Ther Vine Keeper

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Wednesday, December 26, 2012

What Now ?

What Now ?

they are manifesting Demons
hoping to infect the world
make us mindless
that we all may march
to the beat of their Drums
for somehow they have convinced themselves
they are the “knowers” of the way
your way

yet they too
are turned around
and perhaps are lost

they have not paid their own cost
for the initiation
yet their exhortations
never cease
and the mice of men do acquiesce
hoping they can circumvent the test
of their Souls
but will the holes be filled ?

some gardens were tilled
most neglected
as we deflected our attention
to that of the world
and the shiny sparkling wonder
that always faded

it was jaded from the construct
didn’t you know
didn’t you listen
to the instruct
before we came here
or were you sleeping then as well

and now we know not which way to turn
we fear the burn
of hell
but if you really want to know
we already did go down that road

yeah . . .you slept that one as well

but you woke up in time
for time is always right
for the Creator
if you just remember
it is better to be late
than not at all

no excuses now
you just did not pay attention
to the calling of your Cosmic Heart
as it spoke desires into “being”
about Home

so here it is
what now ?

© 18 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Friday, December 21, 2012

let us shift on and keep it moving

let us shift on and keep it moving

well, the World has come to an end
and i be damned
it looks just like the place i just left
much to my mirth
it looks just like Earth

could it be that Heaven is as we see it
and hell is as we decree it
yet i do now know that truth
that i can not flee it
for it always hunts me down
whether in Heaven
or Down here on Earth
what is that little caveat worth

it takes me back
to something that has been dancing in my head
something that Christ guy said
that if you run around looking for heaven
you must be the fool
for in that Christ guy’s school
they taught that heaven
was within me
that i have all the tools

there are times i do see it
times that i can be it
but for some reason
we always attempt to flee it
for who wants to be that target
Cittying on that Hill
where all can see

can you see me
feel me
the real me
i be trying  . . . see

all my life long
there was this song
that i heard
there were no words
just a feeling
that kept me feeling
there was so much more

was it always right here
within me
within my core ?
in the absence of
my doubt
my worrations
my fears

over the years
i have shed tears
and collected
queer little idiosyncratic concerns and fears
to hold on to
for why ? . . who knows
for as the wind blows
or the News Goes
there goes we too
along with the things
others present to you
and me

but hopefully now
i can see
that within me
there is that Divine Breath
that Divine Blueprint
that Divine Road Map
that is Heaven Sent
that will lead me to that place
where i can face
my true self
and taste the sweetness of Life Eternal
with out the infernal threats
others told me about
to include but not limited to
the following
Churches and Mosques
Friends, etc
for i now understand
they too fear
being alone

but if we stop for a minute
and listen to that tone
of connectivity of all things
we realize
when our inner eye is open
that we are 1 grand expression
of the All-ness of all things

does not the Sun kiss
the Sailor
the Sinner
the Taller
the Thinner
the Doe-ful
the Woeful
and you and i too
why it even kisses the Moon
as its light shines through
to en-lighten the paths
of the weary
the dreary Night Traveler

Unravel Sir the doctrine
and let our reason be loosed
there is no longer any excuse
for being the antithesis of life

the rife of inhumanity we all
yes, ALL have practiced
at some time or another
against our Sister, our Brother
is no longer necessary
for we have arrived
in a non contrived place
where all may taste
that sweet fruit of expectation
with an elation
juiced by the God(s)

were not you in that field
when the call was made
Free Lemonade
and Milk and Bread
without price
nice . . .

to the Sinner, the Saint
the Gentile, the Jew
the Infidels, the Pagans too
that may be Me and You . . .  too
for we too are Kin
and there is nothing we can do about that

so won’t you come along
it is an easier path to walk

let us stop talking about
what we wish to be
and be that which we need to be
as we shift
and move on deliberately
through this figment of illusion
into the first step
of the rest of eternity

let us shift on
and keep it moving
and put our best suit on
cloak our selves with the raiment of love

for all things manifest
for all things belong
in dance, in joy, in song
to you to me
to that great i am
within thee

© 21 December 2012 ; William S. Peters, Sr.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

what kind of Tea are you brewing ?

what kind of Tea are you brewing ?

paralyzed by the fear of change
we see and we find
a certain solace
in our misery
and listless esteem

our dreams become impotent
yet we do so anyway
that we may evade
being ostracized by our peers

our moments become days
days transmute to months to years
and the abyss of our ineffective character
floods with our disdain
and our tears

we build elaborate Castles
at the edge of our Seas of Logic
praying that the inevitable tides
of this unreasonable reason
will somehow not show it’s truth,
but the Sun still kisses the Moon
doesn’t it ?

the light that it shares
is its love
and it does so
that it may thus give it unto us
the lost children
who are meandering through this wilderness
we love so falsely
while grasping for
and clasping to illusions

we see the Light
but we walk not the Silvery Path

we hear the Music
yet we will not dance

we smell the sweetness
wafting through the air
of our Soul’s potential
and we hunger yet greatly
but we will not sit and dine
for we are not willing to pay the price
of letting go
of our “comfortable” convenient delusions

Oh Child, do you not see
the Petals of the Holy Flower
opens to welcome you
into its sweet embrace
for your Soul is like that of the Lotus
and you are La Famiglia

fear not the Sun
fear not thou greater Self
for your Regality
requires your presence
upon the Throne,
a place where fear may not enter

this Holy Altar of thine
resides in thy center,
that disconnected
circumspective Self
that always knew
the path you walked
was suspect and defective

we at times cast shadows
for no reason
when we should be sharing our light
without the whispering
of vilifying incantations
to the night
which only validates unseen quantities
and secrets which exact their power over us
while vying to be discovered
and uncovered
like that Candle under that Bushel

who can see
can you ?

the views are jaded and kaleidoscopic
and we turn this way
and that
hoping to extricate
and exact
some clarity here
based upon something verifiable
an actual factual expression
beyond this fractal universe
of our own thoughts and construct

yet we are tersely constipated
for we have waited
for our salvation to come from without
when all the answers
to all the questions
resides within
locked in those prisons of illusion
we have termed
the unforgivable Sin

and should we begin again
this same journey
would anything change
if our thoughts do not ?

what kind of Tea are you brewing ?

© 19 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

the Blossoming of Leonardo of Pisa and i

the Blossoming of Leonardo of Pisa and i

the deeper i go
the farther within
the more things look the same

a universe within a universe
within me
calling for my sacredness
a consciousness
i am beginning to trust

too long i have tarried in this illusion
making for realities
that pass on by
and leaves me with tears
and years
for which i can not fully account
but who’s counting
what is unquantifiable

i choose
yes it is choice
to explore beyond the boundaries
where the “busy-ness”
can not be found
in the foundry
for there is no Steely resolve here

all is pliably
at my command
as i see it

and in all things
there is a sweet essence
that envelopes
my wonder
and feeds it back to me
and i can now taste life’s sweetness
without end

there is an ever playing resonance
that exudes a concordance
enhancing all about me
within me
that dances with my soul

and it is my soul
enveloped in an expression
of it’s self

such is the beauty beyond
the beyond.
the horizon
we once surmised
was never achievable

one can not conquer self
can we ?
One can not Master their Wonder
can we ?

can you count ?

let your ending begin
and become


© 11 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Monday, December 10, 2012

‘til my death

‘til my death

lost years
countless tears
that continually fall
down the cheeks of my heart
from my inner eye

there is an Ocean full of it’s saltiness
and i try my best to stay afloat
hoping for a passing ship
of compassion
to save me
save you
save us

perhaps we are the strong ones
or perhaps the weak
perhaps the fools
the wise
the meek
for i do not speak often
about this coffin
i have laid my soul in
as i prepare for another death


my every breath is tainted
with my anguish
i am deeply pained
to not have you in my life
we men do this sometimes

if i could take away your anguish
i would
but you will not give it to me
will you
you do not yet trust in that love
that was given to you
left to you
by Mother

there are no Rhymes
that can suffice
and make missing you
pretty and nice
and if there were
i would rather have you

i pray each day for you
hoping you make it through
without what i feel
for what i have found
is one can not hide
from their truth
and that is . . .

i love you
‘til my death

© 9 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Pretty in Pink

Pretty in Pink

on the underside of
that pretty prissy pink ribbon
was dirt
and it hurt
for she had fallen
and skinned her proverbial psychic pretty knees

and the pleas
could not abate her pain
as they waxed
where they should have waned

maybe she thought too much about it
those times past
that seemed to last

perhaps it was her “new” endeavors
that reinforced the lack of cleverness
with which she approached her life
embracing her strife
over and over again

most certainly
she was not her best friend
for most of her anguish
she spoke into being

maybe if she changed her self talk
her language
she could become the Mistress
and Ruler of her domain
and be gone with the pain

yes . . . she was insane
with the incessant inane redundancy
of her profundity
to repeat the lessons
she thought she had learned
long ago
or should have

and her woe returned
and burned holes in her heart
with the smile of every man
who showed her that she can
provide them with
but a night of pleasure
while they explored her treasure
and left her Box
her Chest
save for the flowing emotions
found in the Oceans
that leaked upon the sheets
of her esteem

she did dream
but did that help ?

She too wanted a Prince Charming
and alarmingly so
she saw one in each
and ever Joe, Tom, Richard or Dick
who knew her secret
the trick
to making her
give in
that they could
get it in
again and again
and again

was it her need for a Daddy
she wondered
as she redundantly blundered
every time

there were discordant tones
and all she wanted Melodies
and pretty little Verses
and Rhyme
just sometimes would do

but she kept falling
for the same old lines
and her verse became skewed
and she knew
that her knees would never heal
despite her pleas
for more
for les
if she continued
to play this game
of Hide and Seek
where she hid from her truth

so she wore a pretty Pink Ribbon
in her hair
deluding her self
and the world

for at least
the outside
appeared fair

and she was . . . Pretty in Pink

© 9 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

when thy eye is single

when thy eye is single

One can not keep their Grace to themselves
it is a gift that was entrusted to you
to share with the world . . .so do so ~ wsp

i seek out the swift river
that i may learn to swim
and stay afloat
at the least
for how can one drown
in their own essence ?

i seek the precipice of wonder
and i leap
that i may force this remembrance
that i still can fly

wings are not needed here
for i speak that which i desire
into being

the 7 realms of conscious are mine
to command
for i have been here before
and i learned the lessons
and that is
we are all the student
and we are all the Teacher

such is the duality of omniessence
we are the lower of the higher
and the higher of the lower
of all vibrations

in the Eye of Horus
there is a glint
that blinds him
and that is you
for are you not
Horus and Set’s maker ?

the Angels have come
to serve your regality
command them as you wish
and they shall serve thee

speak the Holy in whisperings
from your Soul
and all the world shall hear

when thy eye is single

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

Thursday, December 6, 2012

as i so wish

as i so wish

we write our poetry
we sing our songs
speaking from the whisperings
of our souls

in my empirical consciousness
there is a stirring of the waters
at times i am gleeful
other times troubled
sometimes joyful and loving

they clipped my wings
before i came here
and by verse i escape
back to ‘times” past
and times forward
for i remember
who i am
and i know
that i am not limited
by these words
i emote

there is a semi-mournful
semi-ecstatic resonance
that can only be  captured
in glimpses
for we are now dichotomous

is such a gift ?
or curse

yet the perspective is mine
and i choose
to be divine

and in between the lines
one may peer at their own self
where the reflective wonder
of starless skies
awaits your presence
to adorn them

dreams can not be contained
in quantifiable thoughts
nor one’s cognitive acuitions

we must let go of our lower vibrations
for the density is much too heavy
to tow in flight

even Eagles can not carry such baggage

and Icarus proved the theorem
that vanity serves it’s own end
regardless of how seemingly noble

perhaps the afterthought
is a good place to be
for those who cower
in the face of their creativity
for when the glass reflects your light
you too will be blinded
and you will see your self
as the light that you are
and have always been
like those stars in yonder heavens

it is not out of your reach to “BE”

in the expressions
that leak from between
my reason, fears and logic
there is an almost inaudible voice
cosigning my truth
that i can re-paint this canvass
which we call life
as i so wish

i am the color

we write our poetry
we sing our songs
speaking from the whisperings
of our souls

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

Monday, December 3, 2012

being is easy

being is easy

a solitary bird in the bush
caws twice
to the heavens
i hear
and my consciousness becomes succinct

i look to see
to discover
what may come

i see a lawn covered
with drying Autumn leaves
energy intact
yet dormant perhaps
going with the wind
seeking their final resting place
that they may transmute
and give back to life
the decay devoid
of previous awakenings
when they were vibrant and green

i hear a poem calling
to what end
i knoweth not
but i shall be obedient
and scribe as it comes
with naught but clarity

to make sense i strive not
for in the struggle
perspective is lost

the little red lines appear
underlining my expressions
here and there
much like life
no cautions given
some times

the only rhymes to be found
are intermittent
a weaving not of my own
for the seeds sown
are from another’s storehouse

i smile at the ludicrous appearance
of me
even in this detached state
where being is easy
in the moment
being is easy

© 29 November 2012 : william s. peters, sr.



u c Republicans and Democrats
i c inequity

u c Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhist, Hindi, etc.
i c God, Source, Creator

u c Black, White, Red and Yellow
i c Humanity

u c Greed, Famine, War, Disease and Poverty
i c the need for more Love and Compassion

u c your trials, tribulations, failures and woe
i c your past and coming triumphs

u c your childhood gone
i c our innocence and purity returning

u c hopelessness, darkness and despair
i c your beauty waiting to be shared

u c your pain
i c your joy subverted

u c the love that has gone astray and away
i c the unlimited love you still have

u c your faith holding you up
i c your God Self manifest holding up the world

u c your loneliness and weakness
i c your strength and grace filled heart

u c who you want to be or become
i c who you already are and have always been

i c u n me and me n u

i c love

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

in but a little time

in but a little time

in but a little time
you will be graced by a consciousness
that is of your own truth
it shall come to you naked
unadorned with the garb of the world

the glass will be pure, polished
and translucent
if your light so shines
the world of 10,000 things
shall greet you
as the brother
and children
of it’s life

there shall be no veils
and you will not need to employ your logic
nor excuses
for you shall see how it was
that you have lived
since you first incarnation
there shall be near a shimmer
in your reflection
for illusions have no place here

we / you / i shall peer into that abyss
adorned with the collections
of our errancies
our choices
and the angelic voice
of our favor

which shall be fitted with wings
to fly our souls
above those things
that once enslaved your intent
and seek to imprison your essence
in an eternity
once again
as it has done before

there shall be a mixture
of singing and wailing
and the chorus of our souls
will travail for an orchestration
that makes some semblance of sense
and brings universal harmony
to our speakings
as we melodically chant incantations
of joy
never before heard
since our mass migration
from Eden’s Utopic ideologies

shall you find it i ask ?
shall i ?
shall we ?
can you hear the dancing Muse’s footsteps
and soft enchanting song

yes !

the task before us
is one of more than a trust
for we have already violated the agreement
for which we came

One can never effectuate change in the Status Quo
not by acquiescing to the program
or by Cowering before the megalomania that prevails
can we ?

like the Angels who preceded
we thought we needed
to immerse our selves
in this temporal expression
that we may transmute
the darkness to light
and we became finite
so we thought

but the night shall not last forever
for a Light of Lights
and we can feel the encroaching
as it comes to reclaim it’s own
in but a little time

© 30 November 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

sing loudly

sing loudly

the heavenly chorus
had no robes on
they were singing
i peered
i stared
and i realized
they looked like me
looked like you
save but their vanity

our bodies become our prisons
of passions
of avarice
of death
and we suffer it for
a little while

some have style to their woe
some don’t know
what the hell to do
so we create mental vistas
that we may escape
to heaven
and sing in that choir

sing loudly
and drown out your reason
sing loudly

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

my Newest Book . . .
“The Vine Keeper . . . messages in Poetry and Prose”
is available at

what am i seeing here ?

what am i seeing here ?

i stood there
in a certain misgiven moment of stillness
my shadow intact
i surveyed the outline
of who i thought my self to be
yet i saw not
the face of me

i felt the Sun at my back
burning its way
to my center of consciousness
and i realized
that my eyes
could not see
the depth of me
and who i thought my self to be

does the shadow represent me ?

is it my turning away from the light
that spurns me
to venture in these depths of perception ?

errant as they must be

i turn to the Sun
and i am blinded by light
and all i feel
is its warmth
upon my face
radiating through my entire being

what am i seeing here ?
is this the sum
of who i am ?

© 3 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

my Newest Book . . .
“The Vine Keeper . . . messages in Poetry and Prose”
is available at

Saturday, December 1, 2012

refuted logic

refuted logic

i refute the mixology of your song
that you have taught me to sing

you see . . . U C . . .
you told me that
God breathed me to life
and i was imbued by his Holy Spirit
and on the other hand
you tell me i am Sinful ?

can that which is perfect fail ?
i suspect not
or have we forgotten
what perfect was
we have been taught
to be satisfied
with what we have bought
and got caught up in
the illusion
of sin

can God sin

let me begin again

UC . . .
the God in me
did not ever leave me
save in my thoughts
which got caught
in that farce-filled fence of barbed wire
and Barbie dolls

you almost had me convinced
that God’s Fire
has went out
and only your shouts
and your prayers
could awaken His compassion
and fix my doubt
and my fears
for God only hears you

am i awakened yet
will i resurrect ?

tsk tsk tsk
a tisket a tasket
you can kiss my ass kid
on more time . . .  yet
please don’t
cause i won’t recover
when your un-lovable lips
grips me
and slips me
into that falsity
of false titties
filled with Silicon-us esteems
for the dreams you construct
seems to destruct
in a little while

so i never really did get a bite
of that sweet fruit
you advertise

so why the fuck am i smiling ?

let us shirk that shit shirt
you have yoked me with
and that truth
you now choke me with
stroke me with
that every little things
is gonna be alright
just as soon
as you tighten the noose
and let me loose
from my ill fated delusions

would that be the taste of death
the face of death ?

well really !!!!

all i have to do is wait for night
and go back to sleep
while you my man weep
for joy
while the “Good Ole Boyz”
who don’t know what the Hood looks like
take flight to those islands
of sanctuary
they play with their Gold Fairies
Stock Options
Buy Outs
Bail Outs
Notes and Votes
and each other
forgetting we once
were brothers

hey man .. .
is that your kin folk ?

Hell No Bro
that is a refuted logic as well
so quit “Harping”

© 1 Decembver 2012 : william s. peters, sr.

instant, grayscales and monotones

instant, grayscales and monotones

the grass is no longer green
it is just dirty

melodies of life have fled
and i bleed in woe filled dreams
and i need an instant fix
before i go back to sleep

so i write poetry
for the accolades ?
that fades as well
regardless of what i tell
or disperse
in my verse

a curse ? . . .
or a blessing

confessing never works
never has
for the jerks who listened
had their own proclivities
they were dealing with

doing crosswords puzzles
crossing words up
feeding me a verbiage of garbage
even they did not dare to eat

have we forgotten our thirst
our hunger

and i wonder
did they really know the one
who could fix it all

the calls of my soul was desperate
for the despair
was choking of all air

that which i thought was my life
as the strife accumulated
was ill fated
and i was only sated
in my delusions
as the contusions within
began to callous

the fallacies we endure
even though we are sure
is not the way
will never lead us to that day
we vie for
we die for
we cry for
it is a house
whose foundation
is not of concrete

it is a mud brick
and my sickly salty tears
dissolve all basis
of my illusionary stasis
and again i am grounded
from the storms

i need an instant fix
to my grayscale world

when will the music become
more than a monotone ?

where is my box of 64
i need more color than this instant Grey
mixed from this Black and White contexuality

© 1 December 2012 : william s. peters, sr.