I have lived two lives:

One with, and one without… alcohol.

In the start of my second life, after a spiritual awakening on February 7th, 1995 at Betty Ford Center:

I prayed for Poetry to come into my life.


I was traveling in Mexico, burning up my journals with hot stories about female bullfighter, Cristina Sanchez, getting bulled over by a bull at San Miguel De Allende’s “Pamplonada,” traveling with friends.

Great stuff!!

But no poetry.  I mean: I could write a poem from my mind, work hard, make it rhyme–force something…  But I did not want to do that.  I wanted the poetry to flow like my prose.  To be inspired.

So I called out to God in silent prayer from the little pension where I was staying.  And I kept that prayer lit for a couple weeks.

Still no poetry.


Until I left San Miguel (nice) for a more humble, poor Dolores Hidalgo.  I took a daytrip.  I felt.  I saw.  I smelled trash burning.  I played soccer with kids in front of an old church.  I bought a soccer ball for the kids.  Then saw the biggest, fastest one steal it and run away home.

It was after that day when Poetry arrived.

-by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age … Poetry arrived
in search of me.  I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.


Lines flooded into my vision out of my dreams at five in the morning, just before sunrise.

I grabbed my journal and walked to the top of the hill over San Miguel de Allende.

I wrote down what I heard.  Lines rhyming in Spanish and in English–every other line a different tongue.

I thanked God heartily, have kept writing since then, and offer this site to express everything poetic about Bill Watkins.  (That’s me)


–Bill Watkins, 11-3-2016

1 thought on “ABOUT”

  1. Thanks for showing interest in what I put out too. I sincerely hope you continue to find my works entertaining & pleasurable. Be safe.

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