?

is there any place to truly go

or are we already there

right where

we are supposed to be

can you see something

like that ?

an understanding

calls for an awakening of sorts

and our contorted reasoning

challenges truth

only to have to address

redress

this same journey

again

and again

countless times

i have lived through

this scene

and i have yet to see

what is to be seen

that brings the high meaning

that liberates all souls

from the bondage

of the ages

i espouse from some place within

some times my heart

some times mind

and the evocations

touches me and the great Soul

in a symbiosis

that is unimpeachable

and the awareness alone

is a gift of self reflection

devoid of the slippery aspects

this reality often presents

as an absoluteness

why don’t we sit for a moment

that’s all it takes

let us as Co-creators

conjure us an epiphany

so we can stop

arrest

this detestable

self effacing masturbatory

examinings

that brings unrest

to our sleeping psyches

let us do one thing with purpose

these are but

the mindful mental meanderings of a madman and his myopic muse

© 5 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

with knowing smiles

with knowing smiles

let us sit by the poolside

and peer with circumspection

at the enigmatic reflections

of self

the many forces that define us

are ever at play

can you see the miniscule microbes

those of the small thoughts

whose potential

can make mountains move

or disintegrate

leaving a telling beach of sand

which we draw lines in

can you feel the winds of change

blowing

sometimes briskly

sometimes softly

across our surface

leaving traceable evidence

creating co-centric circles

of connection

creating rivulets

and tides

moving our peace

into other dimensions

that we may discover

a new plateau of existence

my thinking takes hold of

my emotion

with a motion at times

i do not control

who revoked my license

to drive my own wanting

and desires

through this terrain

did i violate a speeding law

any law

or was i just plain reckless

heck this is

something to ponder

have you ever wondered

about that

in your meandering

and wandering

though the years

the tears

the fears

only to have to do this

sit and examine

the whys

the absence of bliss

not spoken from her lips . . . life

these cerebral poolsides

do have some purpose

i think

and i watch

as life winks back at me

with knowing smiles

© 4 June 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Moon Shots

Moon Shots

Pissing on the shadows

Howling at the glow

the luminescence showing

the way a man should go

looking for solutions

and a peace not found in mind

the warm and bathing moonlight

is soothing and it’s kind

it ushers forth a promise

for night is not quite dark

i offer prayers to Luna

on the journey i embark

passions tides are moving

and my reason does equate

the movement of things soon forgotten

and the calling of my mate

the silver pours forth abundance

in the twinkling slivered light

reminds all souls that Sun soon comes

where all about is bright

for moons are but reflective

of greater presence about

so tonight i shall dance with you

i shall sing and i shall shout

taking Moon Shots

© 4 May 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.innerchildpress.com/