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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Poem

I Should Have Kissed Her

04 Friday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Love, Peace, Truth

Then you move on, and that’s it.

And she has kids, is with a man
who did kiss her.

He may have been weird, weak
or a nerd in every other way, but
haven’t you heard?

Love breeds love, the accomplishment
on the sports field, in the classroom
or at work, even the one deposited into
the bank in the middle of the night—

breeds more accomplishment.

“It’s great to be great, but it’s greater
to be human,” said Will Rogers
a dumb poet we loved for his smart
humanity and sneak-up charm,
the Shakespearian clown telling the
truth in such a way as to instruct and
inspire the king.

The clown can talk and talk without
being killed, for for every truth talked
he or she fits in a barb that produces
laughter, hits the funny bone, and
disarms.

I should have kissed her, but lacked
the knowhow and the skills to be human.

I should have kissed her at the end of
the date, that time in the hallway,
alone and one on one because I loved
her—she me.  She was waiting… We could
have blamed the drink,

but I was a year or two away from overdose
and complete failure, where I needed
to go to end my deathly hopes of death
I never knew I harbored.

You drink a flammable substance young,
fail to look it up, see the impact it
has and will later have.

You can’t tell her “I love you,” wonder
why, but must overdose twice—almost
die, before you admit it:

I am alcoholic.

The Best Doctor

04 Friday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spiritual

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Love, Peace

God and Health Collage1

The best doctor I usually
capitalize,

In lines that sometimes inspire,
Sometimes surprise—

by chance, nature, or nature’s
changing course untrimmed—

Shakespeare himself, a poet
who believed,

for without humility…

Without humility what would we
the people be?

Humble is the way of truth, keeps
us at our right size,

so for goodness’ sake, let’s not put
other people too high above us,

Save a spot for God.

By God I mean a power greater than
yourself, who knows more than you do…

is more powerful than you are.

Is capable of more loving wisdom than
you are.

And, yes, this power or force can heal,
and will over time if you fast and pray,

meditate long thoughts, breathe, listen
to dreams—ask and ye shall receive,

Jesus the wise, rebellious rabbi declaring
gospel messages dripping with love and

hope for the hopeless!!

Seek and ye shall find!! Yes, and move a
mountain!!!

So, the next time someone tries to tell
you so assuredly, “go to a doctor!!”

Find time to walk in nature, lift your
heart and mind up in prayer,

and ask the Doctor!

“What should I do, LORD?” in the Hebrew
tradition of YHWH without vowels

to keep us from blabbing the Name.

You will get an answer over time or right
on the spot.

Sometimes the answer is hard. Sometimes,
the answer is easy, or

often somewhere in between.

Do what God asks of you and find peace.

And as soon as you declare it, my goodness
you will feel it:

HEALTH!!!!

For health is exactly that which God
provides when you ask…

Peace of mind.

With you all the time, unlocked with prayer,
felt after action or none,

Felt when you know life is good,
and you are not the One.

Honor Your Mother

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Joy, Love, Native, Peace

roses-208980__480

It’s not just the woman who bore
you, folks—it’s the Earth that moves you.

The Mother who spins on axis, swirling
around the sun and stars on time

So we can wake up and live and try at life.

So how on Earth can you litter?

Throw your cigarette butt, already littering
your lungs and heart on her?

What devil inhaled you, when you
decided to inhale smoke, killing yourself
slowly over many years?

God bless us to honor our mother.

To live a long time in this land, we
must honor her, and fight to keep her
beautiful.

Honor your mother, man.

Honor your mother, woman.  Honor that
which gave us life, and never

throw trash on her, no matter how low
we go; turn around, it’s better to go
back to pre-civilization, pre-religion,
living naked with the natives than to
roll around in this human-made muck,
helicopters and sirens calling out a warning
shot to the Father god that we don’t care.

Send Samuel back, and ask God to be
king again.

Shhh!  Listen.  Close your eyes.

See yourself caring.  Loving.  God bless us
to honor our Mother and care.

College Scam

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Education, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Dickens, Education, Frost, John Stuart Mill, Joy, Life, Longfellow, Love, Peace, Shakespeare

John Stuart Mill was the first to go through
what we went through, the modern
liberal arts education.

He had a nervous breakdown, before any
of that education was of any use.

In all the classroom work, and work, and
work some more he had never

learned how to Live.

***

The basics in life; feelings expressed, a friend
with whom to talk about real things, no guide
asking him what his dreams were.

Parents’ dreams are another thing, and while
I believe in honoring them, that does not
mean doing their will over God’s for you.

Who is asking you what your dreams are?

If you are a child, and no one is supporting your
dreams, break out now before it’s too late.

A nervous breakdown awaits, if you think
“college” will sort all out for you some day.

Sort it out now.  Live Today!!!!

“And ascending and secure,
Shall tomorrow find its place.”

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

Alcohol for burning things, youth for free expression
toward our dreams.

Obstacles, teaching Gradgrinds driving facts
as fictions, such as “college” prep over Life
Prep we must overcome

“Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.”

Break out or breakdown, live your true
purpose or be sheep to shear and slaughter
on the way to shattered hope.

Choose a higher power, step away for
truth to shine, get strong and build your
spiritual home invincible against

the wide pound of rain that has been
other peoples’ ideas for you.

Multi-Colored

22 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Race

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

I am not white.

They call me white, those who seek
to box me in, probably from pain of
being boxed in themselves.

Black, brown, tan and pink—the color
of skin and hair, eyes that care,
the multi-colored reality that is
difference, in the soul…

which dreams to be free of your
restriction or theirs, color blind
to the time or look, the thinness of
superficial appearance having nothing
to do with the substance of life’s
dance,

the journey a neat ride of overcoming
obstacles, unless you choose to die.

***

I chose to live, after my friend killed
himself; I overdosed twice trying to
decide what “death” was and that if
perhaps I wanted to taste it.

I hurt myself, I found God through
the muck of alcohol, drugs and lies,
the kind that divides—doctors’ offices
stealing from the public treasury so
our sidewalks fester in trash, cracks
and flies—

No intentional harm done, but the
devil running us away from God into
that office.

“Please, person with multiple college
degrees, tell me what to do.  My life
in…”

SAY IT!!!! the devil hopes, SAY IT!!!  Put
your life in a doctor’s hands, put your life
in a fellow fallible human’s weakness,
and I, sayeth the Punk, I have you!!!!

***

Or say no.

Say no to waste, to superficial haste,
to judging because you once were judged,
turn the other cheek as Jesus advised,
or do nothing as Lao Tzu supplied.

For nothing is a far cry, and far better indeed
than doing Something dumb.

God is the Best Health Care

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Health, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spiritual, Spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Love, Peace, Truth

Believe in yourself!

Believe God made you right, perfect
for who you are and when you were born—

there is nothing wrong—are you alive?

If “Yes,” say “Thanks!” and go help
someone in the few minutes we get
on earth to make an impact!

Pray to something big.  Live good days,
and if you feel a lot of pain—

bearing a cross can yield a rainbow from
the rain!  No pain and no gain my sweet,

I gave a few bucks to a dentist once to
pull out my teeth!  Grateful for that, and
some doctors’ expertise.

But let’s take all Western Medicine with
a grain of salt—not alcohol!  Let’s be a little
tougher, know it’s okay just to let
nature heal us—

Something that can’t be done very well
in a metal box firing down the freeway at
seventy miles per hour.

We have to live on the ground a bit to truly
see the vision—see your power!

“I have a vision,” the sober say when they
wake feeling good like a child at Christmas
time.

We deify too many things, but relax:

It’s exactly as it seems!

Words are the glue we spew to fill the seams.

The talk of equality nothing compared to
the Dream!

(It’s a Martin Luther King thing!)

95 theses tacked on a door to rise up
and live while alive, avoid the place
where too many flies fly—

Keep as clean and sanitary as you can
without obsessing and calling your
doctor now, then and again and again.

Trust your body!  Believe in yourself!

Take up your bed, Lazarus!—or Bob, Robby,
Ricky and Mike—Darla, wouldn’t it be darling
to don the smile of the healthy while the
health appeared to be falling.

“Fake it ‘til you make it!”

Read a Henry Longfellow poem, better
yet a positivist Ella Wheeler Wilcox rant!

“Optimism” reminding us that when you
speak health, God will hear your words…

And make them true.

Pyongchang 2018

26 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Olympic, Olympics, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Winter Olympics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Beijing 2022, Bode Miller, Figure Skating, Gold Medal, Hockey, Ice Hockey, Lindsey Vonn, Olympics, Pyongchang, Pyongchang 2018, Shaun White, Shiffrin, Skating, Snowboarding, Sports, USA, Winter Olympics

Winter Olympics 2018 Collage

Mike Pence should get her a
hot dog, for what else is the Games but
a chance to be human and celebrate
life?

She came from the North, sister to
a Korean prince, and during sixteen
some-odd days there was peace
on the Peninsula—

And why not?

Wasn’t that why we had a United Nations
after the horror of two world wars?

We forget to love—that being the doom
of man, that and calling ourselves
“Christian” while we talk of waging
war and giving bloody noses to people
we don’t want armed and nuclear, again
forgetting our own arsenal, that log in our
eye picking at our neighbors’ splinters.

Pyongchang, rhyming with the North’s
Pyongyang—for sixteen days one unified
Korea in a glimpse of what could be,
the shining face of sports for all to
see.

The North’s delegate above the American
“vice president,” so why he doesn’t look up
is a mystery, unless the awakening alludes
him, the one that taps us all on the
shoulder at different times in life to say:

“We are all human.”

Pence missed the first moment to win
the gold of brotherly love.

***

There are always two prizes in sports,
the trophy, the “win,” and the one we
garner when we shake hands—the friendship,
the nod for sportsmanship.

One Korea, a unified team brings tears to eyes
of people who love peace, while folks
who talk and believe in war and division poke
holes and criticize.

One day at a time.

***

Shaun White, Shaun White, the red mop
flying in the night, now with less hair full of
passion, focus and talent, a final jump into
the abyss that can kill on the way down,
“Gravity” thwarted but not beat, Einstein’s
bent space curling gold for the U.S.

Lindsey gets what she needed, another medal
like Bode’s in 2014, a great bow with Julia
covering events for channel four Los Angeles.

Athletes from Russia were tough as always in
the Winter Games, but Norway being Norway,
Sweden and the Dutch on fire.

Canada came to play, but the U.S. ladies borrowed
the gold back in hockey, the men as good
except in penalty shots, which require flare,

the Russian lady skaters showing plenty,
ballerinas on ice, old school beauty, while
jump obsession infected many skates minus
the spirited Adam Rippon putting art first.

American guns shoot children, while
activists debate murder as self-defense.

Meanwhile in Asia are lost arts and philosophies
of the martial kind.

The Sage is fully self-aware, aware of surroundings,
and is ready to help—abhors lethal weapons;
has no real use for them.

The preference in self-defense is never killing
but the restoration of peace!

***

And so the hot dog not bought, the frown
of the Pence in front of the sister of
the Northern Prince.

A sense of humor, a poem, a joke—anything to
cut tension was and is the gold we want
as we snowboard toward another medal
ceremony in winter snow, White’s tears
melting on the close of another Games,
four years in the making, four years from
the next time to make the snow light up
in Olympic flames.

We are at peace, and for those who are not
may we make a prayer.

The two trophies for achievement
and friendship, may you have them both;
Shaun White with three golds now, amended
for the little trash talk in Vancouver, grown
up and back from a misstep in Sochi.

He is the Most Valuable Athlete in the Games
for me, though you may put yours forth.

We watched Shaun grow up, and may he
help the next generation shine.

May we all rise up beyond our sports and
put love into every corner of the Earth.

It is not what we get that counts as
much as what we give.

“America First” dies gloriously when we embrace
humility and generosity.  God sees the lowliest
effort and rewards, so give up keeping and guarding.

Give all you have. Reach one more time past what
you think you have, because a power greater
than yourself has more.

Appeal.  Receive.  Reach for the finish line,
and make a lot of friends along the way.

A little life is lived every time the Olympics
torch is lit.

As this Olympic Games ends, I grieve a little
bit but gather steam to tackle my life
with the gold medal spirit I just saw on
display, a Korea unified in Peace.

Pray for the warriors and guard Olympic
flames and dreams for the young and small
just for today.

Jump into the stands and hug your mom.

Vow to never lose like that again.

Thank God for the win.  For weather in
your favor.

For being the best GS skier in the world,
but realizing that effort may leave you weaker
in another discipline!

We are so human!!  Wait, did your see the
Russian girls skate?  Maybe we are sometimes
angelic!!!

We strive to overcome our shackles and restraints,
Shaun White one more time off the pipe…

Land, squat, Repeat.  We lost a bobsledder.

Land, squat. Repeat.

See you in Beijing…

Land, squat.  Repeat!

To Los Angeles:

24 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Los Angeles, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Los Angeles, Love, Peace

50/50 with a Fringe on Top

***

Welcome to Betty Ford.

We must recover, many of us know this,
but have we admitted yet that we have
a problem?

L.A. is not the greatest city in the world—

But it could be.

It could lead like the LAPD in Lethal
Force Policy—Matt Johnson and the
commission talking De-escalation,
Obama taking notice, the nation
watches and seeks good Ideas.

Ideas!!!

Something whose creation money cannot
buy.

Private Campaign Spending should be
now and forever outlawed, right
next to hiring a pedestrian cleaning
force—call them “Street Angels”—

We must clean this city from the bottom
to the top, let’s trim the budget of
fat—like the bloated salaries of political
hacks.

This is supposed to be a humble service job;
how much did John Adams spend to
become President?  I think it was $0.00
because he was a lawyer with land in
the private sector—

I recommend to our leaders that if it
is riches you want… Invent something.

Get out in the private sector with your
skills, which should be protected by
the public sector… and make a ton of
money.

City Council?  The Mayor?  A Police Chief?

A Supervisor for the County? Where wages
start at 200,000 dollars a year?

And we wonder why graffiti plagues us—
it’s a revolution, a rebellion saying “Screw
you, suits!  You have forgotten us, are not
protecting us, are not maintaining our
roads, sidewalks and communities so we
formed a gang to secure ourselves.”

“Gangs” could be budgeted out of existence.

Maybe fund Animal Services to enforce
every code instead of running a public zoo.

Enforce every code.

Don’t play with illegal fireworks—

eradicate it.  Budget them away, put our
heads together, take a walk from border
to border in your district and note how
many clogged storm drains you see.

People tell me sometimes, watching me
clean, that the problems are too vast
and deep—and what you clean today
just comes back tomorrow!

So come back tomorrow and clean again.

God bless us to rethink our bloated
salaries, “benefits” which often include
non-emergency “health” care which government
should never grapple.

“What is health?” is answered differently
by every person, like choosing a religious
faith—in fact my health program is my religious
faith (Christian Science) and by the First
Amendment, Congress shall pass no law on it.

Wake up!

Lazarus, take up thy bed and follow me
into the fixable gutters and graffiti of L.A.,
the bombs exploding from June through August,
the rebellion—folks without a voice, disenchanted
with you, voter turnout poor, as we shake
our heads at the mailbox—

Filling up with the Trash that is private
campaign spending.

“Vote for me!” on an expensive post card.

“Don’t Vote For Her!” in despicable color
and glossy font.

While our sidewalks crumble, the Homeless
waiting not on “housing” as much as
a purpose.

Give us day labor posts, a morning lineup
for a job to clean our city for eighty-five
dollars a day.

I’ll be first in that line, let’s fan out, out
of our offices and suits, but if addicted to
them, give me a bib and a broom, pay me

and watch this place start to shine.

Our budget should be fifty percent
safety, fifty percent infrastructure.

Anything not related to those two things
should, like fringe stuck in a storm drain—

be taken out

In Third Grade…

16 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Childhood, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholism, Joy, Love, Peace

In third grade I knew enough to
know what I wanted, who I wanted—
and was even a year from knowing
who I wanted to vote for in
November.

But no adult asked or cared about
what I wanted, who I wanted, or
even who I might want to vote for
in November.

And the adults controlled me.  I backed
off my dreams:

To be a professional athlete, to love
and marry Anne Devereux, and to
have a vote because I wanted to be
a part of and help this country.

By eighteen years old I was drinking
flammable alcohol underage, breaking
laws, flipping the bird at hope and
politics, a racist, chauvinist pig unable of
expressing love for Anne or anyone.

At home was alcohol and “divorce,”
the misnomer some so excited to
pronounce against Jesus’ truth that “man
cannot separate what God has bound”—

it explains the private frown, as I walked
around, pretending to be fine—the Old French
word meaning “end.”

Friends:

The devil is tough, and wide is destruction’s
path—this is not now nor will life ever
be easy!!

Take a hard line against alcohol, and at least
look it up in a dictionary “what it is” and decide
if it’s smart to imbibe it.

Maybe the grape is better than the spoil
that makes intoxicating wine—

the pain of loss and hardship felt better than
the alcoholic escape into buzz and fake
views on men and women breaking
vows before God.

It’s not the messenger but the message
that shines, when I attempt to bring you:

“Children!”

After God, “Children!”

Drink not spoiled toxic waste, feel your
short term pain to get long-term gain,

and listen to our children!!

They want what they want, for me starting
around eight—

Money for school could have been parlayed
to the serious coach taking my dream
seriously;

Someone would have asked if I was in
love, and I would have said “yes,” but
I was not asked, felt judged anywhere
near the topic, and had no God to
give me courage to tell her the truth.

Shhh.

To give what we did not get is tough.

Shhh.

Listen to the child and what they’re worth.

Some even read better than a man forty-three;
are ready to vote, and help our country.

Racist “President”

12 Friday Jan 2018

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace, Racism, Trump

The devil is strong, don’t get me wrong—
and we humans are wise not to ever
judge other humans.

But stating truth is a good first step,
and though we’ve had corrupt and sinful
humans in “office” before—

(CIA killing people covertly, locking
up documents in government omerta,
pretending “democracy…”

The devil runs a lot of what we do—
wide the path to destruction, and many
people on it!)

***

But there is no excuse for the rise of
a KKK, Hitler-style mein Trumph red-faced
hater of a racist

in the highest executive office of this
often corrupt government.  Often off,
yes, but usually striving

until the hatred for the nation’s first
black president rose among the white
type, say “elites,”

and the misogynistic, ignorant ultra-white
wing tearing town a woman out of hand
as not “military” tough…

“We hate Hillary” turned by Russian bots
and linking hands with neo-Nazis into
the Donald Trump platform.

His dad, Fred Trump, was arrested for
fighting with the KKK against those damned
Catholic New York cops.

***

It is tempting to be hateful and judgmental
at hate and judgment, but I will refrain, pray
for Trump and

all confused, racist people.  People who
often were raised wrong, with lies
all around them.

The lies come from hard times, are a defense
mechanism against a real or perceived
block to one’s way of life.

Donald’s dad faced what he faced, being
German when he was—was he hiding
his Nazi card, making

a habit of lying, saying they were “Swedish”
to keep the money coming in as Immigrants
to America?

Did Donald see those lies, absorb them, become
a liar, develop defenses about who he was and
where he was from?

Was there a deep down and low inferiority
complex that created Hitler?  Did that same
inferiority create Trump?

Give Hitler credit for honesty, he was out of the
closet, an obvious violent racist—while Trump
harbors hate in

secret waters, stirred up by certain reporters
and probes at certain times.  “Take a knee”
slave and be whipped;

“Jews will not replace us” from “good people,”
the Confederate monuments are our culture
and history,

Never mind Heather Heyer, or that hate
produced a murder: “We must preserve
our racist culture,”

Trump seems to say, from a stolen seat—
one sold out by Republicans to any candidate
that could Hillary beat.

Forget morals, forget effort, forget progress,
and world peace.  (That could be a Twitter
bio blurb for CIA,

but I was at first thinking about Republicans
like my aging father now passed, who was duped
into a Trump vote.

A racist vote.  The vote for hate.  The vote stirred
up by people’s hatred for non-white advance,
feeling “replaced”

by superior education in non-white speakers,
pundits and politicians.  “Women should know
their place,” speaks Ignorance

and Trump’s every other word a lie to
keep his dad’s secrets safe.  It’s okay to admit
you’re a Nazi, Donald—

and I’ll tell you why:

Nazis sprung from the first World War, a horrible
Hell of a place.  Violence, death, insanity and
a crippling treaty

lacking benevolence or thought toward
Germany’s innocent children, growing up
in the 1920’s while

we got drunk and flapper-danced our
way to record stock market highs.  The
rise of Hitler

and German hatred stirred up war and
Fred Trump.  It is understandable, as Fred
was a landlord

in New York, accused of discrimination
by Woody Guthrie: “Beach Haven is Trump’s Tower
Where no black folks come to roam.”

Fred’s son in Fred’s image, racist and
red-faced in private, “not a racist bone in
my body,”

he says until you discern and discover
Trump’s code-language, and here is the key:
Most major statements

he makes: the opposite is true.)

***

So, we have a racist person—who most-
likely stole the office—sitting in the White
House, supposedly

representing this region of the world to
other parts of the world.

***

Sad.  Embarrassing.  The first time any
“president” of the United States made
me cry.

Call me a snowflake, CIA—you have made
me cry many times, killing Kennedy,
Martin, Kennedy, and Lennon—

Taking out Romero in El Salvador to top
it off—any minister or peace-lover
against your war agenda.

***

Now a racist “president” character
assassinating every person world-wide who
is not “white” or European-rooted.

I pray for Trump, who was born into
racism; has never known the glory of
spirit that emanates

without prejudice from the spirited;

be they black, white, red or brown,
the healing blue I send to you, for
racism and

bigotry was in me once too!  I was
ignorant, pre-spiritual awakening, drinking
flammable liquid

(so praying to false gods), and I brought
down all “others” from women to
different races.

It was the wrong way, but I could not
buck it until I could trust someone
enough to tell truth.

Donald, may you find love and truth;
may God come to you, reveal Him
or Herself—

same goes for the CIA, its evil “covert”
insanity, and to the sellout GOP, who
stirred up hate

by standing with Trump against the
first Woman who should have been
president.

To follow the first black man in the office.

Those words: “women” and “black,” “African
American” and “wives”—these are to be put down
to the racist,

not voted into office.  To the bigot.  To the
chauvinistic misogynistic, confused bedeviled
folks…

I love you.

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