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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Tag Archives: God

My President and King

01 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bible, God, Love, Peace, Religion, Samuel, Truth

The blind leading the blind
down blind alleys and suffering;
what can a human king do for
a human being?

Samuel was a fool to ask for one,
you were fooled to vote for one;

Real power in the sky, stream and
stars that are beyond our arms,
the dance of wind and change on
your face, the leaves and branches
shadows all over the place yielding

what a man cannot:

Peace.

***

Samuel trudge back!

Go back up that hill or hut,
sound the alarm or bugle or
whatever trumpet says “Hey!”
We’ve gone amuck!

Give back the reins, let God take
it over from here.

God is my king and my president,
Smile.

And never fear!!!!!!!

I’m a Pussy? Thanks!

28 Saturday Jul 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Earth, Native, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Earth, Education, God, Joy, Love, Native, Peace, Sex

We grow up cursing, when
we don’t know another way,
many of us so far from the land
God gave our people, disenfranchised,

lost, discombobulated by years
of concrete, asphalt, sirens and
the worst invention by man to
date:

Helicopters.

***

The native, the first people, the
“pagan” was one with the land
and sea, never cursed—for why
curse, when all of life is a part
of you and what you do, no
separation, gratitude so natural
because the cycle is endless hope,
story and adventure, a tie between
you and all the generations?

But I walk L.A. today, walk over
and by the trash, the litter, under
the thunder of metal fueled by
the earth we try to master, not
honor.

But I walk L.A. today, the big city,
civilization with indeed some decent
plumbing, I guess; harnessed power
giving us light when we want,
electronics on which I write tonight.

But as I walk, they curse at me—
little boys becoming men by the
train station, calling me a “pussy”
because I called the police.

Me saying “thanks,” because pussy
is good.  Our moms, sisters, and
women good and essential, our
body parts essential—especially glorious
and wonderful the reproductive
organs.

***

There are no curse words in Native
American language.

Real Medicine

27 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Health, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, God, Health, Love, Peace, Positivism, Truth

Say you are well, or all is well with you,
And God shall hear your words and make
them true.  –E.W.Wilcox

See how much better you
do today, if you refrain from
complaining about physical
ailments real or imagined.

See how much more you enjoy
this life, if you appeal to One
Doctor, Mother Nature, the
healing wind inside or out—

available to us all!  See what
life can be the moment we
stop fearing its cessation, your
health closely linked to what

you think and say about it.

You cannot serve two masters,
so if you believe in God, speak
in godly ways, not “my doctor
said I have…”

No you do not have…

You are alive for one more
day so I advise saying thanks,
live it, and smile.

The day the smile fades forever,
is the same one we give our
physical shell up, our spirit
if vigorous shines and flies

this way and that, here forever
with the things here that last
forever.

God, truth, and the way of
the American waterfall, shaping
our views to combine them in One.

Streamline your thoughts,
simplify your life, and find
at the end of days peace won,

Victories achieved by
abandoning the speed of drugs for
the calm stroll of pleasing God,

your path to heaven finally
and fully begun.

One Goal and Basket

24 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Heaven, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Spiritual

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Eternal Life, God, Heaven, Love, Spiritual, Truth

What a confusing mess, waking
up alive in a basket of confusing,
stench-filled piss, not the physical
kind—

more like the lie told and believed
that alcohol is good to drink.

Another that it’s okay to have many
focuses and gods, play sports and
compete in pretend fights, slotting
passes and balls into a hoop.

Meantime the march for some to
Heaven continues, for those who
had that goal all along.

While we sought ways to deceive
another team or player, they sought
ways to love and give to the poor—

true gifts coming from our own
poverty, of course.

The slugger or forward on the team,
a confused pursuit of “victory,” leaving
the ultimate prize behind—

God.  Heaven.  A Peace of Mind!!!

***

Wake up in piss, but wake up!

When down the wrong road, turn
around now!

The goal… the basket… the only there
is is a contented sleep in the poem
spun by One, obstructed by
scoreboards and bars, the path
to hell wide and well-traveled.

Leave it and find the narrow a
better, albeit harder walk!

Die with me into this humble
song not on your TV;

die from the lies, and turn
toward the cross on your back;

Eternal Life.

A Buffer

05 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Family, God, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Joy, Love, Peace, Truth

Between me and love and
hate is a song of sweet nothing—
as in nothing without a thought
to God is complete.

You don’t have to call your
highest high that, call the power
that keeps you sane and
inspires what you will.

But call on it, and call on it
often!  Call on it before doing,
saying any single thing!

Because if you think it’s good
to act by your first impulse,
you will miss the golden rule,

act from lower, base instinct,

setting the bar so low, you’d
think the walls had closed around,
said in somber tones, “Clink.”

Life is real, life is earnest,
and the grave like Longfellow said
is not its goal!!

So ask God for help, change—let
go your way, pick up a code
and live the way of the ancients
plus your own invention, your
truth—

your gift to give the world, be they
children, magic or a way to
feel good while serving others
and making children laugh.

Praise God now, and abandon
the death march today…

Head for the light, be there
and pitch it to others; be a guide
in your humble search for Right.

Prayer for Donald Trump

26 Tuesday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Great Spirit, Love, Poetic Blog, Prayer

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Love, Peace, Prayer, Trump

God,

Love Donald Trump and all
his supporters more now than
ever!

Grant us all peace.

Especially the deceived, the lost;
the hateful and the spiteful.

Help all to know that fear
and weakness is at the core of hate
and violence.

Grant Love in the place of fear.

Help us to conquer self-will, to
replace it with your perfect design!

God bless Donald Trump.  Replace
the coldness with warmth, the
indifference with care, the golf
balls with real testicles, real feeling

and loyalty not among men and
women but to You and the teachings
of your Son, the native Great Spirit.

Forgive Trump his sins.

Forgive his supporters and their
neglect of traits like humility and
brotherly love needed to gain Heaven
at the end of this earthly walk.

Infuse Trump with your godly love
and spirit, one day at a time, so
that he may transmit that love to the
forty percent of Americans, ninety
percent of Republicans, who would
seem to follow sickness into the jaws
of death, a Klan rally, the pit of hate
we had thought demolished with
V-day 1945, and the founding of
the United Nations, soon after its
statement on human rights, Eleanor
Roosevelt a believer in peace, JFK
until his death, a final thought for
CIA who killed him.

Amen

We’re All Up Here

25 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Great Spirit, Native, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Jesus, Joy, Love, Native, Peace, Spirit

At that time the disciples came to Jesus
and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in
the kingdom of heaven?”
He called a little child to him, and placed
the child among them.  And he said:
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and
become like little children, you will never
enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore,
whoever takes the lowly position of this child
is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
And whoever welcomes one such child in
my name welcomes me.”

***

Jesus touted children.

Painted life a journey to discover
the one within us;
when discovered, ahh!  There you
are.  Like a Moana song, there
is your path, your best you…

Heaven.

***

Native Americans often pointed
to elders, at the other extreme.

Kids could not talk in groups; elders
with priority.

Shhhh.  We listen.  Listen to God,
the Great Spirit through an effort
at silence.

Breeze through trees, the leaves
a dance against the face of
wisdom, yielding a trickle-down
Reagan and Bush would envy.

The peace of streams.  That and more
we left behind when we sold all
to build our cities.

The Mass of Things

16 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Gratitude, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Universe

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Christian Science, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, God, Health, Love, Mary Baker Eddy, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Positivism, Universe

The sky with earth, clouds keeping
it tight, swirling day and night.

I did none of this, but responded
when made with breath and…

Thanks.

***

The mass of things that made us;
the sign of times that create us—

Songs sung in gratitude for the chance
to dance, wide open or by the fire
of a closing stance,

no breaks for the wild world, only
thanks for the mighty swirl,

those things—all of them—I did not
do to deserve life.

It was given, a simple gift; we walk
by the river or lake, must seek a good
life to make it great,

True brilliance not from me but
grabbed after pausing, lending
children a hand, starting a new band,

whatever I with God on a daily
schedule think to make.

It doesn’t always go my way, but
smiles happen when I anyways
Thank.

Gratitude is the key to health, and
when we speak health we receive
it, ask Mary Baker Eddy or better
yet the positive prolific poet
named Ella Wheeler Wilcox!

Hers are gems for the man or
woman trying to find their child
inside.

The way to heaven not for men
and women but girls and boys.

You’re eighty years old?  Where are
your toys?

Smile and play, now!  Thank what you
thank, and pray thanks for now!

We did not do this!

We did not put this mass of things
together, but the wise among us
know how to thank for it;

So thank Something for it, make
a great day happen—forget the rest!

Sing a song that’s within from heaven
to your chest!

Give your life to a higher Power,
I call it God, you call it what you will;

to disagree with trifles is a bore,
and to smile and have fun is best.

Lifting the Shroud

14 Thursday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Awareness, Enlightenment, Native, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Enlightenment, God, Love, Native, Native American, Peace, Recovery, Truth

We grow up unaware—

Especially those of one silver
spoon-fed table or another, it’s
not about the money or ease only,
but about the hidden pool of
vomit under the Christmas tree.

Alcohol is a good hider.  Wealth,
too, anything like “false gods” and
false hopes that lock us in or
addict us to something untrue.

We curse a lot, those especially
from the east who came west
to steal native land.

They did not curse, the natives,
the first peoples living simply
with God on the ground, Nature
their supplier, one day at a time,
a task or two to do.

Nothing ever changes, but if you
try hard enough, you can leave
the human race.

It starts slow, by setting sail from
a homeland without first checking
motives with a decision-helper like
prayer, meditation or even the
advise of respected elders or
medicine men without the dangerous
medication.

Peace was there, but adventure lacked
and the disease of more, of wanting
to be famous and rich—

pervaded until in armor we showed
up to take a land by force.

Cursing we brought with us, disease.

Ingratitude for the land—nothing was
good enough until we could bring
gold out of it for money, it seemed.

***

None of these thoughts occurred to
us, who went to private schools,
played in private sports clubs,
sought junior championships in
sports, and cursed our way to
apparent blessings like college
(false god) and other ways to live
apart from God, nature, and the
healing ground.

***

We laid cement down, crushed
the glorious rocks to pebbles to
pave our walk.

We burned Earth, traveled fast
past most of our senses’ need
to express or feel, so that unaided
by alcohol or drugs we could enjoy
life on its terms—

just as it is.

We were clueless.

Holding trophies and prizes up
against our ancestors’ lies, the
lies told to native people, slaves
we kept to build our lives.

And we kept going, because to
go back now seemed like an
impossible work, unless…

Unless you found Alcoholics Anonymous
or some other program that okayed
and even encouraged a look back
to make amends for wrongs done.

We look back enough, see and admit the
faults, that glorious destination
called Peace of Mind awaits a quick
jaunt back to fix, apologize, maybe
even return to the homeland to
stop cursing, start blessing
ourselves and this one life given
to make a crooked childhood straight,

the path to Heaven’s gate.

The Power of Lo—Sex

13 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Earth, Higher Power, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sex

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Earth, Egg, Galaxy, God, Life, Love, Planets, Poems, Poetry, Power, Relationships, Science, Sex, Sexuality, Space, Sperm, Swirl, Truth, Universe

Jesus.

That’s the word certain nerds
use to calm down, back up, and
think, they do it with tone, sometimes

represented in writing with italics.

Thank God for spit, it keeps coming,
the male sex instinct is X, the women’s
is Y, why we’re off sometimes because
X is cross and Y is open and vice versa,

then one day the bomb explodes!

You cannot control Sex.

I imagine the eunuch tries, but
sperms game to swim swim a wild
ride!

God, or Life, or Nature—or whatever
power you observe as King—made the
thing go and go and go without relenting!

Sex is like the universe itself, kind of
unknown, stark one moment, pounding
the next, black holes explored the
crevasse of stink, the stank thing you
thought by holding back, comes back like
an avalanche a day later, or in the

middle of the night, holding tight, you

cannot stop the flood, the bursting
of the dyke.

***

Few!  Few are those who can manage
the power, the pulse, the growth,
the manufacturing of eggs and life
forever spinning like the planets
around far off suns, mirroring ours
in a game of loss and won.

Truth is as truth does, and so at
break of day—play!

Then we head with conviction, we
hope to a setting arc, words and
images, sounds and sweat abound

until it stops.

If we were true to our five senses
we get a sixth, peace of mind
finding us at the end of long, well-
lived, singing rhyme.

Doesn’t mean we can make our
bodies stop, they keep going and
going, the energizer god of sex
not a bunny per se, but then again

they boink a lot, or so they always
say.

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