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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Beer

Beer Commercials

03 Monday Feb 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, America, Beer, Love, Poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

Isn’t it great, the colors, the sights,

the sounds—the glamour.

Drink this and feel this, you can be this
happy too!!

I was a victim of beer commercials;
it wasn’t the only thing that got me,
but it sure didn’t stop me.

How many young people fall to their
pressure everyday?

This is why go out, write about it, spread
the word there’s another side to the
gulp gulp!

My anti-beer ads go like this: Fade in
on hospital rooms and prison cells, then
have sucking music accompany the POV
down the toilette where boys and girls
are puking their first drunk.

Now the sewers with other drunks and
puke, the sewer water heading for the
morgue.

Sirens and handcuffs, straight jackets
and padded walls, meds dispensed by
laughing nurses, back to you throwing
up your meds.

Words flash on the screen:

“All this because you didn’t learn to live
before your took your first drink of
alcohol.”

Alcoholic zombies walk graveyards and head
for the bars to re-fill their glasses, watch
sports on TV.

As they clink glasses with each other, grunting
and foaming at the mouth, the final words
on this 30-second spot fill the screen:

“Alcohol: killing and addicting people since
the beginning of temptation”

With that the bar and its patrons explode.

Poem:

02 Sunday Feb 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholism, Beer

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

Self-Delusion

We wake up at two or three years
of age on a path we did not choose.
We have a deck of cards, some rules,
understand words like “no” and
“are you hungry?”

We are five and watch Dad’s drink
sparkle, gold and clinky his ice
melting osmosis and condensation
making everything wet and alluring.

You pitch for and get a sip.

Hustle and bustle, you understand
more and more, lo and behold the
whole crew is heading for the door.

“Star Wars” is playing, it’s a movie
and I’ve heard people talking about
it. I’m not really sure what it is, but I
want to go… because everyone else
is going—

The buzz, the happening, War is not
questioned, killing okay, this is the world
into which I was born, I woke up sought
cap guns and superhero costumes soon
after…

Clove cigarettes the middle school dance,
chasing what was cool. We had it now,
alcohol in bottles this was the end of
unknowns we’d know what to do at night
from here on out—

Easier than vulnerability, than asking a girl
out only to wait and see. This was the tonic
for my ailments, the reason I couldn’t kiss
at the dance, but someday surely I’d get drunk
enough, to be honest enough… to be honest
enough

Poem:

31 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Beer, Poem

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcohol, Beer, Wyoming

“Home of the Cowboys”

I tried a drink of whiskey long past
due, it was a dribbling reminder of how
bad my past was.

Who drinks this? Weird, a flammable
liquid, volatile and toxic ethyl alcohol
an early fuel for rockets, what were
we thinking?

The campaign is on, beer and bullshit
on one side, the path is wide there, many
toward pain and destruction, it is the truth.

Narrow the way to enlightenment, Powerless
all of us and capable in equal measure
of doing good and bad, having good and bad
visit—

We are windless mills in oceans still,
wondering at and wondering at God’s will.
Fear causes actions against the natural tide,
we run away and we hide. We try to find that
great job to set us up forever before we look
into our soul and ask of ourselves, “what do
you want to do?”

Decide on something, ask God that He or She
might bless the choice if it be pleasing.

The country is full of gold, white rocks and red
valleys, the rivers as highways transporting
blues music and Iowa corn. New England
autumn’s got me thinking of Chinese blossoms,
so many travelers on vacation here.

Then someone asks whether I might like to
have a beer?

When the pain was great, fear around and confusion
at its peak how great, a ticket, a way out, I can
fail and drink that, there’s my excuse I’ll take it.

Why have God if we can have wine, excess, parties
full of party dress, pomp and splendor celebrating
ourselves and our greatness?

Snow is falling on Interstate 80 right now, my
Volkswagen Jetta not used to it, I hope they
bring a plow, there’s gonna be hell to pay, if
I can’t make it through Nebraska today—

Wyoming, home of the Cowboys, shoot me with
love. Utah with your mountains and views, get
me through this trip so I can see you, my truth:

That I never needed more than faith and a hobby,
my career here impossible without sobriety.

New POEM!!

31 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Beer, California, Children, Feminism, Kids, Mater Dolorosa, Nature, Poems, Poetry, Political, Voting

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Mater Dolorosa, Peace, Sierra Madre

“Mater Dolorosa”

Thank you, the healing power
of belief before me up a hill toward
deer and antelope. Help me play
this prayer a cross-country fire
spreading with wind up and over cliffs
in Colorado, the mountains out of a
Disney ride cutting through.
It’s impossible to think: why we listen
to wisdom on all matters convenient,
turn away from obvious measures of
benefit because we won’t let go.

Let children vote if they can read,
want to, know the issues. Let go.

Better than a drunk man, surly, jaded,
ticked off heading to the polls because
he is of the “right” age.

“Here’s to good friends, tonight is
kinda’ special” and other beer slogans
contributing to killing my friends and almost
helped get me.

Join me in a an anti-alcohol campaign:
“drink flammable liquids and get burned.”
Will that work? Some scoff but forget:
life is making an effort, ask Mrs. Chick from
Dickens’ Dombey and Son, a book about
Dombey’s daughter, hooray for irony
and women’s lib.

Grandma ran for senate in 1936 and seven,
represented California at the republican
convention, got creamed in the primary
but God bless her for trying.

Louise Ward Watkins, a last name you
see on blacks and whites, we mixed in
the middle of the Civil War fight, and
well—

The seed that carried me must have come
out all right.

Praise God, Rise and Shine get the day
but first pray, turn it all over to something
bigger. Results cannot be controlled, just
effort, good luck!!

If life gets you down, write it and sing it
out loud, nothing floors you, this is the
dream of the foremothers that peace
would reign in the land like castles of
sand, always needing attention.

At ease soldiers, take this song and
transcend its message, whistle
something without words, get through
the day to day, and find with me heaven
as a peace of mind of knowing we did
our best…

My best comes without alcohol, trudges
the road of “happy destiny” as the A.A.’s say,
climbs a hill in heat or rain with bags
on my back seeking healing, I’m off
to Sierra Madre’s Mater Dolorosa.

Find your retreat house now, mine
on the other side of fog, rolling down—

I sweat, I tear, I believe say a prayer;
healing is mine before I see the deer.

Do re mi fa so la ti do, before I see the deer.

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