• AA Pitch
  • ABOUT
  • Anti-Alcohol Ads
  • Beverly Hills Cop IV
  • Beyond the Grades
  • Bill’s Books
  • Church of MARY
  • CLEAN L.A.
  • Comedy
  • Contact/Booking
  • Election Reform — Los Angeles
  • Events
  • First Step Education
  • Guest Register
  • L.A. Budget Ideas
  • Love without Alcohol — Public Speaking
  • MLK the Movie
  • Music/YouTube
  • Oswald’s 6th
  • People’s Police Force — L.A.
  • Podcast — Bill’s Poetique
  • Poetry Arrived
  • Public Safety — L.A.
  • Return to Silverado
  • Submit

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Tag Archives: MLK

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.

My March with Humanity

14 Saturday Apr 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Civil Rights

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

CIA, JFK, Justice, MLK, Peace

March Collage3

-by Bill Watkins 4/13/2018

***

Learn to Labor and to Wait
—H.W. Longfellow

The last shall be chosen first.
—Jesus of Nazareth

Many are okay with the basic premise and founding of the current American government.  Even strong activists for change often come short of asking for full-scale revolution in order to create something pleasing to God between the oceans we call Atlantic and Pacific.

God’s will could be determined in the old spiritual maxim: It’s what happens. God’s will is “that which is,” is all things, includes all the bad things that happen, for without bad things there would be no good things.  The Tao Te Ching from China, “yin and yang” corroborate the obvious: the world and universe abound with opposites and contradictions, and as Ecclesiastes sings: “To every thing there is a season.”

This land we now call “America” against protests from north, central and south American nations was created by an unknown process some call God, others evolution.  People populated it after time, most say from Asian migration, and soon “nations” were developed by what we now call Native Americans, or American Indians.  They were care-takers of the land, lived off the land, protected and fought for life, with and against the elements, rival tribes—all the components you see in modern world politics without the concrete, asphalt and helicopters.

Animals prospered in a near-noiseless paradise.  There was no bible, no white man, just the native people, their Great Spirit and beliefs, customs, occasional wars for territory and honor—no guns, no widespread disease, short life-spans but in an eternally accepted cycle of eternal life and dance with the ancestors, a story not written in books but on the wind, on rocks, and passed down to generations through spoken narrative.

Then the white people came.  Brought their bible, armor, guns, forts, and a desire to either escape their old world across the sea, to make a mark on a new world, to bring riches back to their king or queen, even to become famous.  The white person’s love of land was limited and had seemingly reached its end, so a jaunt across a grand ocean to discover and inhabit new land was attractive.

The United States was and is an immigrant haven, a human hodge-podge begun in false starts and failures from Roanoke, Virginia to Jamestown—a colony saved by a Native American tribe’s hospitality and trade.  Native people knew how to live here, had the keys buried in love of land.  That was the real gold missed by white people:  Native American wisdom and love for land.  White people sought the yellow rock instead of ideas that would have allowed them to better appreciate a rock called England, rocks in Europe that marked the burials of their fathers.

The native chiefs struggled to understand why white people would leave their ancestors’ burial grounds to come across an ocean and steal theirs.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways.  One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs.  The earth is not his brother, but his enemy—and when he has conquered it, he moves on.  He leaves his father’ graves, and his children’s birthrights are forgotten.     —Chief Seattle

I think that wherever the Great Spirit places his people, they ought to be satisfied to remain, and thankful for what He has given them, and not drive others from the country He has given them because it happens to be better than theirs!   —Black Hawk

A man who would not love his father’s grave is worse than a wild animal.
—Chief Joseph

***

Disease of More

Oswald’s 6th and CIA Omerta
seem lesser concepts when compared
to native plight, the
White man coming, conquering
and killing in the night.

The mob our government has locked
inside, from Ivy League schools
or wherever nice but lonely
rich kids can be recruited to be
in a family of brotherhood and togetherness.

To gather around crime is tempting
and even easy.

We group together, then justify wrong
acts because our brothers are doing them too.

The mob speaks of omerta, taking
secrets to the grave, and the CIA
is of the same mold.

God bless us all to proud truth of
who and what we are;

No matter how sick, perverse or wrong—

There is always a way out and back
to love and goodness.

The gospels are there for us when
we ask, we receive.

Or the Tao Te Ching.

Or the native river, writings of thanks
written on the wind, the leaves
changing so why not us?

Give them their land back, and let’s go
back to ours.

***

Gold, Riches.  Indian Wisdom?

We sought many things.

The thing we should have taken back to England
was Indian Wisdom:

To love your land,
stay loyal to it, give to it,
and thank God for it every day.

“Have No gods Before Me,” God hollered
down to Moses and the people.

“Not even alcohol?” was proposed back
by a wide path called ignorance.

On “Ownership” of Land:

Some of our chiefs make the claim that the land
belongs to us. It is not what the Great Spirit told me.
He told me that the lands belong to Him, that no
people owns the land.
—Kanekuk

Why Should Indians be First, Not Last?

This is their country, not ours.

“Aspire for Less”

More and more, every day.

“Be As Children”

More and more, every day.

“Growing Down”

Become more as a child,
and prepare for heaven.

White People Must Leave.

Follow me.

***

Well, we didn’t leave, but have stayed.  Did we improve this land?  When I walk our littered streets and sidewalks, hear our helicopters roar in metal and burned earth, plug my ears against sirens, and watch wildlife hide and die, I say “Not Yet.”

Bad L.A.1

Not Yet

Was this merging good?

Not yet.

Was it a good thing, to cross the sea,
invade a land inhabited by nations
of darker peoples, and take their land?

Not yet.

What makes it good and right?

Welcome native people back to the table, look back on broken treaties, amend our relations, do right by them, God and nature, reduce pollution, reconsider our decisions, pray about our origins and the graves we left behind, repent, and…

Make available immediately spots on city councils, state legislatures and Congress for Native people to serve, spots not voted on by the greater population but by the pre-white people themselves.

***

Humanity.  We find it within ourselves to respect our place in this world, honor our parents, walk a fine path without stepping on our fellows’ toes.

Humanity.  Something Martin Luther King marched to secure, something that recently brought folks together in Atlanta, Georgia as we remembered the preacher’s legacy fifty years after his tragic murder.  Martin would have said, as he did when JFK was killed, that it was not as important “who” killed him than “what” killed him.

Racism.  Evil.  War and those who had sold their souls to wage it.  Greed, and those who felt they needed war to feed their families.  Deception and “covert action,” dishonesty and ruses perpetrated and manifest in back rooms, lonely cults and clubs of collusion called “Central Intelligence” and “National Security.”

The pious fraud that ends justify means, that “Martin must die to assure our war on communism wins.”  The racism that pervaded FBI and J. Edgar Hoover’s cold heart.

Can you march all that away?

Slaves brought against their will, packed worse than sardines against themselves, reduced to lower animals, whipped like miscreant cattle, their souls neglected by soulless, sad white people, who had lost humanity the moment they believed the lie that a darker person was not as human as a lighter-skinned one.

National poverty racial breakdown: (federalsafetynet.com)

Poverty Stats

A lie that still walks over trash-littered communities, homeless people and hard times—inner cities full of people, a high percentage black and descendant from the sin of slavery.  And our community, city, state and national leaders keep wearing their suits, driving nice cars, making six figure salaries, perpetuating a second great American evil after the native expulsion.

40 Acres and a Mule

***

They keep moving the goalposts
when the promise is inconvenient.

General Sherman in 1865 promised
a lie, just as U.S. presidents and generals
would go back on every treaty with
Native Americans from the beginning.

Just like Samuel asking for a king,
kicking God out of the post—

We all lose!!!!!

And so I’m waiting for my mule.  My
forty acres of land to work, its cash
equivalent.

Perhaps I’d like to be able to apply
for a grant to study my background;
how I got to America.

My guess is through my forefathers
whipped in chains, forced here against
their will—

I’d like to know that story better, visit
West Africa, grieve a few things.

Perhaps after the government of the
United States pays off its twenty trillion
dollars in debt, its land debt to natives—

Perhaps it can pay some of us African
Americans for our suffering from the
sin of Slavery.

***

We promised 40 Acres and a Mule after the Civil War.  Black people made physically free, but when promises were forgotten, Jim Crow rising, there was a funny race being run around a large oval of life here, one in which white people had a 200 yard head start in a 400 yard dash.  Could a black person in America make up that stagger without help?  Do white people owe black people for the sin of slavery?  Have we paid enough?

No.

***

I took a Greyhound bus from Los Angeles to Atlanta last week, a fifty-five hour trip into the dark and light of this country’s southern section, along Interstate 10, for the lofty purpose of joining the Martin Luther King family in mourning their father fifty years after his death, and Marching for Humanity.

March for Humanity

I was a Phi Beta Kappa high honors drunk from UC Santa Barbara, always a fan of learning, not always so bright in life but a great manipulator of a faulty education system that does not seek to know and help its students on an individualized basis.  I was graduated from two high-rated educational institutions a full-blown alcoholic, the educators without a clue as to who I was, or worse yet: they knew and did nothing to help me.

It was not until I went to a recovery center in Palm Springs, California to support a loved one who had checked herself in for treatment, that a black man named Lee Harris, PhD, squared me up, talked with me, and spurred on truth from me that led to my spiritual awakening.  That was on February 7th, 1995.

February 7th, 1995

The scales lifted, the eyes clear.

Honesty, finally the truth at
twenty-two given with a tear.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend”
coaxed when the moment was right,
I let down my guards to finally
see the light.

You can’t be helped ‘til you ask
for it.  You can’t ask ‘til safe,
I looked left and right before I
truth supplied and saw that it was all
right—I came out!!!

I was unhappy, even though I had
friends after friends coming to my
bar-b-que party.

I was empty even though the trophies
and plaques on walls increased
and filled—attempted to fill, this would
have to be enough!

Spiritual Awakening—LORD, have me!
Done hiding it was safe to bloom,
and now, no more garden parties,

I separate the happy with the gloom
and see the world in poems—

I did not ask for permission and leave
another world behind: self-doubt, beer,
hollering around death, we put up
our hands at fear.

Trapped no more at Betty Ford
the 7th of February a.d. ‘95
ready to turn the boat around…

Trapped no more you want more
and more so ditch tomorrow for today.

They criticize you and analyze you
as you smile and accept today

***

Greyhound reflects our country as it stands: the pollution, the lack of care, running on fumes, burning fuel and making noise on roads that cut across fine land, wildlife and us trying to breathe and hold onto life despite the temptations and actions to take, buy, use, sell at will.  Thank God for thoughts toward preservation, Teddy Roosevelt, John Muir, white people with a will to think of tomorrow and saving beauty against Trump-like corruption and greed.

The drivers and Greyhound staff were fifty percent angry, eighty percent surly, the passengers (especially in the back) prone to cursing and filling lungs with cigarette smoke at every little break in travel.  Littered butts in cracks unsure and unaware why they were so anxious and addicted to smoke.  The native American student in me, the spirit in me manifest in my adopted native name “Naked Horse” knew that this was the wide path to destruction spoken of by that rebellious rabbi Jesus Christ.  Many are on it.

All I could do at some point in my trip was to find a makeshift ash tray, promote and help these people to rethink cursing and smoking—certainly littering our mother.

Honor Your Mother

***

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.

***

If I had to grade Greyhound they’d get a “D,” so I guess they passed, despite yelling at passengers, forgetting that customers are first, and that dirty and broken is no way to present a service to any people, let alone this striving young mix trying to find itself still called “American,” anything but united.

***

Ahh, the many sins and shadows of this America!

Killing Kennedy, Martin, another Kennedy, Lennon—great voices for peace, anti-war all, the CIA lurking, supporting the murderers of Oscar Romero in El Salvador as well, locking up “classified” documents to preserve violent and/or embarrassing secrets in the supposed interest of “national security.”  Nearly fifty-five years since they took over our government, the Langley spooks still finding it hard to disclose, admit and tell the truth about our pious, national security securing murders.

I marched against this.  I mourned with the King family on April 9th, from the King Center in Atlanta to the front of the Georgia state capitol building, Martin enshrined in statue there, a confederate general named Gordon in back.

Georgia State Capitol Collage

I arrived in Atlanta after my fifty-five hour Greyhound sentence a better man made better by good conversations and challenges, one by an Atlanta native named Jarvis, who seemed to dabble in civil rights, philosophy, history, politics and comedy when not working hard in the produce trade.

He warned me that besides the King activities in Atlanta that weekend, there was a Neo-Nazi rally outside of town.  Lo and behold, in my second full hour of being in Atlanta, walking down Peachtree Street, I spotted and heard three masked skinheads revving loud dirt motorcycles through downtown, looking around menacingly and angry.

A young black teen, who I later learned was an actor on a Showtime series about Chicago, was taping the confused racists with his cellphone.  I promptly approached him, and put my arm around him in solidarity.  We talked about Martin Luther King’s approach of loving our lost, sick white brothers—an approach born from Christian and Gandhian study and application.  I waved as the loud, hating white bigots motored by, I hope not with sarcasm but with invitation to openness and love, and they were gone.

A glimmer of hate returned before we Marched on that Monday, as a dreadlocked black man called all who spoke at Ebenezer Baptist church that morning to re-enact and commemorate the MLK funeral procession of April 9, 1968… “crackers.”  He called every speaker “corny,” looked me off when I looked at him, called me a “cracker” too, as I stood watching a live-stream of the Ebenezer events, holding flowers for Dr. Bernice King (Martin’s youngest), and an American flag bearing Martin’s face with a quote I had purchased online months ago in preparation for the march.

MLK flag

Was he there for himself?  Was he paid to hate?  Did he just feel jealous?

Whatever the motive, I believe a show of hate at a memorial or funeral is empirically off-base, insensitive, inhumane, and frankly: insane.  God bless that man wherever he is, and God bless the skinhead revvers, who do not want to be unhappy, but have bound together with a gang of hate to feel loved, protected and a part of a community—albeit a bigoted, violent one.

I myself almost jumped in with a gang in Pasadena, California once, tempted by an end to loneliness.  By an illusion of family and friendship…

****

So there I was, after the bus test, a tough journey but without bricks thrown or fires set, murders committed—as happened during the Freedom Rides of the 1960’s, Freedom Summer in Mississippi, a time of war to seek the fulfillment of Jefferson’s ironic promise of equality for all American citizens.  Native people were not included in “All men are created equal.”  Women not in the statement, children, nor of course Black people. Jefferson, in his Declaration of Independence, would have been more honest to write: All white men are created equal, but that he did not perhaps was a clever road map that future activists could follow.

Native people still live, breathe and fight.  African Americans still march, as evidenced last Monday, for Humanity, justice and equality—caring white people like me locking arms in the struggle not just for one people, but one to recognize all God’s children as worthy—a universal good that makes my own peace of mind rise, every Christian needing others to thrive for him or her to make a path to heaven.

Success is a peace of mind, knowing you did the best you could to be the best you were capable of becoming.   —John Wooden

Could the word “success” in John Wooden’s quote be replaced with the word “heaven?” Where is this all going?  Another march?  The beginning of a program to distribute needed blankets to Atlanta’s homeless?  The end of private campaign spending, which corrupts this land?  The beginning of a new welcome mat to native Americans into our political process?  Guaranteed seats for natives at our decision-making tables?  Restitution for the sins of slavery?  For murdering our own president in 1963 and covering up the evidence, failing to admit our sins?  For continuing to support a CIA, who’s secondary mission of secret-keeping and covert action is undemocratic and unaccountable to the People?  Their Twitter bio blurb talking about “going where others cannot go, accomplishing what other cannot accomplish?”  I’m American.  Are the CIA?  Can I not have the same rights as they?  “A right to murder?”  No thanks.  “A right to keep secrets?”  No thanks.

God bless us to a truthful America.  To one that looks back when necessary and makes amends for past sins.  To one that pays all its debts, financial and moral.  As an alcoholic with sixteen years of sobriety I know the value of glancing back to amend, the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous actually written in the past tense:

12 Steps of A.A.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood God.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God’s will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

***

Is America alcoholic?  Is it a place with people on it, prone to doing good an evil like any other place, perhaps a wide path going bad, a narrow path heading in a focused way toward peace of mind?

All we can do sometimes is just to march.  And pray.  Put in good work and hope for the best.  Saint Paul’s work and faith; Longfellow’s laboring and waiting.  Lao Tzu telling us we “cannot change the world,” while Wyatt Earp reminds us it’s okay to try, that rebellious rabbi saying “stay the course” in that staggered race, because if in the back for whatever reason:

You are spiritually winning, heading toward God and heaven, the path of the rich a much harder one unless you know where to find a very small camel and/or a very large needle!

March collage1

March collage2

America

02 Saturday Sep 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Frost, Gandhi, Longfellow, Love, MLK, Peace, Robert Frost, Shakespeare, Truth

Is nothing without the meaning we give,
the soul of place—words we sing, Amerigo
Vespucci coining something, a coast with waves
and life, indigenous and white.

America is nothing, words without meaning
until we pray and bring in Gods to bless, the
day to day rising like a tide, word to word we
try to match feelings inside.

You look at the world, our word for it, try to
get past Borgesian fictions to accept that words
are what we have to conjure and communicate.
We settle, call things “things”—dream.

America is nothing without the dream we bring,
we fill an empty vessel, the uncarved block
of the Tao Te Ching.  A rose by any other name would
smell as sweet, Shakespeare meat,

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
wants it down in Frostian weeds.  Dust thou
art except the soul, and the demons you fight
in others, immigrants, outsiders

are really inside of the fighter.  Our current
“president” watches a lot of TV, some say this
candidate of hate accentuates the divide the
devil tries.

Good news: you don’t have to do anything.
Stand tall or low, firm or soft—do nothing.
Gandhi wanted to change their minds, not kill
them for universal weaknesses shared by all.

Trump talks taxes during a lethal storm, an evil
brought by the wind of bigotry, hating black
people and women—their turn to lead.  Right and
left, all spending too much,

money we do not have, playing God with promises
impossible to keep, getting elected with
private campaign money the eye of the storm
putting money, not ideas… in government.

We kick the natives and their god out,
run our slaves then pay them not, kill JFK
and accept the official story, for to delve in
too deep gets you killed, CIA diabolical feats.

Mark Lane defended Oswald perfectly from
afar, indicted CIA skillfully for anyone with time
to read. They call our president “powerful,”
a laugh, God’s got a bigger stack of chips—

just think about that.  Asymmetry of information
leans on Trump campaign dudes until we might
segue back to 1972, Nixon in flames, Congress
to blame, or is it Samuel for asking for a king?

Lying every other line is consistent with guilt,
the cover up worse than the crime, corrupt
politicians fattening all the time, and what could
we expect with such a wide path to Evil?

Jesus and the elders were right, but we keep
looking around for an easier fight, until a few accept
the narrow road to heaven, seeing we can’t do
much so wait, ask for a blessing, aspire to patience.

We sometimes embark on geographic solutions,
head off where the grass is greener, the whole
discovery period in Europe one of these but worth it
to advance and bring the world closer to itself.

One click away from the other side of the planet seems
a large feat while a photon of light travels seven times
around it, there must be larger powers, atheists,
there must be!!

The wide narrows when we call out pharmaceutical
ads in their evil, C2H5OH the flammable thing sold
as “drink” by devil’s agents, sport itself a great
gateway to alcoholism and divorce.

While writing this screed, the poem looked back
got hit in the front, wearing headphones, looking
down at a cell while walking—which is worse,
that or driving?

Gan the word for eyesight placed first by Okinawan
karate warriors… Beware!!  Could a man rightly
think he could at least have a Cast Away moment
with his first crush, say good-bye?

God bless us to less whining, more striving—less
expecting on the grateful mission of knowing we
don’t know very much, “America” just a word of
many, a polytheistic remedy to time’s forgotten

mystery, Heaven is peace of mind and “other
such dreams,” life…

“it’s like anything else,” Wood Allen feeds, movies
are what they seem, the daytime soap opera
dream washing out our fatigue, giving us space
to think.

America, lol, let’s look at devils within, be
unafraid looking back, making amends, smoothing
out our belligerence.  Education of the MLK and
Gandhi level takes a special focus,

God bless us to it, the fight for justice.  Never bow
to evil, gird us up, God—let’s beat the devil, cast
him behind;  finally cast away, we can be the knight
in our own epic, be heroes in the strife—

Use words because they’re there, their meaning
growing with every blessing.  God bless these words,
even “America,” and all the other nations needing
you, not men as king.

Plastic Bags

26 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by Bill Watkins in Political

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

JFK, John Lennon, MLK, RFK

You look at the easy way.

It’s easier. The easy route, please
some people, score some money
do what the last guy did and win
that political seat.

We forget to pause in the workaholic
anti-Tao of perfectionistic
American society, so that we
may be divinely perfect.

Absence of action is needed when
they call for “Death to Plastic
Bags.” The bags, they must
have grown legs and jumped into
the ocean, let’s quick fix it—pass
a law, it will keep me in office,
get me elected next time—

The voice of “green” is hot right now,
go with the first flow you
see on TV, they’re ticked because
plastic bags wrapped around
a pelican’s beak, it’s plastic
blood they seek!

We can act – or we can step back,
and think.

Maybe it isn’t the plastic bags at fault, but
the people young and old
who litter them.

Maybe law and civics should
take precedence and importance
over reading and math at schools,
break to principal’s orders and clean
up the school when litter is found
on the ground—

Teach kids something of value.

Perhaps the U.S. Constitution
should not be on the pedestal it
is on, let’s reinvent—especially
where it age discriminates, asserting
a man’s worth by how many times
the earth has rotated around the sun
while he’s been alive—Age discrimination!

No matter that he’s incompetent, he’s of age.
No matter he’s drunk swerving to the
polls, he’s of age, so let him go, better
than the twelve-year old who knows
everything about the candidates and wants
to help?

Better than the eight year old that wants
to be a part of things, has learned
to read, has a favorite candidate, cares
about his country.

Then there are the ladies, busting loose,
songs can sing it racial freedom growing
faster than the age barrier already mentioned—
police shootings?

That’s about violence not race, don’t
tell me it’s okay to shoot white people
in the torso, no thanks.

Go to non-lethal. Works for European
police, why not ours?

The 2nd Amendment needs serious review,
scratch that repeal. Justification
for every violent sin, a horrible “Right”
written by 18th century racist, violent men
doing the best that they can, but please:

Let’s knock ‘em off that pedestal, for once
and for all.

Kennedy killed by rogue CIA’s, Truman’s
perverted outfit still preaching and
perpetrating Covert and Secret ops like it
was written into that backward constitution,
and so becoming the fourth branch of
government behind our backs,
Cold War serving their payrolls, making them rich—
the blood of the world bowing to their
Capitalist expansion.

Lethal weapons are the Devil; stand by
him and do your evil, God Will Win;

And our country will too, it belongs
to God, the Indians.

I’m not saying we go back, we fought
them and won some fights, the British,
the Spanish, the Mexican War still
being fought—mostly in Los Angeles.

A border wall could go up and should
as long as landscaping, flowers and trees
make it all pretty.

When you accumulate territory, fence it off,
the mansions of Beverly Hills have walls,
why not our country?

Would make Mexico stronger too, they’d
have to look to themselves more, and
Mexican people running from violence,
abuse, drug wars and hell, will have
to hunker down and elect a woman or
child to lead them out of Porfirio Diaz’
European adventure gone bad—the scoundrel
acts politicians repeat over and
over again, we’ll see it as long
as we allow money to buy leadership
seats.

My dad is ninety, he and I opposites in
every political way but one: politicians rape
the process, and lack the balls to win
with ideas, scrap it out, trust in ideas,
scrap it out, let media take hold the
ones that care and really work—scrap it out…

Or we can just teach kids it’s okay to litter,
just not plastic bags. And by the way, you
are the future, young people, BUT NOT
ALLOWED TO VOTE OR PARTICIPATE in
our country. Until you are jaded like us, run
for the senate when you’re balls and boobs start
sagging, now you’re ready to really give of the
anger from your failed lives.

Plastic Bags? Shoot Kennedy in the head
and lock up the documents that point
to LBJ, Allen Dulles, Nixon, Bush, and every
coward to ever take the oath of office
on JFK’s blood.

Next to his, the blood of Oswald, the
fallen Patriots John Lennon, Martin
Luther King Jr., Robert F. Kennedy,
all the courageous JFK witnesses snuffed
out by rogue Cold War coverts bent
on putting the fight against Communism
ahead of human life.

God bless us, I forgive us, can you?

My uncle served to the highest navy
level, left his mark, achieved greatness
and could make a nephew feel like
a champ, I salute the Navy
and Army—all the Defenses, not forces,
serving not killing, the effort to
scramble and hustle until you promote
your way up—Yes Sir!

God rid us of the Diabolical side, help
us study the path of non-lethal politics
and policing; forgive us our stepping
in front!

(one thing the forefathers did better
than we; supplication to Higher Power,
they brought not religion into politics,
but God.)

G.ood O.rderly D.irection, Something
under which to be humble, Geocracy
makes more sense that Democracy,
allow me to define:

Where God, Earth and People rule, not
just “people,” an impossibility during
an earthquake or hurricane, we are not
alone!!!!!

Nascar knows it, keeps Sunday as Sabbath,
we’d all be wise to keep a day of the week
to pray.

Knock off those parking meters for that day
and watch Karma rise, the City of L.A.
become more than a bastion
of civil war and illegal aliens, but one day
of Angels.

The wall to our South might help with
that. Plastic bags are a great product,
reinstate them.

And teach our kids, in public schools,
private schools, all schools:

Not to litter.

Get a non-lethal force to help our sick,
violent killing team; relieve them, keep
a handful of SWAT like London does in case
the wheels come off, but stop
patrolling US like WE are the ENEMY.

You are, getting your first holster at
the police academy. Being yelled at
by a drill sergeant, learning to detach,
not to care, and to toughen up;

No thanks, we need caring, not killing;
Love, not the Easy path that is Hitting Back,
getting mad, and delivering mad’s
punch, as if the world needs another death,

Osama Bin Laden not a god—just another
man killed by stupidity and expensive political
seats.

Plastic bags and beer ads—
you ban a bag before those ads?

Cigarettes are no good for TV and radio after
1970 but alcohol is? A flammable,
volatile, toxic substance for “drinking?”

Jesus. I love you, America, this has been
a test, this is only
a test, then a dream, then I’ll
wear the right shirt at the market that
says, “I don’t give a shit about plastic bags.”

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • March 2022
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • July 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014

Categories

  • 1984
  • Acceptance
  • Addiction
  • African
  • African American
  • Aging
  • Alcohol
  • Alcoholics Anonymous
  • Alcoholism
  • Alegre
  • Allegory
  • Amends
  • America
  • American Poem
  • Amor
  • Amtrak
  • Anatomy
  • Andrew Young
  • Anecdote
  • Anti-Political
  • Apolitical
  • Arthur Davison Ficke
  • Article
  • Articles
  • Austin Clarke
  • Awareness
  • Basketball
  • Beautiful
  • beauty
  • Beer
  • Belief
  • Bible
  • Biblical
  • Big Bang
  • Bilingual
  • Birthday
  • Blog
  • Blogs
  • Blues
  • Books
  • Boys
  • Britain
  • Brothers
  • Bullies
  • California
  • California History
  • Cars
  • Catholic Church
  • Childhood
  • Children
  • Christian
  • Christian Science
  • Christmas
  • Church
  • CIA
  • Circumcision
  • Citizenship
  • Civil Rights
  • Classic Poems
  • Classified
  • College
  • College Sports
  • Colonialism
  • Comedy
  • Comical
  • Community
  • Conquest
  • Constitution
  • Corruption
  • Cosmic
  • Covid
  • Creation
  • Crime
  • Criminal Law
  • Cute
  • Cycle of Life
  • Dating
  • Decisions
  • dedication
  • Depression
  • Divorce
  • Doctors
  • Dogs
  • Drugs
  • Earth
  • Easter
  • Education
  • England
  • Enlightenment
  • Entertainment
  • Environment
  • Epic
  • Erotic
  • Escape
  • España
  • Español
  • Espiritual
  • Eternity
  • Europe
  • Explicit
  • Faith
  • Family
  • Fantasy
  • Fútbol
  • Feminism
  • Football
  • Forgiveness
  • Frost
  • Galaxy
  • Geocracy
  • God
  • Gospel
  • Government
  • Graphic
  • Gratitude
  • Great Spirit
  • Growing Up
  • Gun Control
  • Guns
  • Hard Times
  • Healing
  • Health
  • Heaven
  • Helicopters
  • High School
  • Higher Power
  • Hillary
  • Historical
  • History
  • Holiday
  • Home
  • Homeless
  • Homosexuality
  • Honest
  • Honor
  • Humor
  • Humorous
  • Immigration
  • Imperialism
  • Indigenous
  • Innocence
  • Innocence Lost
  • Inspiration
  • Inspirational
  • Intactivism
  • Interview
  • Ireland
  • Irish
  • Irish Poets
  • James Oppenheim
  • Jesus
  • Jesus said
  • JFK
  • John Gould Fletcher
  • Journalism
  • Journey
  • Joy
  • Junior High
  • Katherine Mansfield
  • Kennedy
  • Kids
  • La Fe
  • La medicina occidental
  • Ladies
  • Land Theft
  • Lao Tzu
  • LAPD
  • Law
  • Life
  • Literature
  • Living with an Alcoholic
  • Livingston
  • Los Angeles
  • Loss
  • Love
  • Marriage
  • Masks
  • Mater Dolorosa
  • México
  • Men's Health
  • Mental Exercise
  • Mental Health
  • Mexico
  • Middle Age
  • Middle School
  • Military
  • Misogyny
  • Mob
  • Mom
  • Montana
  • Morality
  • Mother
  • Murder
  • Music
  • My Dad
  • Mystical
  • Nahuatl
  • Nationalism
  • Native
  • Native America
  • Native American
  • Nature
  • NCAA
  • New Year
  • New Zealand
  • News
  • Noise Pollution
  • Nostalgia
  • Ogden Nash Poems
  • Oldies
  • Olympic
  • Olympics
  • Opinion
  • Originality
  • Overcoming
  • Pain
  • Panic
  • Paradise
  • Parenting
  • Parody
  • Pasadena
  • Pánico
  • Peace
  • Peer Pressure
  • Personal
  • Philosophy
  • Plog
  • Poem
  • Poema
  • Poemas
  • Poems
  • Poesia
  • Poetic Blog
  • Poetry
  • Police
  • Political
  • Political Satire
  • Politics
  • Polytechnic School
  • Positive Thinking
  • Positivism
  • Prayer
  • Prescribed Medication
  • Public Transportation
  • Race
  • Racism
  • Rare Poems
  • Recovery
  • Redemption
  • Relationships
  • Religion
  • Religious
  • Resentment
  • Review
  • Rights
  • Robert Frost
  • Romance
  • Russia
  • Salud
  • San Miguel de Allende
  • Satire
  • Science
  • Scoop
  • Scottish
  • Sex
  • Sexism
  • Sexual
  • Sexuality
  • Sexy
  • Shakespeare
  • Shootings
  • SK Rolle
  • Slavery
  • Sobriety
  • Socal
  • Soccer
  • Soul
  • Space
  • Space Travel
  • Spain
  • Spanish
  • Spies
  • Spirit
  • Spiritual
  • Spiritual Awakening
  • Spirituality
  • Sports
  • Sports Addiction
  • Sportsmanship
  • Spring
  • Stage Review
  • Strength
  • Success
  • Suicide
  • Surfing
  • Talgarth
  • Tao
  • Tao Te Ching
  • Ted Hughes Poems
  • Teen
  • Terror
  • Terrorism
  • Thanksgiving Lie
  • Theater
  • Theatre
  • Thomas Lodge
  • Thomas MacGreevy
  • Tongva Nation
  • Tragedy
  • Travel
  • Tribute
  • Trump
  • Truth
  • UCSB
  • Ukraine
  • United Nations
  • United states
  • Universe
  • USA
  • Valentine's Day
  • Volleyball
  • Voting
  • Wales
  • Waves
  • Weird
  • Welsh
  • Western Medicine
  • Westridge School
  • Winter
  • Winter Olympics
  • Womanizing
  • Women
  • Women's Health
  • Words
  • World Peace
  • Xenophobia
  • Youth

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet
    • Join 453 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...