William S. Peters Sr.

William S. Peters Sr.



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,



Think about

This denial


Was this an


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




And Discerning

This glimpse,

This peek,

A small voice

Began to speak,


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



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


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


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


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



The whispering in the mist

Became more prolific

And spoke to me,

Through me

Of certain things

Of my evasive familiarity

Such as




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,



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 ….





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


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


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