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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Poem

Backbone

10 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

America, Biden, Joy, Love, Peace, POTUS, Putin, Ukraine, United states, USA, War

Backbone1 (2)

“We don’t want to set a red
line because then we’ll be boxed
into that decision.”

“We don’t want to confront
the world leader killing civilians
because he might get mad and
turn on us.”

“Ukraine is our friend, but since
they are not members of NATO
we’ll fight a proxy war on the
sidelines, issue sanctions…”

“We are standing with Ukraine!”

“We are standing up to Moscow!”

Bombs dropping on hospitals and
schools, apartment buildings and
a Holocaust remembrance museum.

The Russian army surrounding towns,
about to starve out the people, while
they bomb civilians that try to
escape.  Frigid.  Heat cut.  Cold.

Cold to the bone…

We have no backbone.

In America, the government has
appealed to nuclear fear for eighty
years to help keep us out of a
direct confrontation with Russia.

I mean the Soviet Union… I mean the
USSR… They’re the same thing, right?

No, they aren’t.  One was a legal member
of the United Nations and its Security
Council.  The other is not… “Russia,”
re-established as a Federation in 1991,
did not formally apply and get voted
into the UN, as they should have been.

Give the Devil an inch and he’ll
take a mile.

Allow Russians to form on the Ukrainian
border without a direct response:

an invitation for them to come over
and kill a bunch of Ukrainians.

Where’s your backbone, Joe?

“But we don’t want to…”

Yeah, the spineless always have
an excuse not to confront evil.

American Cowardice

09 Wednesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in America, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Russia, Ukraine

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

America, Courage, Cowardice, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Russia, Ukraine, USA, War

America11

We come from a long line
of runners.

I’m talking about the white
people who left Europe to
establish a new nation on
First People blood.

Now the Ukrainians ask for
help and the American answer
seems to be:

Bleed first!

“We don’t want to enter into
a war with Russia, so…”

So we’ll watch on TV while
Russians kill Ukrainian babies,
raze towns and nuclear sites,
satisfied that we have levied
“strong sanctions.”

Sanctions.

“Suspect, stop raping that girl
or we will be forced to levy
sanctions against you and your
closest friends!”

Sanctions.

Because we don’t want to make
Putin mad.

Heaven forbid, we upset the
murderer into more murders.

He wields a nuclear threat
and takes the world hostage,

while the West cowers like
it’s 1984;

like the threats have not come
from a third rate economic power,

but the mighty USSR.

Locked in the 80-year Cold War
flinch, that yells out “No Nukes!”
like a TS tick.

Sure we hit the D-Day beaches,
acts of courage from every era
apparent.

But how many Jews had to die
on our watch before we
showed up late to that fight?

The ultimate courage is to
stand up without a loud,
dishonorable exploding gun!

To face an enemy with your heart
exposed, counting coup, Jesus’ turn the
other cheek, love them to change like
Gandhi and Martin taught us
could work!

But if the military is your brand of
defense, as the USA claims:

Use it to defend the innocent
against bullies around the world.

Use it in the face of empty threats
of nuclear bombs – folks like Putin
who will bully with that threat,

who will hold cowards hostage.

March to Moscow

08 Tuesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Politics, Russia, Spirituality

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Gandhi, Give, Giving, Joy, Love, March, MLK, Moscow, Non-violent Protest, Peace, Refugee Crisis, Refugees, Russia, Ukraine, War

Moscow2

Caring folks of the world, unite!
Don’t tell me this isn’t your fight.

Fear makes and shoots bombs,
killing children every single night.

Love is the most powerful weapon
forged in the fire of Creation…
Adults who make and shoot guns
to kill have lost sight of naked life,
have replaced it with love of nation.

Give what you got, wake up at
the sound of another mortar blast!

Get up now, grab a bag, take your
kids to the East not West!

Yes, I said it… It’s time we paid a
visit to the source of hate.

Bring love, food, flowers and music
before it is indeed too late!

They paint a picture and it’s tempting
to judge.  But I’ve never spent a day
in someone else’s shoes, I need to
purify so start with myself—

Who?

Me and my band of loving thoughts
we’re marching to Moscow to confront
the big boss.

We shall bring love and food and music
and flowers, straight up the gut of fear,
many yelling at us that “we’re headed
for a nuclear power!!”

We hurdle obstacles but do not
hit back when they hit us.

The press snaps photos, others tell
stories, and the human heart that’s
in each and every man, woman and child
will beat as one because love is…

Love is actually what we all want,
even Vladimir Putin.

The Real Pandemic

01 Tuesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Covid, Health, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholism, Civilization, Covid, Health, Joy, Love, Pandemic, Peace, Sobriety, Truth

LA Filth1

Civilization.  Leaving the earth
behind.  Latching on to
parts of a big holy book,
leaving others behind.

(Because…)
Science.  Nevermind the snake
oil, the leeches, the blood suck—
Letting us know that fear
becomes a drug…

And drugs sold means lots of money.
Panic! It brings us to our knees—
from there, “Please!” many cry
not in prayer but at the deified
smocks of Western medicine.

Civilization. The real pandemic,
Cut off from the earth, from a
working faith;

We bow down to Science—
human, fallible science,
calling every theory fact,
Counting our cash,

Pointing up at hospital rooms
(great places to die)
instead of Native Great Spirits.

The Cure to believe in Nature,
in Creation.

But few can hear sound words
above the Suck,
the helicopter patrol, the
car addiction, the echoes
Streaming off asphalt’s oasis.

Stop

Circumcised

01 Tuesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Circumcision, Health, Men's Health, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholism, Circumcision, Health, Intact, Intactivism, Joy, Love, Men's Health, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Recovery

baby crying1

I’m glad they had me—
it’s been nice…
But why did they cut me—
Why am I circumcised?

In the first weeks of life:
Sexually abused. Molested—
Strapped to a table,
masturbated and sliced—

Despite my cries…
Despite my cries…
All because of a bible verse that lies—
Masturbated and sliced—

Newborn and hardly alive.

“Then what?” says I, from the
haze that dissipates with every sober hour…
I learned some sports
(while my damaged penis tried to heal).

I learned to drink a flammable
liquid on stolen land.
(“what’s the deal?”)

How could I learn to love?
Shyness when it mattered,
hurt I avoided life’s realities,
even good ones.

I imagined and abused myself,
found my way to pornography
seeking comfort for lost foreskin.

Unprotected, un-lubricated,
Seeking manual stimulation at
the point a normal, intact man
would come, satisfied.

All because the bible lied.

“Due to Covid-19”

16 Tuesday Nov 2021

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bad Behavior, Behavior, Christianity, Covid, Covid-19, Creator, God, Joy, Love, Native, Native American, Panic, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Spirituality, Truth

Rude1

The great excuse to misbehave,
not come to work, not say hello,
not shake a hand…

“Don’t even look at me,” says
the disease that treats everyone
like a disease…

Please. Covid response by
corrupt, confused governments,
anti-social germaphobes—

Have their justification, at last,
to cower without judgement.
It’s okay! You can fear others now,

and get the back pat by human
authorities, the white coats running
a panic game, a lucrative one,

pharmaceutical companies reaping
the harvest of your fear, assuring
you this is… Health.

***

Turn around.  Wake up.  Open up
your eyes and define life! Your way,
Health is extremely personal so

state your belief, seek your path—

But please stay in your lane, I’ve
got my own here!  Do you know
my medical past?  Do you know
the intimate details of what I’ve
been through?

If not, kindly care for yourself, wear
a mask, don’t wear a mask—your body is
yours, some say from parents, from
higher powers, creators, nature
or whatever! It’s yours!

Fear is universally unhealthy.  And
fear precedes anger, a state politics
finds itself in, when the other guy or
girl doesn’t do what we want them to do.

Live and let live, remember?  Adhere
to a glorious moral code, one from
books or old wisdom… but something.

Grab onto good principles to avoid
judgment of others, live your life
fear-free, honor Creation underneath
civilization,

Underneath Covid-19.

One Man

04 Thursday Nov 2021

Posted by Bill Watkins in Homeless, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Christian, Christianity, Gospel, Gospels, Homeless, Homelessness, Humanity, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Homeless1

He had lost half his nose,
the right side of his face
marred by the streets.

His eye on that side
bloodshot.  Barely here,
laid out across a driveway—

Concrete and asphalt his
best friends, along with
the devil alcohol…

Near naked, shoeless,
writhing on the ground for
traffic to finish off,

I asked him if he needed
help… He groggily said “yes,”
I called 911, waited, then

watched as paramedics
kindly carted him away for
a short or final rest, who

can say?  He was not really
another man, he was me.

He was a man, like me.  He
could have been me, a
long-lost brother.

He bled red like me, a thin
line of it glowing where his
nose used to be whole.

A red eye like mine, skin
and sweat… Was he ever in
a sandbox at school?

Branded homeless by the suits,
a “problem” by them and
others, when really…

He’s just a man like you
with a disease.  One man,
barely breathing, hoping

for something good, some
moment of light before
the end to signify forever.

We are here, equal.  None
better than another.  This
man was me.  You…

Our job to love him as
we love ourselves, remember?

The Failure of Democracy

03 Wednesday Nov 2021

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bible, Democracy, Geocracy, God, Great Spirit, Guns, Joy, Lies, Love, Native America, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Politics, Spirituality, Truth, USA

Democracy1

It’s not so bad.

The realization that the second
major people-governing concept
has failed…

First there was Higher Power, gods
invoked so close to us on
earth that they came to our
dreams, spoke and guided us.

Folks like those under the prophet
Samuel kicked that theocracy out
years ago, thought kings might
be a better way, for “Hey—

all the other nations was doin’ it!”
The Hebrew god warned kings might
be corrupt, finally that on the day
we complained, he wouldn’t hear.

So the Greeks rose up like a Narcissus
flower, rejected single male power,
and invented dēmokratia, democracy –
Long live people-rule, at last!

The Romans liked it, spread it
around by force, liked Jesus—spread
him around by force, combined the two
to steal land in the New World,

a Dutch mapmaker calling it all…
America.  The natives still had their
higher powers, excited by the earth
and their place under a Great Spirit.

But we had our democracy, bible, and
most powerful of all, it would seem,
gun powder.  An Asian invention, fireworks
English and other Euros used to kill.

So people-rule it was and has been,
although I’ve never seen people rule
during an earthquake, forest fire
or hurricane.

“It’s flooding, you say? Well, let’s
hold a vote,” never much swayed
the elements, but still we claim that
“people-power is best.”

Until it isn’t.  Until two parties argue
and argue and do nothing.  Until you
realize there is no power in hallways,
marble and human art, that the

natives may have had it more right
than wrong, the waterfalls, valleys,
rivers and mountains of their
higher powers holding joy and sway.

I used to talk and write of Geocracy,
God, Earth and People-rule, but
know the word in front offends, so
onward I look, want to join?

People don’t always rule, so let’s
move on… There’s something better
at the end of this tunnel, so keep
digging toward the light.

Democracy has died because it was
never in the first place right.

The combination of people, honoring
the earth and invoking a higher power
seeming to this poet the truth,
a way to it, giving blindness sight.

Tlanextili

12 Monday Jul 2021

Posted by Bill Watkins in Bilingual, Indigenous, Mexico, Nahuatl, Poem, Poema, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amor, Earth, Esperanza, Europe, Hope, Indigenous, Invasion, Joy, Love, Mexico, Nahuatl, Native, Naturaleza, Nature, Paz, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Spiritual, Spirituality, Theft, Tierra, Truth

beauty6

Great Spirit, Holy Creator hear me.
We need to be awake—

The sun of civilization is setting,
hopefully passing over before
the mountain cracks.

Europe keeps coming for its
concrete—

Broken rocks on the dock of
fallen natural ports, civilization
stealing, dignified.

Tlanextili, Earth!  I’ve been asleep!
Hear me, I’m awake!

Rome planted unholy plants over
the green earth, as time separated
us from the rocks—

Sun! Shine, Tlanextili!  Hope, eternally
falling in natural wonders;

Hope – that cascade of truth in
red orbits we read next to golden
lines to time Thou growest!

Tlanextili, Sun!  Tlanextili to the
old gods that harmed no one.

Peace be to the reigning powers
that gobble up peace, calling it
politics—even medicine…

Tlanextili, me!  Sunshine next
to rain still a rainbow!

Tlanextili, Earth!  We can return to
the goodness before the gun. We
can return to honor—

Truth springs eternal down the lines
that care, children always there.

Conmueva mi mentalidad, Spirit!  The
Earth where there are no words…

Una mejor sociedad… sin lenguaje,
sin fronteras menos ellas creadas
en el núcleo de la tierra—

Tlanextili, mente.
Tlanextili, libertad!

Tlanextili, primera gente—
Tlanextili, Esperanza!

The Joy We Give

06 Sunday Dec 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Christmas, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Christmas, Joy, Love, Poem, Poetry, Spirit, Today

Christmas1

It’s tempting to neglect that
Rainbows tower over rain,
but we look down at times instead
of up, seeing only our pain.

Christmas comes around, a spirited
winter fiesta of lights and sound
to celebrate Solstice and Jesus,
cold weather games and the Word.

Good words are just that whether you
call yourself this or that, no matter
your religion or creed.  The joy we
give is found within, the snow

glistening in times forgotten, trying
in Turtle Island to make a go—
Calling it America, raising guns
and glasses against the darkness.

But it comes anyway; there is no
Daylight Savings that can alter
Nature; humanity asking you to
be a part of the sunshine that is…

Eternal life.  We are petty in our
self-pity, are wise to pound that water
back instead of flammable things,
Ask a Higher Power for help this

Christmas, and see the help as it
rains.  Back to the rainbow, a red
and green song by Nat King Cole,
our ancestors blending with theirs.

Imagine if we only asked the Indians
instead of taking.  Never take a step
in hurry or haste, recall our place,
ask before doing and the humble rock

of joy is ours to roll… Toward the
New Year, not “New York” and Times
Square, because really: There was nothing
wrong with the old York and no real

justification for taking Native American
land away, renaming it in European
images.  Crosses can be idols, too,
suffocating the natural water falls,

Rivers and Trees, whose songs will
continue to be sung forever.  I will
not die if in the face of pain I yelled out
joy; I cannot suffer long, if I take

the hand of help, only there if I call.
The joy we give, at Christmas or any
other day… is the eternal salvation
we miss staring at the bottle.

Merry Christmas, 2020, the best year
of my life.  Be not a slave to fear and
what has been, for the hope of all
mankind on earth for all times, let’s say:

Is not in a man, a woman, a report from
the news, a new road built or another
traffic jam.  All of our hope rests on one
single, solitary thing…

Today.

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