the Snake Charmer

the Snake Charmer

i have charmed Snakes out of their skin

so that they would have something

meaningful to do with their lives

like

crawl back in again

i have made them dance

for my own bemusing

amusing

devoid of the recusing

that Genesis spoke of

it was all love

or lust

but i did not discern

about why that fire burned

in my loins

it just felt good

that’s all i knew

so that is why i learned those words

heard only by those

who would listen

to the speaking

of the glistening wonder

of what could possibly be

through my enticing

their passions were ripening

ready to be plucked

fro their Holy Trees

and i brought knowledge

for i was the Snake Charmer

© 28 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Warfare

Warfare

the Armies of Lust

to affront and established a front

upon the landscape of man

they have occupied our “Fields of Dreams”

and the seed we sow now

are no longer of the infinite

and are Monsanto like

in their expressions

the crops are a temporal one

and we voluntarily feed

our own illusions of death

we are no longer nourished at our Soul level

for our proclivities extends

not beyond this day

and the cessations we desire

found in our “Creature Comforts”

this war has been waged upon us

since the Dawning of time

there are no impartial Peace Treaties

Every one can not be a winner

contrary to the perspective of Negotiation

how can that which believes it is incapable

vie for perfection

when the flaw is the fulcrum

of our expectations

did you understand the ancients

when they said

we are “One”

with God even

or whatever your consciousness

chooses to embrace

what we focus on we become

a fitting and becoming adornment

of our truth

but Truth requires not our acquiescence

nor our permissions

just our submission

to the nothingness

found in the “All-ness”

of all things

we may find a temporary peace

we can cling to

but we do know

it is still a lie

Souls vying for absolution

solution

to heal our contusions of spirit

the song is playing

hear it

if you will

for the blood of the Angels

is still being spilled

by you

by me

by and bye

and this is . .  Warfare

how will we fare ?

© 28 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

for the silence is no longer

for the silence is no longer

the haunting sound

of an Autumn Rain

pitter pattering

upon the sparse canopy

of the wood

leaves are falling

and a small gust gathers

and brings them

my way

serving to remind me

of movement

all things are connected

somehow

the day is overcast

for they told us

a Storm was coming

Supermarket shelves

like Ghost Towns

people love to expect disaster

there are no aisles that offer

the quenching of my thirst

unless i wish to drink

Pickle Juice

there is no bread

leavened or not

to be eaten

unless you are a believer

the Trees are in the audience

rooted in the exhibition

creation offers

they are clapping

cheering

jeering

and Brother Wind

dances amongst this

standing room only crowd

the temperature is dropping

only to remind us

it is time for a scene change

as we go in to another act

i took time for this intermission

for i am a Playwright

and sometimes Critic

and i wanted you to know

before you spend your money

what to expect

as the Storm approaches

for the silence is no longer

© 28 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

i am you are

i am you are

i am the mountain

i am the song

i am the voice of the people

i cloak myself

with the raiment of wisdom

found in Life’s holy wardrobe

of silent observation

we dance to a rhythm

not heard

but felt

in every beating heart

of man and animal alike

i am, you are, we are

the squinting eyes of a child

that looks inquisitively each day

toward that New Day Sun

i am the quiet repose

of a yonder sunset

that lays magnificently

upon our horizon west

as it gently eases each day to sleep

that we all may rest

the birds sing of our presence

which is their melodic present

to you . .  to i

and their young

they know of me

they know of you

i am the smell of the ink

from a Poet’s pen

and our souls smile

in a knowing

as the unspoken verse

of a mysterious wonder

comes back to life

i am the orchestrated symphony

and the song

each of our dreams longs for

i am the “M” in magnificence

and you, i, we are Life’s Holy synonym

found in our “ME”
speak it

for it is an un-refutable truth

i will give unto you the words

as we resonate in impugned rune tunes

with all of creation

together

let us join our voices in chorus

with life

for she become us

as we become her

the chamber music is playing

in each heart

some faintly

some distinct

for i / you are the flute

the lute

the note connected

unto it’s self

reflected in you

i am you are

© 27 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

and that’s quite OK . . . isn’t it ?

and that’s quite OK . . . isn’t it ?

with a bushel of thoughtful contemplations

i approach the line of transition

where a new awakening awaits

to embrace my questions

i have yet to formulate

in this temple of my bare naked heart

i am that sacrificial lamb

i lay upon the altar of stone

waiting for an uncertain absolution

i have left many a footprints

in the Garden where life is spawned

i have trampled through the flower beds

laying waste

with my frolicking, carefree

unconscious behavior

there have been weeds i have uprooted

and many i have ignored

for they seemed to possess

and enchanting charm

that mesmerized my discernment

so i did not act

i have eaten some fruit

before it’s time,

some over-ripened,

and i have stuffed my belly

with delectable edibles

for which i did not toil

life seemed so good

during those calloused times

there were many days

where i sought the shadows

to evade the light of the Son

for it was too demanding of me

and i lived with it

in spite of my inward trepidations

and turmoil

i was inebriated by my own temporal delusions

and these are but a few

of my circumspections which continually haunt me

as i cry within these shallow halls

of my convictions

which are now needed

for a verifiable reconciliation

am i worthy ?

am i worthy ?

this is a question i have pondered many a time

over the duration of this “life journey”

sometimes i was quixotically blinded

by my over inflated zealousness

and my secret aspirations

filled with pompous hot air . . .

boy was i full of my self

i knew at some level

some entity greater than i

has an enviable tolerance for my felicities

and this is a gross enigmatic examination

but it will do for now,

for i do not wish to bathe

in my pity-filled tears

for it serves no satiable end

nor does it draw me closer

to that which may appear

that i am seeking

in my unchartered meanderings

but i can live with that also

i have !

at another level

i believe

all things are open for questions

and are some times warranted

such as

what is truly valid

and i ask

who shall address my queries

with a retort that is filling

this does seem to be

a never ending journey

doesn’t it

and in the mean time

perhaps that which is divine

provides an overseeing grace

for our Cosmic Puberty

which is why we feel insulated from the “Ultimates”

for we have yet to truly

let go . . .

so we tie more knots in the ropes

that binds us to systemic confusions

while we are infused

with more dichotomous dilemmas

that continually multiply

like overtly fertile Rabbits zoned out on Ecstasy

they never attended the class

BC 101

that’s Birth Control if you did not know

so we seek an emancipation

from our proclivities to copulate

and obey

that Abrahamic rooted Commandment

we are far too eager to practice

let us eat some fruit from the Tree

and multiply

and we shall spawn new dawns

in new dimensions

where these myopic curiosities

remain untethered to a

certifiable, undeniable reasonableness

that we can ingest

and the digest of it all is

that in the end of all ends

all things are cyclic

and thus this is the self contradicting painting

hung upon the walls of our holographic Souls

and at some place

in the realms of our acquiescence

we have to laugh at our selves

don’t we

and that is quite OK . . .isn’t it ?

© 25 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.innerchildpress.com

www.iamjustbill.com

Zion come home to me

Zion come home to me

from the 3^rd to the 5^th

our oddity becomes us

as we prepare to shift across

the place where boundaries

once existed

the consistence of the fabric

is failing

falling at our feet

that we may tread

and leave invisible footprints

upon our past

a new consciousness is being birthed

within old minds

and we are babes

once again

there is a twinkle

within the eye of our soul

seeking to behold

it’s own reflective truth

Glory Be !

the glass has been cleaned

the hull has been gleaned

the weak are being weaned

and the crippled teats

of false solace

are drying up

for we were never ever nourished

by the lies

and we the children prayed

“now i lay me down to sleep . . .”

but it never came

until the dawn

when we were called

to turn our chatter off

close the portals to our awareness

that they could not poison

the divine seed

held in hidden hugs

within our inner sacredness

and now the procession begins

the clowns have painted their faces

with exaggerated smiles

and cloaked themselves

in oversized pantaloons

of pastels and silks

it is time to march

in the piper’s parade

the cymbals are crashing

and the crowds are jeering

cheering on the brave amongst us

hoping they will sacrifice their fears

and thus validate

their over inflated false esteems

are we there yet ?

the bets are being placed

on a Cosmic Roulette Wheel

and we are Rushing

to load the guns

wanna play ?

i got one in the chamber

just for you

it has my name on it

etched faintly in a surreality

this is my gift

because i love you

will you hurry and pull the trigger please

down on my bleeding knees

i am still praying for God

to quicken me

quicken his pace

and come and tell us the combination

to the lock to Eden’s gate

before we die

i do not wish to perform the task any more

of having to bury our brethren

The Christed One did say

“let the dead bury the dead”

well . . . i am tired of digging holes

i am sweating rivulets of melancholy

a strange blood drips

profusely from my brow

it blinds me

like a Taurean wanting to charge

i am seeing red

but there is no anger for me to embrace

not for the Tailor

nor the Weaver of this cloth of existence

my slothful ways are fading

as if they never were

and i must gather a new reason

to possibly justify

my spiritual procrastinations

and i know i can not

for i have smiled in the face

of my delusions

once too often

tell me a story

sing me a lullaby Mommy

that i may slumber

this is the wantonness of the anxious

but She is at rest

and wishes not to be disturbed

so ssshhhhhhhhhhhh

lest you invoke her wrath

and she then will quell

your Harp-ing

the Doves are circling like Vultures

seeking but a solitary Olive Branch

that they may return

to the place of pairing

where all wait permission

to exit the Ark

has your Twin Flame spoken  ?

has it stopped raining yet ?

i the Lion begin to hunger

but they told me

to not bite the hand that feeds me

... but i am carnivorous

and i have a taste

for Blood and uncooked meat

feed me your body

you self declared Christ

that i may be sanctified

by the false Doctrines you have fed

the other inhabitants

who voluntarily attended this carnival

you are but a man

as am i

and as we both cling to the myths

of our belief systems

created for man

by man

we step across the path of righteousness

killing in the name of some God

whom we have never met

but yet

carried within our breast

all of our misunderstood lives

and they incessantly ask me

“What’s in your wallet”?

does it really matter ?

in the meantime

there is an awakening taking place

the coded strands of the ancient “Lore”

of our construct

is beginning to resonate

within the memories of us

who are paying attention

we were told we were mere mortals

but how can that be

when He / She / It

which was perfect and beyond

made me

the only light that has failed me

is the one you gave me control of

and i have yet to flip the switch

but i know it does exist

somewhere in this abyss

of my exponential-ness

so i stand here with but my intentions

not to mention

my power

and i refuse to cower anymore

for

be it death

or transition

it is all the same

and the crippled

the lame

shall walk again

and claim their thrones

as we the drones

take responsibility

for our own possible demise

my eyes are open now

and i smile within

in a “knowing”

a certainty

as Zion comes home . . . to me

© 23 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.innerchildpress.com

www.iamjustbill.com

bruised love

bruised love

Problems of the heart always bruise the Soul . . . Paul Coelho

from the Novel Brida

my bruised soul

endured

the meanderings

of my crippled heart

watching on

with a timeless wisdom

knowing that time

offers unto me

the fruit of wholeness

i always sought

there were affairs

some sordidly elicit

some felicitous

and i danced uninhibitedly

in the chambers

of the sweetly spoken euphoria

that enticed me to believe

in forever

once again

there was “love at first sight”

and i too was smitten

bitten

by the poisons

of my heady delusions

and my own allowances

my garden’s fallowness

that which now

graces my face

with the taste

of innocent memories

the furrows were planted shallow

with an impotent seed

and i smile

many a fair maiden

whose eyes have twinkled

like stars

caught the eye

of my wonder

they gave cause

for me to listen

intently

to the song of my heart

whose melodious offerings

ushered forth a syncopated beating

of my internal drum

and i glistened

as i walked my newly found

path of passion

in an anticipation of bliss

yes, with but one desire

that of each love initiate

. . . that first kiss

oh how many times

have i been baptized

by the mesmerizing eyes

of love

given the way again

to stray again

lay again

i would relinquish again

all that i am

again

believe or think

that i am

or could ever possibly be

for love

i would traipse through

this world of shadows

a million times a million

or more

just to have a glimpse

of her light

in the inner chambers

of my heart

and my soul knows

of my folly

and it along with God

smiles as well,

for in the end

it is only the stories

the lore of love

that is worth a telling

and as i dispel to you

this intoxicating exacting protractive expression

there is but one simple confession

i must reverently offer unto you,

me,

the world,

and that is . . .

my soul is not bruised

because of love

for love heals me . . .

with her soothing balms

that calms the beast in me

and empowers the least of me

nay my soul is not bruised by love

my soul is bruised

only in her absence

© 15 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

she is my poem

she is my poem

she speaks in a voice

that is a natural metaphor

for beauty

the Butterflies take wing

the Angels sing

for truly

her melody

is Heaven sent

my heart enjoins her evocations

with it’s own divine harmony

as the euphoric scents

of the blossoming flowers

take control of my senses

and paint all that i know

with her enchanting mesmerizing color

i am inebriated

by her presence

a present

to those who would hear

and i listen

the glistening twinkle

in her eye

sprinkles us common men’s dreams

with possibilities

and belief

that we can redeem our selves

in the eyes of God

i hear my throne calling me

i don my scepter which is

beckoning me

to that reckoning of me

as i embrace her

kiss her face

and taste her tenderness

and her love for life

when her lips part

all the smiles

that were waiting to be born

manifest

a destiny

that is abundant

with blissful kisses

to all who have a cheek

and all seeking souls

yes she is that orchestrated symphony

we all vie for

men die for

that i cry for

i weep for

each night in my sleep

for she is

my beloved metaphor

for life

she is my poem

© 13 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

as i scream

as i scream

i walk into the vast

seemingly endless Canyons

of my thoughts

and i scream

finding solace of some sort

in the reflective reverberations

these un-anointed vibrations

which bring to me

no usable return

i am seeking a reasonableness

but i am haunted

for all i hear

is this voice of my own

visiting upon me

time and time again

with a fading frequency

that rings of no validity

i scream again

God, don’t you hear me

i stand in your valley

my eyes are not completely open

i think

so that “Shadow of Death” . . .

evades me

like a leper

in a colony of nubile virgins

do i soil this ground i walk upon ?

how can that be

when i traipse through this life

as one of the dead

perhaps it is my deaf ear

that which i have turned to you

many times before

in our past relationship

may i offer my apologies

there is a putrid smell

that they tell me exists

where you have stored your fruit

and it rots

if this be true

most certainly you know i must ask

why ?

my arrogance at times become me

and you too my Father

for what am i . . .

but of your ilk ?

i came seeking a resolution

a way of reconciliations

a solution

to that which binds me

to this cyclic expression

they call life

but somehow i know this too

to be a lore foregone

by errant teachings

from those who knew you not

as well

so they resigned themselves

to tell of their surmisings

no surprisings here

for the chastisings of my life

do seem a bit

out of sort

and an incongruous

eclectic superfluous

non symbiotic quixotic

dance of the fools

as does the schools

they teach us in

is that the Sin

that we listen to them

instead of you

somehow

this i think we knew to be true

so here i am

for appearances sake

alone

no working phone

upon which i can reach you

and teach you

how to answer to my calls

which incidentally

i will be doing often

from this point on

and by the way

thank you for this little chat

and please don’t hold

my sarcastic act

against me

when i come to this

Canyon

searching for you

searching for reason

searching for me

and my voice

as i scream

© 13 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

you are beautiful . . . let’s make some more

you are beautiful . . . let’s make some more

i remember

beautiful days

with beautiful people

who had

beautiful smiles

we played

beautiful games

in the

beautiful sunshine

we had beautiful thoughts

of beautiful things

to come

some did

some never turned the corner

from Dreams

to reality

but that was ok

because we had beautiful feelings

about all the beautiful things

we already had

during those times of

beautiful days

with beautiful people

who had

beautiful smiles

my God those were beautiful moments

and now they are beautiful memories

let’s make some more

© Today : Me

my travels

my travels

i looked across the horizon

to the west

where the Sun was setting

i was moving Eastward

AWAY

could it have been

that this day

i was there ?

the fairness of the glow

did so within me

with the pink & orange hues

the grays, whites and blues too

a peace within me

held to a piece

of this grand expression

of the day

and my travels

© 7 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

touch me . . .deeply

touch me . . .deeply

the delicate fingers of my beloved

gently caress my “Easy”

as does an Angel tickles the Holy Harp

and i become alive with music

and my heart strings begin to resonate

with love

of all things

all existence

a symbiotic vibration

i kiss the sweet lips and

i suckle the breast of my Father

that i may know

of the gentleness

of His nurturing Love

let thy work be spoken

and may it’s edges be sharp

that it may cleave me

penetrate me

and that of my hardened heart

let the blood that spills forth

from this holiest of wounds

become written words

that fear not time, nor run away

from the consciousness of man

that we all may understand

and come to know thy Glory

touch me . . .deeply

© 7 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

yes . . .

yes . . .

yes i was intoxicated

by my delusions

and the sweet taste

of it’s temporal euphoria

like the child

who suckles upon the fair flowers

of Spring Honeysuckle,

i wanted more

so i was driven to pluck

the lovely scented blossoms

from the vine of source

for my own pleasures

i was inebriated

by my own reason,

yet i found no reconciliation

that lasted,

save the memory

and now i smile

with a abysmal reverence

for those sacred days

whose ways

offered to this child

such a cherished respite

which i still cling to

as i search

for that Flower of my Childhood

© 8 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

i want to read something gentle

i want to read something gentle

my pain my angst

i know too well

the world, it’s sorrows

have much to tell

i search for joys

that i may quell

the call within

whose grace has fell

the words we give

from tongue, from pen

strikes a chord

in hearts of men

may smiles return

from deep within

thy sacred garden

before first sin

we dance we sing

to soon forget

the toils of life

we children let

may we believe

let us not fret

we’ve just begun

we’re not done yet

the age approaches

new times to come

the Water Bearer

beats the drum

let he who hears

stand aplomb

the eye now opens

we see our sum

family, friends

do gather round

lay thy difference

thy weapons down

to higher creeds

yea, we are bound

let love adorn

and don our crown

my soul doth thirst

for waters sweet

the path i walk

becomes replete

with hand in hand

our souls accrete

the throne is bared

please take thy seat

with love with joy

i kiss  your face

a bliss does come

i longed to taste

not a moment

we dare to waste

our hearts divine

in one embrace

let words be spare

and light be spoke

the music plays

for we awoke

the sleep is o’er

the bough now broke

the best of life

we now evoke

i want to read something gentle

© 5 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

but today . . . until now

but today  . . . until now

the day has gone

and here i am

upon my knees praying

giving reverent thanks

for my life

and all that is my life

i didn’t think about you today

until now

this somewhat saddens me

in some strange way

you see,

i have suffered your loss

your passing

your death

for a while now

i remember how much it hurt

when you first crossed over

died

and i vied

i prayed

i cried

i laid

down in my bed of sorrows

cursing my day

and my tomorrow

for i did not want to spend it

without you

i didn’t think about you today

until now

yes, as time went on

i prayed fervently

avidly

rabidly at times

that the lyrical way i lived

the rhymes that you gave to my life

would either miraculously return

or be gone . . . forever

i didn’t think about you today

until now

yes i have to admit

that over the past few years

i have thought of you less

and less

i thought it was a test

i thought it was me

getting stronger you see

but . . .

i didn’t think about you today

until now

i sit here in examination

of this profound

revelation

and my sadness returns

and the tears

they burn their way

from within my memories

my thoughts

bringing forth a stinging saltiness

of a guilt i do not understand

my God help me

i am only but a man

this suit of my emotions

this non balanced equation

that seems to be the summation

of my life

does not fit me well

i didn’t think about you today

until now

and now here i am

still by my self

along with my prayers

and still yet

my fears realized

for i remember fearing

being without you

and lo . . .  did that too

not become true

i didn’t think about you today

until now

and now i wonder

could i have healed you

made you

live forever

in a way i can touch

my love

i miss you soooo much

but

i didn’t think about you today

until now

so i wrote this poem

to commemorate

what some may say

is my insensitivity

my proclivity

a propensity

to not be in pain

for too many days

the tears poisoned my thoughts

my joys

and drove me insane

and now, yes now

they have just about dried up

my cup of overbearing sorrow

is now empty

i did not notice

any waning of my love for you

it is just different

but today . . .

i didn’t think about you today

until now

© 2 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

awaiting me

awaiting me

i have emptied all my pockets

looked in all the secret places

i turn every stone i see

i cleave the wood

looking for that sacred key

to that which is locked up

inside of me

the angst

and disparity

bemuses me

and i smile

but for a little while

i tarry here at the bend of the road

with my temperance

for my self

while i await you

oh wayfarer

to show me the way

to me

where belies my sanctity

i ask

is the task of “knowing thyself”

that daunting

that you would keep it in the cupboard

locked away

that we the children may

not come to know

where you have hidden the sweets

oh soul of all souls

smite me if you must

and let me be

reborn

apart from the scorn

of our ways

may our days be days

where the true light

is everlasting

i stubbornly sit here fasting

at the bend of the road

awaiting you

awaiting me

© 2 October 2012 : William s. peters, sr.

the dowry given

the dowry given

is it a curse

that we can not see

our own light

or is it vanity

that makes us think

that we have one at all

but i do hear the call

as i am falling

into this deep abyss

which is void of reason

that man would understand

what was the plan

where is the blueprint

for this building structure

i have blindly labored to erect

only to watch

the foundation crumble

the rubble lies at my feet

waiting for a redefining

to be redeployed

as a matter

of a factual actual fractural

significance

but logic has been loosed

and every one wears

it’s multi-colored coats

we . . . are working diligently

blindly

to establish a digestible rote

for the generations to come

we do need to quantify

the sum of what we are becoming

don’t we

and the futile lessons of old

are still tapping on the door lightly

vying for our attention

and our allegiance

that they may gather the reins

once again

that are slipping from their grasp

we the horses on the farm

are now unshod

for the same nails

that shoed us

were used in crosses

those of a persecutory crucifixion

creating martyrs

that we may learn to pray at the alter

made by man’s hands

those we were told were anointed

i rebuke the doctrine

that makes me feel dirty

for i have been washing

the cloaking clothes

you gave me

yet they still feel soiled

stained with the dried blood

my eyes have let

for the tears have long ago

dried

Momma i tried

i tried

forgive me if you can

love me if you will

yet still

i must go my way

and seek this light

you speak of

with love that i have

the dowry given

© 2 October 2012 : william s. peters, sr.