AKA ‘just bill’, William S. Peters, Sr. a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2016, Poet Laureate for The Kosovo International Poetry Festival, Public Speaker, Humanitarian Activist and a devoted writer who has been committed to the path of poetry and writing since 1966. At present Bill is a published author of over 50 books personally. He has also been featured in over 200 additional publications globally which consist of his writings in a variety of anthologies, newspapers and literary magazines. Since the day of his commitment to the creation and public-sharing of the poetic art, Bill has been a devoted supporter of the venue of Creative Expression –regardless of form. His conviction that the human countenance through the written art is a necessity reflects in his capacity as an activist for the progression and evolution of humanity and its innate love of each other.
In September 2015, Bill was honored to be named the “Poet Laureate” at the Kosovo International Poetry Festival where his book, The Vine Keeper was showcased. He was also awarded The Golden Grape Award. Being so inspired by this communion of poets, Bill went on to pen the book, O Sweet Kosovo . . . Dreams of Rahovec. This work has been since translated into Albanian by Fahredin Shehu, the esteemed poet and scholar who incorporated it into the Rahovec School System in 2017.
Which ones do you feed?
I peeked under the skirts
Of our construct
And I saw the unabashed nakedness
Of ‘Reality’
Dancing in circles
Frolicking in the grass
With Truth, Deceit, Light and Darkness,
Love and Hate
Indifference and Compassion
Charity and Greed
I was a bit confused.
I asked my self
“How could this be”?
Is this what ‘Reality’ is,
Or is it as convoluted
As i?
I being challenged
By this disturbing sight,
Had to sit down
And ponder,
Inspect,
Examine,
Think about
This denial
Was this an
‘Epiphany’,
Or just an illusion
Challenging me
To think outside
Of the box
What is going on, I mused
As I sat in an
Agitated repose
Evaluating,
Deciphering,
Weighing,
And Discerning
This glimpse,
This peek,
A small voice
Began to speak,
Whisper
Ever so softly
Into the ears
Of my disturbed consciousness
The voice was soothing
And gentle,
Warm and embracing,
Yet firmly assured
In its evocations
I sensed something,
A presence,
An authoratative One,
That was greater
Than what
I have ever
Witnessed or experienced before,
According to my now faint
Memories
This voice,
This presence
Commanded my attention,
And I could not divert myself
From it
Was this the voice of reality
Or something greater
And beyond
The context of
My perception
Yes, I must admit
That I am but a
Grain of sand
Upon the beach
Of existence,
For in my past,
Everywhere I looked
Creation
Seemed to expand.
When ever I saw
The offering of knowledge
Upon the tables
That adorned my ‘Life Path’
I voraciously ate
As if it was my
‘Last Supper’
Well this Voice that spoke
Superceeded
My feeble and finite
Faulty, flawed understanding.
I … my ‘I AM’
Realized from a spiritual sense
That I was already consumed
As i submitted my essence
To the mesmerizing moment
Where I was swaying
Due to an unquantifiable
Inebriation….
Yes I was drunken
Beyond the beyond
There was a distant light
Sitting daintily
In my horizon,
And i could hear it
Calling my name ….
Needless to say,
I began to walk towards its
Lore
The whispering in the mist
Became more prolific
And spoke to me,
Through me
Of certain things
Of my evasive familiarity
Such as
Duality,
Dichotomy,
Diversity,
And Deference
‘IT’ said to me
That ‘Coexistence’
Was an inevitable Law
That was the very foundation
Of all of Creation
This made sense!
This Voice went further in
To explain to me
And my yet fully un-opened
Door of understanding
That one could not be
Without the other
I ask,
“Is this like the two wolves story?”
And I felt a smile
Envelope my countenance …
The Voice said yes,
Which ones do you feed?
No One
No one really knew
But a few
That she was always there,
Watching,
Observing,
The wayward ways, workings
And witchery of men
Yes, they have been infected
By the alien amongst them,
And should their ways continue
Their once brilliant light
Will be no more
They were fading,
As never before witnessed
In the six previous epochs
And this was their last chance
For soul redemption
This madness for things
And accumulation
Made no sense to her,
For Father had provided
All that was ever needed … yet
They possessed
An insatiable spirit
That wanted more …
So the devil
Created things
She pondered,
And could not help but smile
As she considered that
Some have heard of her lore,
But most believed she
To be but myth
Crazed delusional souls
Men neglected the primal truths
Of creation ….
Balance,
Reciprocity,
Attraction,
Yes they were willingly writing
Epitaphs of perdition
And damnation
Each day
Upon the walls
Of their indifferent,
Insensitive hearts
She was crying inside
For a few millennia now
But never as voraciously
As this day
In time
No one expected her
To pull out her sword
Of righteousness,
But this was her charge,
For her Father
Had named her
Karma
And no one really knew
Who would be next …
No one
In the Room
I come amongst you
From a land afar,
Yet close
My tongue may be foreign
To some,
Yet I speak a language
We all know
I speak of such things
As our children
And our wives, daughters, sisters and mothers
And their subdued anguish
As they suffer the workings
Of us men
I speak of the need for more flowers
To be planted
To adorn the pathways
Of our hearts as we saunter.
Aimlessly, meandering through
Our Creator’s garden
I ask, have we lost our purpose ?
Have we lost our connection ?
To that divine
That resides in the recesses,
The core of us all?
We are not quite lost yet, are we,
For it is evident,
For we have gathered here
To share our humble words of spirit
And perhaps light another candle
In the room
