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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Friday, June 29, 2012

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
of the unseen
with that which may be to some
to another

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
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.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

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
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.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

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
“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
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.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

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

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

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.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

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

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
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.



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

“i am” . . . thus i “BE”

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

Friday, June 22, 2012

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
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.

Monday, June 18, 2012

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

is this to be our way

the movie was called
Silence of the Lambs,
dr. lecter
was lecturing you
but we slept through it
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

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.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

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
in a flux
with a crux
to bear new tale

yet we shine

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

Saturday, June 16, 2012

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 . . .
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.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

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
crest the furrow
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.

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

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 3rd
and this bond
is not easily broken
as  am i . . . not alone

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

Sunday, June 10, 2012

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


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
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

i somehow sense there is a greater time to come
when we actually will
as an insensitive humanity
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
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
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
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
with a definitive
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
i am it
you are it
for i
speak it
every day
every way
when i say

so say something good
would you

could you
can you
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
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
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


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.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

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
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
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
this same journey
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
this detestable
self effacing masturbatory
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.

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
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.

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.