i poem

i poem

my poem, my muse, my love o’ fair

i penned my lines with angst and dare

i guised my craft as poetic-ware

i considered not thy toll nor tare

i’ve maligned thy name with language bane

to shine a light ‘pon humanity’s wane

i strive with word i tethered insane

for naught i think, for dark remain

to speak, to dance in lyrical quest

was this to be a “poet’s” test

i’ve not failed yet, to give thy best

instruct me dear muse, r’i die my less

let my verse ring true, in beauty in word

i pray my bitters’ ne’er be heard

let the children laugh and eat the curd

let our dreams expand beyond the third

thy Sun now shines for Souls which weep

to rinse the stain from eyes that sleep

let poetry’s divine conquer and creep

with harmonious tones abysmal and deep

if i can’t be the Poet, then i’ll be the song

for justice, for love, for righting the wrong

to answer the call, for which hearts do long

let us smile, let us dance, for the bell has rung strong

© 6  September 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Rain

Rain

i have never written about this rain

today

but it has been written about

a million times

it has been spoken about

since the birth of mankind

i imagine that

this rain

has visited

every Ocean

every Stream

every Dream

of every Man

it has come through

in our tears

of joys

our tears of Laughter

and our fears as well

in that never ending

bottomless well

where all resides

this rain

did abide

at one time or another

it has washed my clothing

and my feet

quite replete an offering

yes, this rain

has seen more

than that which i know

and it has come this day

to tell the story

of the glory

of it’s travels

and i am listening

to the rain

its soft pitter

it’s patter

as it splatters

into this consciousness

i now embrace

i now face

that all things

through the aeons

have always been connected

just as we suspected

this rain is me

it is you

it is the spirit

that passes through

the portals of perception

rinsing our spirits clear

that we may see

hear

the divine

speaking

oh the beauty of rain

i have not written of you

in this way

until today

when you came for me

to cleanse me

that i may feel you

and the message

you bring for me

and i thank thee . . .

rain

© 3 September 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Speak To Me

Speak To Me

(a collaboration of Janet and Bill)

(Bill)

in the near quiet of my soul

there is a music

and barely audible whisperings

telling me

“there is more”

many times

my life is too busy

to pay attention

to the details

and there are times

i desperately long

to hear those sweet incantations

that are surely heaven borne

i find my significance

in the voices of those

who would take their divine time

to instruct me

on the way i should go

the thoughts

i should think

the feelings

i should embrace

all of that good cloth

Speak To Me

(Janet)

Speak to me . . .
of Empty Holiday Stockings
full of promise . . .
and gifts that require no Earthly Utterance
but are strong of substance.

Whisper to me . . .
of Horizons just beyond
the mili-second sunset
where Birds Of Paradise Glide
and Doves are well known
for their peaceful crooning songs.

Sing to me . . .
the words of Inspiration
that lift me up
and let me sing
my song, with it's strange chorus
only known by God . . .

and . . .

possibly the Enlightened Ones
who shift in and out of sight
with third eye acquity and the ease
of fairies on wing.

Fly with me . . .
to the Mother Planet
where there is no time
and we safely dance
on the rainbow razor's edge
where truth lies
on every distant shore.

Awaken me . . .
from this dream
of harsh perspectives
into my own reality
where butterflies dance
this has been my cry
forevermore.

(bill)

i too have these longings

that are no longer willing

to lie passively

at the gate of my desires

they refuse to sit by the fence

and watch the blossoming

of sweet fruits

in the gardens

of dreams that are dying

for the lack of nurture

the vitality of my youth

remembered

but no longer lived

in how i approach my day

i lament

have i wasted too much time

seeking my own image

found in passing faces

passing times

passing joys

that indentured themselves

to my hauntings

instead of my realizations

yes oh Spirit of the Father

Angels of Mercy

speak to me

tell me of thy plans

for this life

that slowly slips

between the fingers

of my once firm grasp

speak to me

(Janet)

I too had wondered this very day
had I wasted too much time
on coarse habits that lead to
nowhere . . .
except devout decay.

In my wondering, wandering
and pondering ways . . .
I finally quieted myself
and heard ancestral whisperings
of assurance . . .
that my path was straight.

The messages came to me
as clearly as Montego Bay.
Gentle voices, like many waters
stirring and I heard every one.

“My child, my Child,
you are beauty divine
you are love's breath
every moment, everyday

nay . . .

no misstep was taken by you
it was all in your guided plan.

The people of the world
know not, who you are
and it is not your place
to convince them

just be . . .
the light of your Father
who exudes brilliance
you too illuminate
without knowing

and time is but a fallacy
continue as you are, with we.”

This, they spoke to me.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

Peace be still

Peace be still

there is a longing

in my soul

for a certain Peace,

one that i can not remember

but one that i intimately know

i once knew

where has she fled

why does she hide from me

where does her

and her family

of the Holies of me

reside

we the people

of creation

do dream of thee,

each of us

in our own way,

thus adding to the myriad

of your complexity

your regality of expression

and our collective hearts

we have been searching for you

since that “fabled” 8^th Day

which even the Prophets and Story Tellers

allude not to

nor dare not speak of

we have yearned for you

burned villages for you

as well as our brethren

at the stake

the sacrifice for your presence

is high

we attempted to negotiate

for your grace

with our deceits

our decorum

and our misgivings

found in our diplomacy

and politics . . .

to no avail

we have sat an listened

to the “Anointed” ones amongst us

as they preached

about you

and our hearts ached

for but a touch of you

please . . .

touch the hem of “my” garment

that i may know

of your

Remembrance of me

we held still with our faith

and we were resolute

in holding you

in the vestiges

of our replete mind

we created convictions

for you

and even persecuted

our reflective selves

in honor of a variable truth

we were persuaded was the embodiment

of your persona

in our lives

we and i write and speak

many words

in our Poetry,

our Prose

our Prayers

and our Letters

and our soft whisperings

in your obeisant honor

yet you show not your face

save in our own

“Self Convincing” “Self”

that you are real

embrace me

Peace where art thou

do you only visit upon

our restless nights

with dreams of fleeting grandeur

we too soon forget

how many times how many

must die

that your etheric effigy

may actualize

into some verifiable lasting reality

where all who hunger

and thirst for you

may be satisfied

i have come before the altar

of men i did not know

i have erected a few of mine own

to pay an homage and obeisance

i trusted you were worthy of . .

to Love

Peace, our hearts are needy

our minds are supple

and ready to be cultivated

Oh Peace, mold my aspirations

and my vision

cast me in the Ovens

and fire me until i become hardened

in your divine image

let thy hand caress my consciousness

and cajole me to walk the path of resolve

that we may come to understand

we all live by One collective Breath

Peace, come unto us

and Peace be unto You

Peace Be Still

© 29 August 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

Playing the off key notes

Playing the off key notes

there was the gnashing of teeth

playing in a concordant symphony

i knocked on the door

because i had questions

i fell to my knees

no big thing i thought

if that is what is required of me

i have been to many an altar

not quite knowing how to speak

that which was troubling me

so i let my heart dwell

in its own meditative silence

i have eaten those bland tasting wafers

and drank your off brand grape juice

nothing felt quite authentic

i did not feel in touch

unless i really, really concentrated

and conjured forth another delusion

the old folks would say

“your hearts not in the right place”

maybe that’s why i hurt so much

for you

for me

for us all

and the loss of our civility

you see

this is not a new pain

and i have always

knew pain

for this insane

inane expression

on this plane

does not explain

why this rain

is flooding my soul

with salty tears

they say we should not fear

but i ask

what else is there to do

when you look about

and see so much suffering

some silently whispering to us

some shouting out loud

the holy shroud

when will it be lifted

or is that another piece of lore

a myth

that we must sift through

to find a truth

we may not recognize

with our empirically mutated eyes

even in the silence

i can hear the babies crying

they are just hungry

won’t someone feed them

the peace they seek

we speak in terms of budgets

and we have not budged yet

not nudged yet

our selves nor our fellow man

to that circle of unity

we so often elucidate

in our sermons

amongst friend and strangers

and anyone else who would listen

we do estrange our brethren don’t we

especially if there are significant choices

to be made

you know

like “Me” or “You”

and the voices of the muted souls

has resigned their self

to singing in empty choir lofts

for no one wishes to hear their misery

yet we practice a commiserable posture

with closed hands tightly clenched

around the potentials

of what we may become

and we grasp for breaths of reasonableness

that must be propped up

by our mastery

of words and charms

something we learned in school

how does one reconcile a day

in review sleep i must

that i may forget my lack

and God willing

i will dream of cartoons

sheep or dying . . .

or maybe i will just fall off that cliff

as i have done so many times before

you know

that edifice of accomplished wantings

that precipice

that has been looming

in my psyche

pretty much all my life

i never was quite grounded in those dreams

so i surmise

i will never be able to walk away

with any querulous perspective

of victory

quite a juxtaposition here

caught up between a wall

and another brick

being hurled at my fragility

senility

at times it does rhyme

and is in sync

with wisdom

is that because it is indigenous

to old folk ?

i listened

they smiled

then fell asleep

reminding me that

there was a disparaging difference

in my perceptions

as time moved in fast forwarded frames

was it an 8mm

or a Glock

that shocked me back

to a semi verifiable consciousness

and if so

where are the wheels

to this wagon

and why is it not red ?

and why is everyone gnashing their teeth

attempting to understand

what is being said here

in my discordant symphonious playing

of the off key notes

of my life

27 August 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

www.iaminnerchild.com

www.innerchildpress.com

i still dream

i still dream

my days of living

are not over

i still dream

yes, i want that 4 leaf clover

no splitting of the 3^rd

anymore

for

who did i fool

not even my self

but i can laugh

at my folly

all of it

and let loose any collected disdain

i will not feign

my joy

i will feel it

as i let go

and come to know

that i am lucky

to have seen

a 3 leaf clover

and i am not blinded

by my own adopted

unreasonableness

my days of living

are not over

for today

i still dream

© 26 August 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

i still dream

i yield

 

i yield

 

there is a multitude of movement

about me

within me

life is in a constant flux

 

they say that all things have meaning

am i to spend countless aeons

deciphering

to what end

or should i but become

the observant

of life manifest

 

am i the confluent point

where silence meets noise

where stillness meets life

where light meets dark

where dreams meet reality

am i that cross,

that fulcrum

that balances the polarities

held betwixt nothingness

and the absolute ?

 

in my midst

there is chaos ever prevalent

that which i can conjure

or quell

 

is it i that speaks into the void

that stirs these waters

with my spirit

where my abysmal self

is yet being defined

 

can words alone contain

our exponential-ness ?

to what descriptive analogy

do we cosign ?

 

is this but evidence

of the cyclic characteristics

of death yielding unto life ?

 

and the wheel spins

weaving gold from straw

 

the karmic command

is spoken in whispers

and soul takes heed

reflecting in microcosmic ways

the whole of our potential

that can never be grasped

but let

 

yes let it be

and our eyes shall be opened

and the light from within

shall pour upon the dark firmament

awaiting our touch

of consciousness

 

i yield

in reverence

 

 

© 25 August 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.