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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Tag Archives: Slavery

Redemption

28 Monday May 2018

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Love, Peace, Recovery, Restitution, Retribution, Slavery, Truth

A song of chains precedes any
of freedom.

We must state our cause, stake
our place in goal and dream

before the winds of change make
us more than we seem,

the perfect beings that for days
and weeks of life cannot

be supported—even the strongest
beams, gone are the memories

of the true line, until instead of
the flammable drink,

we humbly on paper or screens
opine!

God give us a soul, a season, a path
under foliage and civilization’s
litter on the head of first peoples and
nations we in Europe so arrogantly
bestowed.

Could it be that we escaped a way of
life over there, in our old world, only
to force that way on this American land?

I sound mad, but am only trying to report
the problems with the sound

above our homes, the helicopter hell
and siren fort—

1607 the British in armor seeking fame,
riches and glory.

We may have gotten them; but at what
cost?  And is there any going back to
make amends, to balance things,

to redeem our forefathers who often
forgot to slow down, breathe, and thank
God for our land before stealing more?

There must be, if the slave song
can make us free.

Amends

22 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Native, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Recovery, Slavery

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Joy, Love, Native, Native American, Peace, Recovery, Slavery

You feel good, yesterday a gem of service
instead of a face-down rumble into rum
and the glass,

All is possible looking down at a schedule
for one day, with God at the top, sleep
at the bottom,

Recovery the dream of getting back what
you never really had, so hallelujah!!  It’s
back to youth,

the dream of all that could be and the action
to “move the chains” toward it, as footballers
might try to say,

In love with life, just for today.

***

You feel good, no more running away,
acceptance the key before changing
what we do and what we say.

But before all that, truth must shine,
we must admit our faults to God,
ourselves and another human being

this is a basic AA thing, 12 steps
to freedom and growth, to
God only knows—sunshine and rain

producing a golden rainbow to block
out and record the pain.  Write a book,
or just plan this day, God laughing with you

as we climb the trail toward the
Great Mother’s sinewy sinew, a waterfall
worth a thousand pictures, a stream

trying to win back Los Angeles and
become her river once more.
Concrete from rock, we break down

our modern thoughts.  We seek
a Native voice, but must study and go
back to see the facts for proper choice.

God be with us, to turn our good
into better, to rise in our sobriety
to remember the native and slave

in chains.  To make amends for the
pain that stains, the rain that reigns,
the peace that shames because it

was not justice for all but for only
the white, privileged kings. God
grant us more than shiny new things,

but the wisdom to see what the
Chiefs saw and were: the Gold of the
land in its true love.  Gratitude.

The lost art of standing.  Sitting.  Laying
down in the midst of greatness when
the buffalo spirit returns, dirt to the shirt,

Take off our ties, go back to England
and tell the Crown at Last!!!!

“We found the gold, Ma’am. Yes,
it was the native people.  Their wisdom.
Their love of land and connection to it.”

Sound the pipes, rattle the skins,
scrape the strings, the Celtic song
revives to the native revival, a sign

from all the gods that to call yourself
a child of God, be grateful for what you
have, forgive the wrongs done you,

help another find shelter, if you are
blessed to have it, and join the alcoholic
as he or she marches backwards to

right the wrongs never more wrong
than now…

It feels good.

The Answer Behind Us

01 Friday Sep 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, CIA, History, Joy, Karma, Love, Native Americans, Peace, Slavery

We race on the internet to find the next thing.

“Trump trains, Mueller advancing, Floods
and natural things.”

War and peace, bombs and lies—the truth
hides the fact that usually there’s…

an answer behind us.

History teaches, waits to be hailed like
a cab down the street, like prayer that tells
us not to drive so much raining down
Spring like sleet.

Sheet after sheet, I look back to Samuel
asking for a king, JFK killed by members of
the CIA, slavery never amended in this country,
contracts and treaties killing native people—

tossing them out of their own land so we
can abuse it.

The answer is behind us.

Amends to make, cakes to bake for perceived
enemies you made on our way to friendships
to make—this can’t wait, ask an alcoholic on the
twelve-step train we reach number eight.

“Made a list of all persons we had harmed,
and became willing to make amends to them all.”

It starts to make the sidewalk clean…

Walk with me to number nine:
“We made direct amends to such people wherever
possible, except when to do so would injure them or
others…”

The answer is behind… in the road we self-forked
by self-will run riot out-rooked, pawns to the queen,

take a look at where we have been.

Immorality and lies from the White House is not new,
corruption and untruth.

Look back, get hit in the front was not always the rule,
if looking both ways you see a safe pool on which
to reflect…

See yourself as you are, see me but better yet: see
our history, go backwards to see the path ahead,
and see that covert government makes people dead.

It’s never too late to turn around, rescind Samuel’s
request—ask God to be our king, Something Bigger,
a Higher Power, not the corrupt men and women better
served to just be followers.

The answer is behind us, the wall that we made.  To
chip it away takes mighty tools, or none at
all, remember Lao Tzu who said that to do nothing…

gets everything done.  We are powerless…  Our leaders
not in any way “powerful,” especially during a flood
or earthquakes.

Ours is to enjoy, but first reflect.  Stand by the pool,
see the past and watch it dream into now for
Peace’s will to perfect—this could be the Way!!

Looking back when there’s a safe moment, study and
read a book to go with your internet.

See the news today cresting from a historical wave
of past activity and doings.  Be the one who sees
the now as an avenue of the yesterday parade
brewing to end the alcohol and drug sales stewing—
growing wings, flying rampant through the wide
path to death, so the devil takes his due, God sidelined
to watch our response.

We do and dream, things aren’t always what they
seem, and I—

I took the path less traveled back, more is less,
less more, the answer behind us clear as bells
at Christmas time converting mass amounts
of people to snowy July feelings of rebirth.

The answer behind us takes work.  Stop drinking
flammable liquid, rebuke TV drug ads and walk
away from your car enough to feel five senses
bringing you to your critical sixth:

so hard you’ll wanna cuss!

The answer is behind us.

USA Lol

25 Friday Aug 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, America, Corruption, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, USA

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

CIA, Joy, Love, Native American, Peace, Slavery, The CIA

Active as the sex instinct, the earth
moves, stars and sun—but compared
to what, my Uncle Les would remind,
relative to what.  Uncle Einstein.

As corrupt as any other “nation,” the
supposed United States of America was
founded on native blood, our original sin
blaring still: Racism.

We sized them up, the native race, compared
the size of our weapons, declared our
bible better than their Great Spirit, so…
justified murder and “removal.”

Andrew Jackson, a favorite of our low-
intellect president elect, he arrived through
shady means promising every hyperbole it
takes for fools to click the link on that email.

Our second sin of course was slavery, another
obvious racist endeavor, still killing national
unity with unenlightened forays into backwood
clan parties brought to light,

Ghosts of Civil Rights fights past coming to
life, brawls on the street, but that’s all
right.  After all, bringing us to Sin #3: the
CIA murdered Kennedy.

Amends and friends to make, we keep
ignoring truth on the wide path to Hell’s
Gate, assured by looking left and right that
Samuel’s request of God was still uptight.

“Give us a king to be like other nations,”
And that’s the USA, full of sin and problems
and beauty and blessings—just like every
other nation in the world.

Where we are funny is in our self-righteous
pity, we think we are so great, as Allen Dulles
is chosen to investigate and report on the
man who fired him, the Warren Commission

a ruse of far more don’ts than do’s.  A virtual
“who knows who” of what not to do, a total lie
supplying CIA a place to hide.  There it is.  No,
There!!  Hiding in your Twitter feed, trying

To recruit the next murder.

CIA Capture

Murder.  Cover-up.  Murder.  Cover-up,
The devil in a red, white and blue dress, what
a mess, the “nation” a joke since November 22,
1963, what a pity, Jackie’s PTSD, thank God

for sobriety, God help us admit our insanity.

“No matter how far down the wrong path you are
on… Turn around.”

There’s always a way to Peace of mind—
turn that national frown upside down, invite
God back to the throne Samuel took away,
give the natives back land, pay Africa-
descended people for past sins, and kick out

covert CIA.

USA… LOL, let’s together find more of the
narrow to heaven over the wide to Hell.

Ye Without Sin

22 Tuesday Aug 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Conspiracy, Corruption, Jesus, Joy, Lao Tzu, Left, Love, Native America, Native American, Peace, Retribution, Right, Right Wing, Slavery, Soros, Wyatt Earp, Zero, Zorro

Helicopters, trash and campaign
spending disrupt infrastructure and
safety, a policy not right or left tending,

Just normal politicking in the post-
Samuel era of boy kings and corrupt
cravings.

Losers.  Ye without sin may cast a stone
at your neighbor, call him or her perverts,
freaks, anything to make your pain seem
sweet, we can stop and breathe or just
keep swinging.

Heaven is a peace of mind, knowing you
did your best, John Wooden surely a
“globalist” because under God, he felt
we were all equal.

Jefferson committed the same sin, under
the haze of a time that allowed him not
one but regarding slaves closer to ten.

All statues should come down, recalling the
golden calves raised up while Jews ran from
Egypt, aspired to their promised land.

Moses up the hill, the masses erecting evil
and dancing not for God as David later did.

They shook their butts and drank the wine
of other gods, and were punished as we are
every day we believe a human leader will
“stand for us,” “represent us” or “say the right
thing.”

It starts with you.  Me.  Pray first, stay silent
if not inspired, but when the right words come
please say them.

“I know I always do,” Mary Poppins posed
and sang, knowing when to bow out, enough
being every bit as good as a feast.

Zorro, Soros, Zeros—whatever the infernal thing,
right wing conspiracy theories growing on the
internet wings.

Plowing through the hate already there,
Divisions create divisions, and the Devil
smiles—God allowing this self-same insanity
for so many years.

“You cannot change the world,” Lao Tzu posed,
And no we probably can’t.  Then we can when we
admit we can’t, a spirit takes over, our humility
grows legs and Wyatt Earp is born again.

“Stop doing that, sir, there are women and children
present.”

Take an action, never kill, Love your enemy, and it
sure would be neat if the United States of
America would stop stealing native land.

Perhaps we could pay our debts someday, moral
as well as financial, give lands back according to
the old treaties, create a better karma, warm up
that speech to tell today’s Samuel, when that
prophet marches up to speak to God, apologize
and repent.

Pay that twenty trillion dollars off, one month at a time
like we all privately do, then after native amends
look square at the descendant of Africa:

“Fill out this form, establish lineage to the sin
of slavery and receive this twenty thousand
dollar grant to travel home to Africa, visit, enjoy,
and…  We are sorry to have brought your ancestors
here in chains against their will.  We are sorry
for the beatings, the murder, the emotional
as well as physical abuse.”

On our way (we must have gotten sober by now!)
we certainly admit the CIA murdered JFK.

Covert CIA gets shut down, the democracy
makes more sense, God is back in charge, and
karma is back with us.

Don’t forget to apologize to the United
Nations and to the world for all the post
World War II meddling and violence.

Read the U.N. Charter.  “I know
I always do,” says Sacha Llorenti of Bolivia,
the most enlightened country in the world
if you judge by UN security council statements,
always ready to flash the Charter.

Law.  International, Federal, State, Local.

Teach it in schools, kids can handle code starting
at five years of age.

Better than bourbon and water, better than
school’s current cage.

(You know, the one that drove John Stuart
Mill mad, before he recovered to succeed)

Success a peace of mind…  Wooden supplied.

Heaven.  Be perfect as God in heaven is perfect.

Thou shalt not kill.  Ever.  Martial arts self-defense
is even better.  Use your eyes, sense.  I love you.

Wars are never won.  Killing is for losers, Trump.

—Love, William

The Search for Meaning

06 Tuesday Jun 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blogs, Native, Peace, Poetry, Political

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

England, JFK, Joy, Livingston, Los Angeles, Love, Montana, Native America, Peace, Retribution, Slavery, Truth, Wales

Ancient Sins, Amends
and Justice

-by Bill Watkins 6/5/2017

Livingston2 -- Work Walk

LORD, help me communicate your message.

Amen.

***

I have left Los Angeles, California in search of meaning, poetic justice—taking my sins east someday across the ocean back to Europe.

I have decided to pass through beautiful Livingston, Montana for a year or two to gain a different experience, to become a man, prepare for England’s colder weather, and to get some financial standing.

410 years ago three Watkins brothers arrived in the land we now call Virginia—a land that was inhabited by a great people.  We, the English, named it what we wanted and called it ours.

We measured ourselves against the natives by skin color, dress and military weapons—saw an “advantage,” sought to conquer.

Our sins are vast.  Sins of judgment, murder, selfishness, ingratitude, ignorance, and self-righteousness.  Sure, we were chased there by religious wars, oppressive social structures and monarchy.

But also greed.  Vanity; the desire for fame and glory, riches—gold and spices.

A name to place in history as the man or men who discovered a new land or route around the world.

Notice no mention of “God” yet.  While our explorers spoke of “mission” and Bible and bringing God to the New World, our actions were GodLESS.

We lived by the gun and sword.  Died by it.  So many of us throughout history to now just on that Jesus-mentioned “wide path to destruction.”

Lao Tzu said “You cannot change the world.  It cannot be done.”

So why write a piece like this?  Why leave Los Angeles?

Why come to Montana, en route to Wales, United Kingdom—home of the Watkins family that stayed in Europe?

Meaning.

For this poet, meaning… For the world, this poet sets out with the gift God directly gave to drive truth into the wide path.

To split that path, and light the trail back to Heaven’s narrow road.

If I believe through fast and prayer that I may move a mountain from there to here, it shall be done.

If I know CIA killed JFK, then covered up the crime—I shall say so, demand truth, and move on to other dark chapters, light them with alacrity.

If I am sure that we owe amends to anyone related to American SLAVES, I shall write that fact—and push us to truth, action and needed reparations.

Hurting others is hurting ourselves.  Killing off Native America, is killing off Nature in this land.

We must stop, restore land to the Native peoples “won” through bloodshed, threats and broken promises—bring Karma back to the land…

The Great Spirit, often forgotten from big cities to the hearts of reservations—sad with despondent reservation, alcohol, depression—will and must rise again.

The Great Spirit will rise when the Native American people rise again, and the land will prosper.

A Third Political party will emerge.  One of peace and love for Mother Earth.

But first I must remove myself back to England.  Back across the sea, and take our sins with me.

I do so for the Cherokee.  For the Sioux.  For the Crow, the Blackfoot, the Tongva out west—all the tribes, together must rise as I leave with God’s spirit East from here to the land of the Celts.

I will take back, finally, the land’s Gold:

Native American Wisdom and Love for Land.

Europe will thrive when I bring this gold back to them.

And meaning will come to me, a life poetic that gave up comfort to honor God.

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