Ther Vine Keeper

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Sunday, October 28, 2012

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
crawl back in again

i have made them dance
for my own bemusing
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.



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
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

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
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

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.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

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.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Zion come home to me

Zion come home to me

from the 3rd to the 5th
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
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.

Monday, October 15, 2012

bruised love

bruised love

Problems of the heart always bruise the Soul . . . Paul Coelho
from the Novel Brida

my bruised soul
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
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
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
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,
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.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

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
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
this i think we knew to be true

so here i am
for appearances sake
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
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

Monday, October 8, 2012

my travels

my travels

i looked across the horizon
to the west
where the Sun was setting

i was moving Eastward

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.

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.

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.

Friday, October 5, 2012

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.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

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
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
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
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

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.

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
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
but logic has been loosed
and every one wears
it’s multi-colored coats

we . . . are working diligently
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

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.