William S. Peters- USA

Bill’s writing career spans a period quickly approaching 50 years. Being first Published in 1972, Bill has since went on to Author over 35 additional personal Volumes of Poetry, Short Stories, etc., and over 40 Anthologies. Bill enjoys expressing his thoughts on matters of the Heart, Spirit, Consciousness and Humanity. His primary focus is that of Love, Peace and Understanding!

Bill is not only a Writer and Poet, he is also the Director of Inner Child Press Publishing Company, a Public Speaker, Empowerment Work Shop Leader, Consultant, Activist, Radio Personality, Broadcast Media Producer, Spoken Word and Recording Artist and so much more. Bill is the Founding Director of Inner Child Enterprises as well as the Past Director of Publicity for Society Hill Music. Bill has a Global Reading Audience and Fan Base. He is known for his Humanitarian Work and Activism in many communities in and outside of writing

Bill says . . .
I have always likened Life to that of a Garden. So, for me, Life is simply about the Seeds we Sow and Nourish. All things we “Think and Do”, will “Be” Cause and eventually manifest itself to being an “Effect” within our own personal “Existences” and “Experiences” . . . whether it be Fruit, Flowers, Weeds or Barren Landscapes! Bill highly regards the Fruits of his Labor and wishes that everyone would thus go on to plant “Lovely” Seeds on “Good Ground” in their own Gardens of Life!

to connect with Bill, he is all things Inner Child |:
www.iaminnerchild.com
www.innerchildpress.com
Personal Web Site
www.iamjustbill.com

the Vine Keeper

here sit i
in the Holiest of Holies
the Vine-keeper
embracing the passage of time
as she marches forth to harvest

i have nurtured the soils
of this garden
with a labor of love
and quiet expectation

my hands which knead forth promise
are covered with the fragrance of the earth
whose thirst is filled
by the sweat of my brow

i have exacted my duty
and continue so
through
that of the morrow
with an unrivaled love
thati may press the fruits
of my labor
to make a new wine
worthy of anointing
the lips of my Lorde,
fori am the Vine-keeper
and this is my charge

There is the sound of footprints
gracefully dancing upon my ear
“who goes there” i cry
and a voice voluminous
and splendorous replies
“it is i, thy servant”

i understood not this speaking
for it was the voice of my Lorde
andi fell upon the ground
my face turned to the earth
as an reverent type fear
comes upon my entire essence
and consumes me
like a ravenous plague of plenty
for the Source of my being
my Progenitor Father
approaches

He bids me to rise
buti can not
of my own accord
nor may i look upon His presence
soi avert my eyes
asi realize
thati have been summoned
and sanctified
and all about me
i defied
for it, the world
has lost all import

i ask
Father, what would you have me do
how may i serve thee
name the task
fori am yours to command
please demand of me
thati may see
thy will

i pray i understand

and He spake unto me
with a certain sanctity of enmity
that stills the rush of life
all about me
and within me

He said to me
“Servant”
i have come
to eat of the labour
of thy love for me
give of me thine heart
which is mine
oh Vine Keeper

i humbled myself
for the flatterous embrace
of his words
ushered forth a pride
thati could not hide

i beamed brightly
for the light of his
which resides inside me
in my spirit
cause my heart to beat
with a fervor
and He and i
could hear it

i could feel an anticipatory longing
that manifested to my consciousness
as a holy song
as played from the strings of
a Holy Harps
like that of the Angels
who gather round his Throne
playing a music the day long

and the voice of my Lorde spoke
and said unto me
“I have come to eat of the labor of thy love for me”
“I have come for your fruit”
Feed me thy best
but know ye this . . .

Plumbs i have had
Pomegranates too
Apples have i had
but now i come to you
to satisfy the sum
of my longings

i come hither
to not taste of the bitter
but that of my wantings
and whimsical hauntings
to be filled
asi taste of the fruit
of thy tilled and nurtured garden

the spoils of thy soils,
i have come for the fruit
of thy Vine
that sweetest of grape
that has ravaged and raped
my senses
with a promise elated
yet not sated
won’t you feed me,
feedyour Lorde
thy faithful servant

Upon his request
i found my self speechless
and speak . . . i could not

i could not mutter
nor utter
a word to be heard

all of me
was twisted
caught in this cataclysmic
state of orgasmic ecstasy
for the best of me
had just been revealed unto me

i was seeing
feeling
the death of me
the old me
as a verity of my life
cameunto me
and graced me
with a surety
unrivaled by any means

this is what i had always
vied for
cried for
and this day
i shall die for
andi deny it no more
for
i am but a servant
in the vineyard
a Vine Keeper
in the Garden of my Lorde

© 11 July 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/

my Sun is Orange

my morning Sun is orange
The yellow is stained
with the Blood of my People
for that is what we
are reminded of
each day

when it rises from the East
to greet the world
i see my world
clearly

we once lived with a hope
that the atrocities of Hate
War
and indifference
would go away
but it did not

my hope has been misplaced
somewhere
andican not remember
wherei have set it down

it might have been that day
i lost my arm
or that day
when my Father was jailed
or that day
when my Sister was killed
she was only 3

no, i think i lost my hope
the day
my Mother no longer cried

her eyes have been dry
for many a year now
and somehow
by some grace
she still has enough love in her
to hug me
once in a while
through that pained smile
that still adorns her face
just so she won’t completely break

there is a noise i hear
it is a loud silence
that stays with me
through my callousness
for the gunfire
and the bombs
and the screams
ican not hear them

they have long ago
assaulted and killed
the dreams of my Family
my village
my people
and it is now working on
Humanity

where is the sanity
in this methodology
to be found

every day is “Ground Zero”
wherei live
every wherei look
i see Ground Zeros
and we have lost count
of those who
are no more
because of what you call War

but you and i
never had a dispute
thati know of
If so, please tell me what i did wrong
to cause you harm
that you should exact such wretchedness
upon me
and others like me

i know not of the Politics
of it all.
i have never met a Politician
are they so different
than we the people ?

if it’s Oil
i give it to you
if it’s right
take it freely
i will not raise nor put my hand
against that
of my Father’s children

there was a time
when all i thought of
was simply
finding Joy in my life
i have since given up that quest
fori see far too much
of that other stuff
which deserves not a name

my Sun is no longer Yellow
buti do pray my Brother
that yours is

my Sun is Orange

This Poem is dedicated to all the Villages, Peoples
across our Globe who must endure
the Politics and Sickness of War.

© 1 July 2013 :william s. peters, sr.

i am he

there it stood
like a tower of light
piercing the sky
of the horizon
enjoining imaginary heavens
to this place upon which our feet
are planted

fable and folklore
spoke of this place
a garden few have seen
from which the seed of man
had been spawned

and within
was that mythological tree
which unveiled the eye
of First Father
that He should know
of what nakedness is

David danced in the street
for he felt the unabashed joy
when kissed
by the sound of Timbrels
the music of his heart
that which is divine

Job bore
the burden of reproof
for he knew
of the sweeter fruits
that which has never been seen
nor tasted

Solomon’s etheric ecstasy
his glistening wisdom
knew not of limit
and he wed himself
and consummated such union
in the inner chambers of self
his beloved

my brother Isaiah
spoke of the gates
the gates of praise
that shone
calling forth the children
to embark on the path
the journey back to the garden
back home
where there is light consciousness

he said
arise, arise
and my hallelujah
stood and spread it’s wings
embracing never dreamed of possibilities

my inner eye beholds that Tree yonder
howi long to put my arms
around it’s girth
and let the gentle breeze
of brother wind
whisper to me through it’s leaves

let me hear again
the sweet promise
that of the fruit we shall eat
at journey’s end

St. Issa was nailed to that Tree

i but wish to climb it’s limbs
and lay my burdens
uponit’s bough
and be it’s rock-a-bye baby

i hear the call of the rushing waters
that of Mother’s Life Blood
where the Four sacred rivers converge

let us immerse our selves
in the cleansing waters

so . . .
i packed my bags
with emptiness
devoid of all worldly things
for the world has lost it’s import
and there was a bequestering for the quest
Soul was beckoning me
to that reckoning of me
unto the path . . . back
back to where myth
becomes reality . . .
back to that Garden

my heart began to ardently beat
with forgotten rhythmic excitement
filled with an anticipatory syncopation
and joys replete

the resonant harmonies of ecstasy
loomed in the air about me
and thus became my every breath
andi became life’s melody

the palpitations of my heart
consumed me
completely
penetrating the womb of my very existence
like a young Virgin who looks upon
the face of her eternal lover
for the first time

take me my soul screams
unto it’s self
open the door
open the gate
to that arduous pathway
unto my absolution
that my final traipse
may begin

i turn my face away
from my destination
and begin to walk backwards
thati may revisit time past
old wounds
errant shifts
to arrive at the place
of my spawning
the dawning
a regressive awakening

forsaking substance
i see the collective episodes
of the years endured
begin to fall away
and the enveloping warmth
of the Sun replete
begins to rapture me
asi allow the letting
of this illusory identity
of how i once defined my self

i now begin to intake
and absorb
the verdant scents
of my holy inner garden
enticing me
asi am reverently approaching
my own presence
my essence
my consummate self

i am barefooted
and my toes become entwined
in the damp soils
of what i thought to be
a forgotten consciousness
a lost knowing
andi begin to glow

i hear sounds about me
within me
attuning it’s self in concordance
dancing in my heart
playing a tune called bliss
andi know
i have been kissed
by the regality
of that which is sovereign
over all that exists

my loins become incensed
with a primal urging
a needing
to undress
and to express
and my innocent nakedness
stands before the world

my passions begin to unfurl
fulfill themselves
with an incalculable esoteric copulation
and my reason becomes orgasmic
and loses it’s tethers
to the finite memories
of what i once accepted
defended
as life

i am reflecting my own creational exponential-ness

tears begin to flow
down my cheeks
from my 3rd eye
blinding me
with rivulets of joy
which become streams
which become rivers
before they touch my feet
which now stands
in the Ocean of life

Time freezes
Time ceases
andi am appeased
for now i please myself

for in reflective grandeur
i realize
i am who i have always been

upon the surface of these pristine waters
i look upon my countenance

the glass is no longer darkly
andi thus see
a contextual reflection of me
of self
of God
of Creation

and there is but
one Solitary Tower of Light
enjoining Heaven and Earth
andi am He

© April 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

World Healing ~ World Peace
Poetry 2014
www.worldhealingworldpeacepoetry.com

http://www.gofundme.com/3gvqks

i want my poetry

a Rebel Poetry the chant

i want my poetry to touch your soul
i want my poetry to fill that hole in your heart
i want my poetry to move you to action
just like mr. Jackson
i want my poetry to make you stand up
be counted

yes . . .

i want my poetry
to make you rip the flesh of your delusions
from your false realities, bias and prejudice
that you may perhaps get a glimpse
of your higher self

i want my poetry
to be that key
that unlocks the chains
of your enslaved thoughts
i do hope you can read . . .
hear and listen

i want my poetry
to make your soul scream so loud
that it expands and explodes
and the noise of its voice
pollutes the world with Truth

i want my poetry
to hold the hands of your dreams
uponit’s breast
and for you to feel
the heartbeat of joys not yet spoken
that is labeled with your name

i want my poetry
to kiss your aspirations
with smiles of happy butterflies
thati may watch you simply dance
because you can

i want my poetry
to open the floodgates of your reason
that your limited perspectives
of difference and deference drown
in the cascade of the waters of unity

i want my poetry
to till the soils of your spiritual garden
with possibilities
and plant ever abundant new seeds
of exponential-ness
so that all previous preconceived boundaries
and limitedness
will dissipate
into the eternal ether of nothingness
and you learn to laugh at your self
again

i want my poetry
to compel you
assist you
in the removal of your mask
to compel you to rip your clothes off
to compel you to
dance in the streets naked like David
that we, you can see who you truly are
and be affirmed that you are
fine
and
divine

i want my poetry
to teach you and me
the divine art form
and purpose
of spiritual masturbation
that we may learn
to no longer condemn the holy
which resides within each of us
and we learn to forgive ourselves

i want my poetry
to eradicate our reluctance
to love each other,
to lose the inhibitions we have been taught
indoctrinated to embrace as the right way
and learn a new way
this day
of how to love

i want my poetry
to be loving
kind
to be enduring
accepting
non judgmental
uplifting
enlightening
embracing
empowering

i want my poetry
to reflect the beauty of creation
i want my poetry
to reflect the best of who i may be
i want my poetry
to be poetry
and help you become
a Poem

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