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Tag Archives: Poem

Orange Court

11 Saturday Jan 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sports, Volleyball

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AVP, Beach Volleyball, Joy, Love, Manhattan Beach, Memories, Mike Dodd, Orange Court, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Sports, Sports Poem, Tim Hovland, TVC, Volleyball

Orange Court Image1

I hope it’s Wednesday, ‘cause
then we could see the pro’s play.
Hov and Dodd coming down,
I’ve called some friends from Costa,
Torrance Volleyball Club yielding
fun in the sun, for me a trip across
downtown worth the traffic, this
is Orange Court.

The Beach is Manhattan, the view
always pretty, the picture… snap it
like the wrist on top of the ball,
another off the lip, the wave breaks,
sometimes clear enough we can
see a fish, swimming with the tide,
Rusty boards,

I’ve got a five ten in mind, dude like
a stick figure conjuring Reggae music
on Brett’s boombox, gathered under
Bobby’s umbrella and chair, waiting
for the pro’s to play, finding a court
for our game, maybe Dodd will set
some hitting lines—

This is Orange Court.

The eighties were fun, full of color
on the beach.  Fluorescent memories
to match the vibe heading for college
dreaming of aces and gold medals—
championships, maybe from right
there off Marine Avenue, make a line
down from 23rd—

This is Orange Court.  Hov’s court;
you want “on” it, pay the price, get
through the traffic, play like the fish
with the tide, snap one off the top
of the block, pick your Frohoff one
surfing the other carving cut shots,
waking up as the Pasadena over-
achiever challenges all-comers
to play their A game.

That’s all I ever had to show for
it, rated “A” in SoCal because I got
to the Finals of an A-rated Marine
Avenue event, Cooker from Costa
on the call, chased down an impossible
ball, picked it up, like Andy McGuire
at home against BYU,

“Billy Watkins from Pasadena” yells
the man, Tomy from Spain, we took
it very seriously our game, never forget
the 6-4 side switch with a grunt they
could hear on Highland, the grunt that
says we’re winning this match.  I took
my A on Marine,

On Orange Court.

No Mistakes Too Great

30 Monday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Amends, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Recovery

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alcoholism, Amends, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Recovery, Sobriety

Awareness is all; Truth paramount,
Words trying so hard, give them
a chance!

Where were you at the middle school
dance?  Were you trying to be cool?
The truth is…

We were all made perfectly, like a
Christian Scientist would say, things
are just right.

“Nothing useless is or low, each thing
in its place is best,” why anyone wrote
poems after

Longfellow is a mystery, to improve on
genius one needs to study history, admit
each feeling.

No matter how bad things got or whatever
mistake or crime one commits, there is
always a way…

A way back, forward, out in overcoming
the problem, give the body and mind
a chance.

I was blinded at the dance, the devil in
my life since I drank with Dad, his last
sip of bourbon,

then I had a first crush and never told her,
the devil happy because I was a liar.  Third
grade!

So when other crushes came down the pipe
in middle school, I was a master liar, looking
for what?

How do you improve on the first girl the
LORD gives you to love?

Haha!  You cannot!

You live a life of lies, until you admit the
truth in a 12-step meeting or somewhere
else safe.

Truth wounds all heals, sews them up,
heals all wounds, over time all mistakes
and sins!

It’s never too late to change, to make
amends, to live the true life where Truth
itself…

becomes your best friend.

She Won’t Be Home For Christmas

21 Saturday Dec 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Don Kingfisher Campbell, Joy, Love, Native, Native American, Peace, Pocahontas, Poem, Poetry, Watkins

Native15

-by Don Kingfisher Campbell
and Bill Watkins

As Matoax sailed away in the
Spring of 1616, she spent the day
packing her things and wondered
if she’d ever return to Wingandacoa,
a place the English called Virginia.
She’s on her way to another life,
but how can she ever forget her land,
her people, her father?
She cannot, still she goes on ahead…
She traveled to England, a world away
from home.  She makes a new life
as a new wife, but wonders if there can
ever be more than one…
She arrives to find a new world—
That’s what they say, but is it?
She knows her life has changed for good–
That’s what they say, but has it?
She can never return from this place,
The rivers and streams of her
home are her blood.
She walks down the streets searching,
London calling a clash of cultures
She sees someone who can help…
Is it the Great Spirit?  The great
Mother of her own land calling
her back?  She has found a way,
a path… A new way?  One Christmas
in England is enough;
She has received a gift for living.
Will she get one for dying?
She believes her destiny is history;
At Gravesend she was promised
Christmas at home.
She remembered all that she
experienced, before she died in the
Spring of 1617.  She became a legend
in song—
She won’t be home for Christmas.

Where God and Earth Meet

20 Friday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in God, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Spiritual, Spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bible, Creation, Evolution, God, Joy, Love, Mother Nature, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Spiritual, Spirituality

Mother Earth2

The bible was law, among
other things, code with rules
and goals set for students
and readers to follow for
spiritual fulfillment, and as
a guide to reach heaven.

Civilization needs law, people
packed in together, concrete
and asphalt beginning to take
us away from the Earth, nature
itself being our first and only
needed book to guide us…

The smile is within, the bloom
on the field, many plants in
limbo needing more sun or
more rain, the cycle of life all
around us—including paper
and ink, laws and rules fine…

God, good orderly direction,
higher powers, the Supreme
Mover of all things; it’s a
relationship we may have
with a simple ask, or a prayer.
Use a book or the tree to

help you overcome your fear.
What unifies is a proper guide,
what separates in negative vibe
from a lower power, as my AA
sponsor would say, powerful too—
Pick one, it’s up to you!

Thanks, Grandpa

13 Friday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Cycle of Life, Eternity, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Soul

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Aging, Cycle of Life, Eternal Life, Inspirational, Inspire, Joy, Life, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Spirituality

Life Cycle1

What are the last words you
want to hear?

Thanks, Grandpa.

What is better than a doctor’s
room, full of drugs?

Thanks, Grandpa.

Letting go does not have to be
a horror or bad—

Thanks, Grandpa!

Or if you are just a dad, that’s
okay, too!

We live our lives honestly, and
our rewards, too, will be true.

Jump on board the cycle, the
pure life is ours one day at a
time; flush out fear with a higher
power, pray often, turn it over,

Love completely and without
guards, deny the fear that locks
us into someone else’s version
of life and be you.

The true life still goes to heaven,
work and wait for it, love it,
and never fear the body’s
expiration date not troubling in
any single way to the soaring soul.

Living free of fear is the goal

Vex Not

13 Friday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Inspiration, Inspirational, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Belief, Coaching, Coping, Cycle of Life, Faith, Heaven, Innocence, Inspiration, Inspirational, Inspire, Jesus, Longfellow, Overcoming, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Positive, The Cycle, Upbeat, Youth

Freedom1

We smile heading up the hill—

Vex not!

Life is but a game of thrills—

Vex not!

Every ill and fear is false evidence
appearing real, go to the mountain
top and tell God how you feel—

Vex not!

For the grave, as Longfellow did say
is not life’s goal, ashes to ashes and
dust to dust cannot cloud nor dirty
the soul—

Vex not!

Climb up or down do work every
single day.

Work is force multiplied by distance,
don’t worry!

Physics and science meet with the
spirit too,

in a place both artists and scientists
equally call truth.

Call on major forces to align and
believe, honestly

it’s the youth we want in you, not
the jaded adult

so off we go another day today,
doing everything we can

to be as children to enter heaven,
quoting gospels,

Then native American chiefs are next,
wisdom flows like waterfalls, good
luck trying to catch one, like sand
through hands, each rock a boulder
of cells in the universe under a
microscope,

Searching we seek,
Finding we found,
Asking the key step
after admitting we
can never do it all
alone…

Vex not!

It’s not as late as you think…

Vex not!

Time is such a relative thing…

Peace is at the end if we live and
love now like a child.

Be about it, and I’ll be rooting
you on from the clouds…

Vex not!!!!!

Not on my watch.

Vex not!

How about a game of hopscotch?

Vex not, love today then strong
and sure, read Longfellow, with
a firm and ample base—now,
And ascending and secure, Henry
and Henrietta—

Shall tomorrow find its place;

Vex not, or do, it’s whatever makes
that smile in you, do nothing.
Do everything.  We have to give it
all away sometime, so why not
grow a tree!

Vex if you want to, go with the
flow of all you dream to, there’s
the cycle, once on we live forever,
a comfort to the vexing type,
Give up all to get everything
tonight.

Love Your Enemy

05 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Gospel, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Gospel, Jesus, Joy, Love, Mexico, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende, Word

Cross1

There’s talk of gang activity
in San Miguel de Allende
tempting many to fear, worry
or be angry.

Love your enemy.

They set up, they say, as if
evil is organized and linear—
threatening and killing shop
owners here.

Love your enemy.

People are people, somos
igual; gang members, white,
black, red, brown, purple,
policemen…

Love your enemy.

There’s an answer to all
strife, all hands seeking pay
or games with bedeviling drugs,
violence all—

Love your enemy.

Espanglish

01 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in America, Bilingual, Love, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, USA

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amor, Bilingual, Borderless, Hermanos, Joy, Juntos, La Tierra, Love, Mentes Abiertas, Open Mind, Open Minds, Paz, Peace, Poem, Poema, Poemas, Poems, Poesia, Poetry, Sin Fronteras, Unidad, Unity, Verdad

Mexico+USA Flags1

by Óscar Rodríguez
y Bill Watkins
*****************

Esperaba el día en que mis
pupilas te sirvieran de espejo
A mirror to remind us all,
from Trump to the Taj Mahal
Que sirviera de brida a tus
recuerdos para cabalgar hasta
ese viaje que fue el origen de
nuestro inesperado encuentro—
Estoy un poco perdido—
Brida es el freno que se pone
en la boca a los caballos
Okay, I understand now, you
want to go back to our own
personal pasado.  To the time
I jumped on a Guadalajara bus
with you; I watched your students’
play and we met as brothers
Esa noche hablamos largamente,
de nuestras naciones y sus lazos,
sin lugar para los desencuentros,
tú ojos azules y yo ojos castaños,
tú cabello rubio y yo cabello negro,
pero nuestros pechos latiendo en
hermandad naciente dos corazones
igualmente rojos
I Googled that, it’s beautiful:
“That night we talked at length,
about our nations and their ties,
with no place for disagreements,
you blue eyes and I brown eyes,
your blond hair and I black hair,
but our breasts beating in
brotherhood rising two equally
red hearts”

That’s poetry, it’s truth.  It’s
beautiful truth, the brotherhood
of all human beings despite outside
differences from looks to language.
What are national borders next to
love, open minds and Spirit?

Yo, mexicano, con olor a tierra
mojada y papel picado de colores
haciendo mariposas sobre mis ideas,
bebiendo el misticismo de una
mezcla de culturas y orgulloso
de mis raíces mestizas.

Yo, sin casa, hijo de Europa,
ladrón de tierra indígena.
I’m sorry, in English—I’m a land
thief without a home, Celtic and
Viking mixed with Roman, tweaked
on violence, conquest and murder.
(My passport says I’m “American”)

Pero esa noche los dos fuimos
ante todo humanos, hijos de una
misma América, respirando un
mismo aire que no respeta las
fronteras, un aire que no paga pasaje,
que no requiere visa, y que en ese
momento de cercanía era un
vínculo invisible, un lazo cósmico
que nos hermanaba.

Verdad.
Lo irónico… the ironic thing being
that we were brought together in
that moment of fraternity and
raceless, borderless friendship
on a trip sponsored by my father,
yes my dad.  No Spanish, no great
care for Mexico or indigenous roots,
just a white man of business,
reaping the benefits of his
own hard work, yes—

But of his race.  We stole land
and had slaves work it, called
that a country.

You met a recovering racist, sexist,
alcoholic land thief in 1995

Yo no ignoraba entonces que mi
nación perdió medio país ante
el suyo por la estupidez de mis
antepasados y la codicia de sus
ancestros, pero en mi universo
no cabe culpar a nadie por los
errores o los pecados de otros,
así que le llamé como quise,
y quise llamarle hermano.

Hermanos!
Brothers whether we say it or not.
Hermanos!
Words fail at times, so do ancestors…
Hermanos!
De la misma semilla,
From the same seed
No matter how many
Buildings built or guns shot,
Walls conceived, fears stoked,
yelling “puto” at the soccer match,
all our sins from fear or ignorance
or both. Hermanos!
To smile or joke, eternal life
in times with friends or brothers
like you, turning “homesick in
Mexico” into an open door, Family,
covering “usos de mamá,” maldichos—
bien dicho?

Te amo, chico—

Hermanos!

Más allá de los muros antiguos
como el que cayó en Berlín, más
allá de los nuevos muros nacidos
del miedo y la ignorancia, más allá
de la segunda enmienda y de las
armas, ahí estamos nosotros que
sabemos quienes somos, que
sabemos que el amor tiene los
ojos y la piel de mil colores y de
ninguno, que sentimos como laten
fuertemente, dentro de nuestros
pechos, dos corazones igualmente
rojos.

Pues, hermanos somos
Brothers are we, forged by
Love and need,
Not the politics of fake scenery,
walls of plastic and stone, metals
that forget the common seed,
neglect the students’ mirror,
our childhood dream to love
and be loved—
Youth inside us all, even Donald
Trump, boys and girls at play on
this Earth, in this life, on this day
Together.

y ahora , ya maduros, con el cabello
rubio y el cabello negro llenándose
de canas igualmente blancas,
más allá de las barras y las estrellas,
de las águilas calvas y las águilas
reales, de las serpientes, de los muros
y las escaleras, más allá del
Thunderbird y de Quetzalcóatl, de
los wendigos y los nahuales, del Día
de Muertos y el Halloween, del
guacamole y las french fries, de
las historias verdaderas y las oficiales,
más allá de todo eso estamos nosotros,
mi amigo, mi hermano, y te amo.

Abrazos para mi,
Abrazos para ti,
En la tierra sin nombre
Que es amor…

y como decía San Juan de la Cruz:
“Donde no hay amor, pon amor,
y encontrarás amor”…

Even on a bus to nowhere,
With an open mind and heart to
love, the child’s path calls us to play.
Family is there, the will of God,
Octavio’s Paz, the peace in making
friends.

y si el tiempo y la distancia
no pudieron apagar la hoguera
que encendimos, si Cronos el impío
no pudo deshacer el nudo que
formamos con nuestros latidos,
Donald y su muro pasarán a la
historia como una curiosidad, como
una anécdota más en el libro de
las vergüenzas de la humanidad.

Donald?  Hah!  A nothing, really.
He is the tip of the racist iceberg,
infected, bedeviled.

Love is the answer, he and his kind,
of which I used to be a member,
need love, but sadly may never
accept it.

It’s the enlightened artist’s job
to share truth,
The enlightened person’s to pray
for others, help the sick. But
should they not want help,
we move on, heal ourselves,
win the fight over our own demons
to shine as a beacon to the
hopeless and homeless.

Los verdaderos artistas no
aceptamos las fronteras ni
compartimos la imbecilidad
de construir murallas, los verdaderos
humanos sabemos que la historia
va a poner a cada quien en su lugar.
Pobre don nadie, su cara va a
quedar junto a las de aquellos
tiranos que dice odiar.

Es fácil odiar a su enemigo…
Pero lo que ayuda mas este
universo es AMAR nuestro enemigo.
Perdonar… Por eso, invito Trump
a Boyle Heights para una horchata
y taco…

Así es!

The Passion of Perfection

29 Friday Nov 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Higher Power, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Each thing in its place, all
is ordered in a perfect way,
our job to let it happen and
enjoy;

Then we get called to action
and we must initiate and make
something happen in order to
enjoy.

There is a perfect opposite to
everything, from nothing to
all things, from one to none,
from voids to infinity, good
and evil, success and failure;

The peace of mind we most
need and crave before sleep
depends not on the best results
but on best efforts, that’s all
we can control, so we let go…

The future is beyond us, my
Higher Power starting where
I finish, myself so powerless,
and there’s our smile, on
admitting we don’t got it,
Declaring Something does,

Now let’s pray to it, garner
the peace of mind needed
to sleep in peace, breathe,
dream and enjoy.

Fear and Pride

27 Wednesday Nov 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholism, Amends, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Recovery

The Devil is a sneaky singer,
whispering song in sleep,
attacking the weak—he goes
in deep!

I was just five, when Dad gave
me alcohol to drink, aye for
sure a mistake but the Devil
did wink!

Narrow is this path to heaven,
wide toward hell, good luck
picking the right hole to inhabit.
Good luck!

Fear and Pride keeps us locked
into wrong way past right, past
when it’s time to come home,
tell the truth,

Pack it in for the night… Grease
is the word, high school dramas
and comedies being played again
and again,

Over and over until you figure it
out at last.  Our old errors are not
as they seem, in the past, but
infect now—

Unless we square up the Devil,
Call his bluff, tell him to “Get
Thee behind me,” as instructed
and win…

Honesty, humility, and willingness
to be penitent is the pride-busting
state that gets the girl, the life
eternally circling free of sin…

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