i am filled

i am filled

the fine mist

of a midnight rain

pleaded with my awareness

to come forth

and mate with my consciousness

that i may partake

of the meal

offered to my soul

from the soft moonlit heavens

that look down upon me

the vibratory essence

of that “stilled” moment

resonated

as a solitary ringing

of a solitary bell

on a solitary hill

one clang of its clapper

and there was a burst of awakened light

and darkness ceased to be

and i knew i knew

al things

i melted into life

for being the created

i remember the hand

that of my creator

i am His

and He is mine

and We are One

i felt the fingers of time

knead me

shape me

and

mold me

from nothingness

to thought

to pliability

and my etheric

of non defining

non encapsulated

non containing

unbridled me

was all there was

i followed a sound

like a Cosmic whisper

of a known, yet unknown wind

and i saw my breath

my chest expanding

and contracting

keeping time

with some celestial symphony

the Stars and i . . .

my heart was no longer

that of my own

but ‘twas that of my allness

ever still

yet exponentially

embarking

that which is yet unseen

dispelling all previous notions

of Life’s, Creation’s

duplicitous nature

for all was unified

into

one marvel

one wonder

one thought

in mindfulness – less

and i am filled

yet empty

an allness

that is devoid of things

yes, i am filled

i am the overflowing abyss

of emptiness

i am filled

(c) 22 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Mommy, Mommy

Mommy, Mommy

“Mommy, Mommy,

what am i supposed to do now ?”

these were the words

of my 19 year old daughter

as she threw her body

across that

of her Mother’s lifeless form

i the Father

had no words

for i have never heard

such anguish before

i was helpless

and i offered no viable contest

to her pain

on one hand

i was happy

the suffering was over

but a new path

of emotional discordance

opened up before us all

damn that cancer

she was but a shadow

of the woman she used to be

but yet

she was now free

while we became the enslaved

haunted by the memories

of laughter

birthdays

Christmas

and children being born

there were eight of them

and now the scorn of life

has stolen their rife of joy

why did this have to be

what had the children done

to deserve this

excise-ment of their bliss

no more would they kiss

save in their dreams

the lips of Mother

from nineteen

down to four

and none of them know

what death is for

God did not explain

their pain

and i had no words

just tears

and queer little questions

like . . .

“what the fuck”

God . . .

brought this kind of luck

God . . .

to the lives of my children

God . . .

and me

God . . .

for all i still hear

God . . .

wafting through the air

God . . .

of my Soul . . . is

“Mommy, Mommy,

what am i supposed to do now ?”

Mommy, Mommy

(c) 21 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

for i know of Love

for i know of Love

i once was a fair and comely lad

i am now one who is aged

begging of the alms

of my memories

i remember how joy exuded

in my walk

my actions

my speech

now she quietly resides

within me

content

embracing my collections

of experiences

and i am wizened and enriched

for Joy has not parted

from her old friend

i look upon the youth of today

and i manage a smile

that of recognition

when i too

had fires of wonder

burning unbridled

seeking only

to mate with my passions

the years

were not all kind

nor all harsh

but all “Teaching” they were

when i stopped to listen

or reflect

as i now do

most of my days

i now seldom look forward

for today’s lot

has much bounty

to be explored

and yesterday

perhaps gone

sometimes forgotten

but still here within me

echoing

resonating

reverberating

as a calling

from some thing distant

“Something” like me

i used to know

so intimately

i spend much time

in reconciliatory contemplation

still yet to understand

“purpose’s” undertaking

or the way man should go

should i live 1,000 lifetimes

or more

the journey i believe

is still the same

from birth to death

and back again

i have spoken to God

many times

countless even

and many times He answered

in the voice of His works

and His grace

for that i am thankful

He’s a Good Father

when i consider

this path i have traveled

reverence overwhelms me

for i have been blessed

to do so

abundance and prosperity

were always mine

to have

to give

to waste

to horde

that is the way of the Spirit

and the way of man

though there were many problems

i could not resolve

my way

they passed on

and life continued it’s march

down Time’s Highway

and this day

this moment

in the penning

of this Intel - Spirit examination

my wants are dissipated

for life has filled me

and sated my hunger

for that which i have always had

that which is he jewel of life

the divine seed

that makes the fruit of all gardens

endlessly sweet

and this day i sit at the table

once again

and offer my humble obeisance

to the Source of all things

and i am at peace with all things

for i know thy power

for i know of Love

(c) 12 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

This Day i See

This Day i See

i awaken each day

in gratitude

and i pray

that my footsteps

be of purpose

and my thoughts

disciplined

and yet free

unfettered

i keep not company

with Dogs

nor Fools

for they have Fleas

and thus my spirit is annoyed

and those who delight

in the unbridled tongue

i pray for you

that you suffer not

the taste of your own brew

for it’s bitterness

who can withstand

i make no demands

save of myself

and even that

i am learning to let go

Judgment . . . hah !

with this clarity

i am able to see the wonder

within each breath

and every shadow

that visits my way

and smiles of knowing

encompasses me

for shadows

are only present

where there is light

i can not name

the treasures in life

there are so many

how does one acknowledge

every breath

every heartbeat

every thought

every blink of the eye

from the time of thy birth

or Re-Birth

by what name shall i call thee

in this divine moment

i come to know thyself

and with the pristine thought

of a cool morning mountain stream

i am flowing

reborn each moment

each breath

each heartbeat

each vibratory pulse of life

of consciousness

to begin anew

this exacting of thought

i share with this world

this day

is but the reconciliation

of a man with self

or perhaps it is a shadow

of such

but this i do know

i am my own light

for that is my power

afforded me

by He who sits on the Throne

of the Kingdom within me

within you

and this day

i see !

12 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

They would have a King

They would have a King

and the Lorde said unto Samuel . . . “it is not thee that thy children reject, but it is I. It is I who brought them out of Egypt and through the desert, yet still they worship all else.”

we squander our life

as we wander

with wonder

through our desolations

the sands of the deserts

of our barren lives

rise to greet us

to parch the lips of our Souls

and bring forth our thirsts

that can not be quenched

yet we drink not

we erect Temples of Madness

with idols who have no power

and we come to love them

their falsehoods

instead of the Source

of our Gifts

the Hand that made us all

our proverbial Moses

bade us to listen

but the noise

and subterfuge

of our lives

and our short lived jovialities

drowns out the whispers of truth,

yet she whispers still

to those who hunger

for the spirit

of word actualized

and the children dance

intoxicated

by their own delusions

their self created Hell

for which they beckon

my unstilled grace

for salvation

from the Demons

they have invited

into their homes

now rendered

but a house

a house of ill repute

whose roof

can not stop the rains

of their anguish

they pray for One

who would lead them

through their endless landscapes

and their wilderness’

filled with their own misery

but they listen not

to their own hearts

that they may discern

the Fair Way of Love

Nay,

they travel the road

of a living perdition

content to embrace

dreams of that madness

that has infected their consciousness

with an incurable want

a incessant desire for “Things”

which can never be satiated

Yes,

my children want a leader

a King

someone to save them

from their woes

and one whom they can blame

when these very same woes

revisit their abodes

and sit at their tables

and spoil the meal

and lay ruin

to the mirth

their misguided lives

embrace in their

askewed perspectives

Yes,

i shall answer their prayers

in My Own Way

My Own Time

and i shall endure them a King

first hand

a leader who too seeks

to find “The Way”

and the ransom the King asks of them

is that of the valor of their Sons

and the innocence of their Daughters

and the Virginity of their Hopes and Dreams

of a better way

and they, my children

when the burden

becomes more than what they can bear

they will turn unto me

Source

offering supplications and praise

that i might hear their calls

and their prayers

i will let them drink

once again

from the fountains of my spirit

where unblemished

pristine waters

flow

they may be refreshed

in the know

that it is not i

who have forsaken them

but they turned their face

away from that of thine own

they did not seek My Face

and i shall show My divine presence

the full splendour of My Glory

in the smiles of their children

and the warmth of their hearts

their compassion

and their tenderness

towards one another

i shall reveal unto them

that Gift which they in their blinded way

they never saw

for their eyes were darkened

with lusts of self understanding

i shall whisper

to the hearts that long

for the answers to life’s riddle

that in the middle of where thou dwells

where all is sacred

i dwell

there Am I

the King you sought

I Am thou . . .  and Thou Art I

They would have a King

(c) 8 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

hup 2 – 3 – 4

hup 2 – 3 – 4

walking Zombies

like Abercrombie

without Fitch

unhitched

from the truth

of our higher selves

man, life’s a bitch

when we try to stitch

our reason to a reality

can you see my soul’s eye flitch

for it can not connect

to what it can not detect

in this suspect

imagining

and perhaps

the chaps that cowboy wears

will not abate his fears

of a sore ass

so he takes another pass

in the class

of Bronc busting

while lusting

for that prize

that all eyes

vies for

to be number one

and the Lorde said

Son . . .

you always have been number one

but no one was home

to answer the door

when He came calling

to teach that cowboy, me

the art of falling

that i would not get all broken up

hup 2 – 3 – 4

and the soldiers keep marching

to the Drum

of those beats

for the “Dumb Downed Ones”

who Hum along

to the song

of illusion

created

to make you feel

satiated

though you had nothing to eat

nor drink

but you still somehow

unbelievably

think

you are full

filled

with more than that shit you ate

that deluded you to extricate

any chance

you had to dance

in the light of your own being

and the Ancients and Saints

are pleading

with the children

to awaken

and realize

that all that we have forsaken

can be taken

up again

if we but learn to

shake it up again

and learn to

bake it

and break it

that bread again

that bread of life

where rife

is the order of the day

and the way

we walk

talk

and cease to balk

the love of one another

thy brother

thy sister

cause mister

if we do not heed now

our seed somehow

will pay our cost

for our being lost

as we are tossed

into that wasted abyss

a price no one can afford

and that golden Chord

of the Divine

which troubles our mind

will unravel

if we continue to travel

this path

of

walking Zombies

like Abercrombie

without Fitch

unhitched

from the truth

of our higher selves

hup 2 – 3 – 4

(c) 8 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

i live on the precipice . . . of continual tears

i live on the precipice

of continual tears

i stand at the banks of the river

where man’s anguish

flows into forgetfulness

that ocean where all is lost

and tossed to and fro

upon the waves of absolution

i continually ask

what is the solution

to this pain in my heart

will i find cessation

upon the breasts of another lovely

who pretends they know of love

who i ask

is willing to sacrifice life

at such a level of denial

through life’s trials

and tribulations

and travail

my tears are right here

waiting for reason

to speak the liquid-ness

of their being-ness

for man seems

to be seeing less

as time marches forward

and toward that direction

of inflection

seeking detection

to enact election

of more than an erection

our correction

of this deflection

to the convection

of divine connection

within our circumspection

is but suspect

as we seek to detect

that we have the power

to elect

who we are

who we want to be

and how we see our selves

and we are blindsided

by our blinded

aspirations

for celebration

without deliberation

lacking the elation

to foster elevation

of spirit

and understanding

of the equation

in this situation

for we have lost

our persuasion

to enact liberation

or balance

for the valance

has been pulled

shut

and there is not light

but

what are we to do

do you know

or are you just blowing smoke

while i choke

with the yoke

of your reason

season after season

while trying to be pleasing

while you are teasing me

with the goodies

and all the children

and the hoodies

put on their footies

to keep from cutting their feet

in the street

where completeness

can not be found

upon the ground

in any town

and momma still got her night gown on

curlers in her hair

for she ain’t caring

about such things

while Sarah

sings

with her Vaughness

and this mess

goes on

and on

and on

beyond the break of dawn

and this is the test

i think

as we sink

to the murky bottom

of this sea

where no one sees

naught but the pleas

of the hungry children

in the wilderness

and if you do not understand

the demands

of this man

i understand

how you feel

if you feel

anything at all

that is real

which is why

i do call

this day

for a new way

and until someone says

the magic word

that can be heard

by the herd

in this absurd

contextual

inflexual

surreality

of humanity

immersed

in insanity

i shall stand here

on the precipice of tears

continually

feel me

(c) 6 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.