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Tag Archives: Truth

Talgarth Graves

10 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Britain, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Talgarth, Wales

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Britain, Conquest, Joy, Love, Native, Native America, Native Americans, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Spain, Talgarth, Truth, Wales

Talgarth17

I went home over the Summer
to Talgarth, Wales in the mountains
of Breconshire.

There I walked land no one stole.
There I felt a connection to the land
and people, the name Watkins,
along with Davis, Thomas, Hughes
and Evans dotting graves at the
churchyard of St. Gwendoline’s…

Some graves need work, and I shall
return to work them, remember
our fathers and mothers so forgotten
when a slew of Talgarth’s sons and
daughters fled to an old world
we called new because white people
hadn’t before Columbus, Raleigh
and Smith seen it.

We vainly usurped the land before
Spain or other usurpers could,
committed armed theft over the
course of hundreds of years,

now call the British colonists’
experiment in government of
the 18th century the “greatest
democracy in the world.”

Not so for Native Americans,
or the slaves we brought to work
stolen land, promised to pay
them after the Civil War,
only to renege and continue
to preach about the Greatest
Democracy in the World.

Great on the surface for people
escaping responsibilities and
lives in Europe, such as my
ancestors, who obviously left
Dad and Grandpa’s graves to
the wind in Talgarth, Wales, so
we could go across an ocean
and steal.

The first Thanksgiving Proclamation
of 1676 was a prayer of
thanks to God for killing
off Native Americans so efficiently
with disease and in-fighting.

The natives had a message of
gratitude for the land, wisdom
and peace—

Something our bible and gun-
toting ancestors cared nothing
for, unfortunately.

Global Warming arrived in 1492,
solidified in 1607 with John
Smith and other English people
calling native Wingandacoa
Virginia, its first successful
robbery being “Jamestown”
named after a Scottish king
who unified Britain and tore
apart Native America without
a care, because those naked,
brown, content people were
not “Christian.”

Where did Jesus say it’s good
to leave your fathers’ graves,
sail across an ocean and steal
other human beings’ land?

Jesus said truth, Gospel, glory
to all that’s High for his teaching,
but his message would be
better served if we treated foreign
people with love, respect—
totally free of judgment.

The United States is a farce
built on stolen land, violence
and lies.

The land, though, thrives, and
I dream to return to it after
fixing the graves of Talgarth.

God forgive us our sins, help
us to amend mistakes and errors
to truly pave the way not
just for a biblical second coming,

but for a more full, complete
spirituality enhanced by the experience
of Native people, whose Great Spirit
is love and peace,

Glorious creation, the Waterfall
their bible,

Something they taught on deaf ears
until a day I hope soon, when
white people from Europe open
them up to hear.

Wingandacoa

09 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Native, Native America, Native American, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Britain, Conquest, Imperialism, John Smith, Love, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Peace, Pemisapan, Poem, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Walter Raleigh, Treachery, Truth, Vanity, Violence, Virginia, Wingandacoa, Wingina

Wingandacoa1

There was a name for a place.
It was named how it was named
for a reason, thousands of years
of tradition, story, repetition and
heritage made that place special,
its people living, dying, circling
the earth in spirit and land—

Gratitude for the water, the food,
the abundance and song.

Then came the British white man,
who was vain and violent enough
to change the name of the place
at a glance because its inhabitants
were not Christian, bible-toting or
“advanced” enough in war (cowards)
to carry and use loud, destructive
firearms—

the kind that still kill in malls,
churches, streets and schools today.

The British white man called this
land “Virginia,” after their virgin
queen Elizabeth.

Vanity.  Violence.  Usurpation…

To first usurp the Bible and Christ
for violent land acquisition.

Then to usurp the land itself…

Wingandacoa lives and breathes;
is the place I cherish and maintain
in my heart one of abundance,
native beauty and tradition.

No Roman-influenced conquest by
a people bedeviled by war and
violent competition with other
European nations can change
the essence of a place, unless
one yields to untruth.

I do not and call the land
where John Smith landed:

Wingandacoa.

Anne

07 Thursday Nov 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Blessings, Curses, First Crush, God, Love, Peace, The Devil, Truth

Anne1 -- Flower

The first one is blessed by God.  Nature.  Truth.
She comes to you, when you are ready, when
She too, is that part of you that’s ready,
The smile, the joy within finds its way out

And Love springs.

Alcohol as “drink,” un-guided living, the Devil
Himself intervene with love sometimes,
and we surrender it to adoption services, or
Some later date, convenient to the scared

And confused…

Anne was my first crush, and could have been
The only love of my life, and I would have been
blessed—this, if life was not saturated in Alcohol
as “drink,” the Devil playing with us, confusing

and Usurping—

Like the land in America we stole, usurping the
Name of God, Christ, the Bible to steal land from
a Natural people connected to the Great Spirit,
Creation itself forgotten by Europe, Rome,

Book thumps and war.

We killed the Druids and almost their spirit.
Romans conquered themselves, we too—
The English took on the worst of Rome, made
it our own, conquered ourselves and God

in Greed for the Crown.

Anne, meanwhile, couldn’t have sparkled more,
Myself unable to tell her I loved her.  Because
I was a Viking.  And Roman.  And Alcoholic.
And bedeviled.  I thought a flammable liquid

Good to drink.

***

I am a fool, am fooled—was born a drunk,
a liar and a thief.  A violent war monger
un-guided and destined for Hell—

Truth help me.  God help me.  Great Spirit
and Creation forgive me; my father’s sins
are mine, I climb and escape them only
with doses daily of Truth, doses daily of

Love and forgiveness.

Anne lives in mountains, as do I—she there,
Me here, and I cannot make the weather
move her to me, only asking higher powers
to reward willingness for amends and Truth

with Health.

Will I die an example of what not to do?
Will I live to the hilt making amends for the past?
Can my message help the next child, blessed by Love,
But tempted and un-guided on his way to Hell?

Truth, son, will bring you back to Anne…

The First You

03 Sunday Nov 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Originality, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Truth

Children2

So you have trouble fitting
in sometimes, you look up
at Dad and Mom, what they
did and who they are or were,

and think there I am somewhere.
Do not be so deceived!  You
are neither with Mom or Dad,
represent neither one but a

Strange combination of them
never before you tried.  You

are in fact, the first You ever made,
so gather strength, listen to
the rain, the voice inside that
pushes us past the pain,

Rainbows await the patient
and the wet; games lost are won
the moment you reach across
and shake hands heartily.

God is the sunshine, or a fiction,
or the joy after a hard nap,
Dreams things that come when
we ask for help.

We cannot do this on the
path already chosen for you,
so break off and find the true—
the Truth that you are a

masterpiece, if you so believe.

I Got My…

01 Sunday Sep 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Native, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Truth, USA

Headshot -- Bill Watkins

I got my eyes from my mom,
she got hers from Scandinavian
Winters and endless days unseen
between songs, Viking memories
and Celtic dreams.

I got my soul from pain, rap music
and jazz from Dad and the strange
winds in life that turn Welsh into
“American,” stolen land and the
sin of slavery to work it.

A black nanny raised me, as one
raised Dad, his dad I’m sure
the same, in the deep south
still awaiting freedom and the
return of Native people—

whose gold was wisdom and love for
the land.  Unfortunately the
British and Spanish crowns, among
others sought metal and cash only,
skipped that which could

have been truly brought back
to save them more than even
great bible messages!

I got my humor from God
as I understand God, at the time
I prayed for one it was the
Judeo-Christian kind, biblical
certainly, then add to it some
Alcoholics Anonymous truth
and flavor, Al-Anon for the
family members or friends
of drunks.

I got poetry from the same
source a year before in 1995,
started to tell the truth,
has led me to more and more
until I now demand it from myself
and others.

I got some wisdom, as I spoke
of before—from the Native
American chiefs, who lived close
to and with the land.  They were
one with the Earth, listened and
knew how to live here.

Harmony and song, between us
and our lives;

the poetry of birth, landing, leaving—
dreaming and living those dreams.

The vision, inspiration—being
true to our callings;

Yell the truth with me, “We
Stole Land.”

***

I got my injuries from mistakes,
what hurts me most teaches
and challenges, the game so
fair it seems unfair!

I got to go, soon to remove
myself from Native American
land, I got my plan from the
conscience I got, when I
got sober and started to work
the twelve steps.

I got some peace listening to
the Tao Te Ching; Bibles and gospels
of nature, trying the impossible
task of capturing truth in words,
paper and ink, computer screens
and social media posts…

I’ll be saying this with a sigh,
as Frost said, somewhere ages and
ages—you know…

I got my song for the day, and
it’s been good, a day is life, karma
play, working no longer alone but
for the Great Spirit, the inkless god.

I’d rather be a poor original than
a fancy, loud, flying fraud

Land Theft Invalidates USA

30 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in History, Native, Native American, Poetic Blog, Politics, USA

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, History, Love, Native, Native America, Peace, Politics, Truth, USA

Native People Mapping1

by Bill Watkins 9/5//2019

Men will not think that robbers and pirates have a right of empire over whomsoever they have force enough to master, or that men are bound by promises which unlawful force extorts from them.  —John Locke

Land theft is no basis for a valid government.  Someone could appeal to violence and war, rationalize the European conquest of the Americas, but underneath the movement and close to the soil of this land is the truth that crimes against humanity established the thirteen colonies, who rebelled against England to assert themselves as the United States of America, while America’s original inhabitants were to be killed off, subdued, moved and forgotten.  A criminal for-profit enterprise, leaving us with usurped land, its native inhabitants pushed into small reservations—a miniscule percentage of their natural inheritance—people who never gave consent to be governed by Europeans, and never should.

When Queen Elizabeth chartered Sir Walter Raleigh’s exploration of the American eastern coast in 1584, she granted him license “to discover, search, finde out, and view such remote, heathen and barbarous lands, countries and territories, not actually possessed of any Christian Prince.”  The first “Virginia Charter” backed up that thought, as King James urged English adventurers to “bring the infidels and salvages living in those parts to humane civilitie and to a setled and quiet govermente.”  Professed Christianity would help the English usurp the land called Wingandacoa by the natives, James ordering his sailors to propagate the “Christian religion to suche people as yet live in darkeness and miserable ignorance of the true knoweledge and worshippe of God.”

Having studied native American culture diligently for a few years, sober for twenty years, sensitive and aware, hungry for truth, it is clearer to me every day that it was the alcohol-consuming, cursing, armor and gun-loving Europeans—not the natives—who lived in darkness and miserable ignorance of the truth that the Earth was to be honored, respected and preserved. That guns, explosions, killing and noise were not strength but weakness.  And strength?  Witness a piece of it in the eloquence of a great native chief:

From Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, there came a great unifying life force that flowed in and through all things—the flowers of the plains, blowing winds, rocks, trees, birds, animals—and was the same force that had been breathed into the first man.  Thus all things were kindred, and were brought together by the same Great Mystery.  

Chief Luther Standing Bear1

Chief Luther Standing Bear, Oglala Lakota Sioux

Like the English, the Spanish were guilty of land theft, starting with Columbus’ 1492 raid, leading to a threatening letter from King Ferdinand to the Taino-Arawak people of the West Indies.  In the letter, King Ferdinand informs the native people that the Pope is the ruler of the world, the bible’s God is the ruler of the universe, and that Spain shall be the ruler of all non-Christian lands they discover.  Should any of the native tribes resist, the Spanish would declare “war upon you from all sides and with all possible means, and we shall bind you to the yoke of the Church and of Their Highnesses.”  Further that “we shall enslave your persons, wives and sons, sell you or dispose of you as the King sees fit; we shall seize your possessions and harm you as much as we can as disobedient and resisting vassals.”

And so these supposed Christian people stole land, people who touted a bible that forbade stealing.  We erected laws and a Constitution that also forbade stealing, even though the privilege to write laws and hold land here was obtained through armed theft. Usurpation and theft can never be a valid basis for government, something John Locke proposed and I hereby second today.

…the aggressor, who puts himself into the state of war with another, and unjustly invades another man’s right, can, by such an unjust war, never come to have a right over the conquered…

Yes, Sir John, you speak the truth.  So should all of us, so should all of us!

The True Colossus

30 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in History, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, USA

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Emma Lazarus, Freedom, Native, Parody, Statue of Liberty, Truth, USA

Colossus1

Not like the racist giants that seek fame,
With orange hair, brawn and very big hands;
Here at port in New York, on stolen land
A mighty French statue of a lady and flame
Is the symbol of euphemized conquest and shame
Mother Earth and natives tamed, freedom a sham
Glows world-wide welcome, to all but Indians
The New Europe slapped down in Jesus’ name.
“Keep, ancient lands, your empire!” cries she
With loud police.  “Give me your slaves and more,
Your gathered weapons as vast as the sea,
The wretched ignorant knocking at our door.
Send these, the homeless, ignorantly to me,
We ruined Native America, nature itself with war.”

Cop Choppers Violate Our Rights

28 Wednesday Aug 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Native, Peace, Truth

LAPD Helicopter1

by Bill Watkins, Land Thief, 8/28/2019

***

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated… 

My home and neighborhood was just assaulted by a reckless LAPD chopper, circling and zig-zagging low, loud and fast over our homes.  With a spotlight searching.  It was after nine o’clock at night, and the lack of direction of the metal war machine tells that this was some misguided patrol or stunt, without a particular point of search.  Disgusting.

We’ve allowed ourselves to go pretty low by our uninhibited attempts at flight.  The vanity of man.  Of European man and descendants, to come to this land, kick off native people committed to a natural, peaceful life that respected the earth… to burn the earth, fly over citizens shining lights into our properties with or without cause, calling it public safety!  It’s tempting to be mad at all of this, but I resist, love and forgive our confused brothers and sisters of the “law,” who I imagine have very hard lives to end up in such a lonely, loud metal box running war ops for a “living.”

Sometimes I think folks of our militaries and para-military police forces have trouble with peace.  Wouldn’t know what to do, if peace came around; their jobs, in fact, dependent on bad things happening and response.  Are there incentives for them to do nothing?  Are we ready for peace?  Is a Gang Unit prepared to disband, when we stop warring against gang communities—start loving and securing them properly?

The mandate from England and Spain to explore, discover and conquer lands “not actually possessed of any Christian Prince” continues to pollute this land.  Guns, bibles, and conquering is perfectly embodied in that loud police chopper disturbing the peace and violating privacy rights above me tonight.  To snatch it down from the sky and encourage that pilot and his or her bosses to walk down a good trail is why I write—

My pen now engaged for the rights of native peoples whose lands my descendants stole.  I plan to remove myself soon, to head eventually back to England, inform the Crown of the mass amounts of gold I found.  It was not a shiny rock we needed, dear England, but the wisdom of the Native Americans and their love for the land!

Deciding to Succeed

28 Wednesday Aug 2019

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Inspiration, Joy, Love, Peace, Power, Success, Truth

Mother Teresa1

Enduring pain is the key,
Welcoming it as the rain
before the ‘bow,

This is life, a one day,
one time venture between
wake and sleep,

The god of our understanding
helping us when asked,
making a choice.

Decisions are a bigger thing,
Declaring victory for one thing
over another,

Deciding to win means we
make the call to put our
best effort out—

I have been inspired by
those Marines, standing tall
so stand up too.

I have been inspired by
Mother Teresa giving her
will to God—

So give mine to God too,
my days are free when I
am out of the way;

I think no longer of what
I can get, but of what I can
with care give.

Selflessness taught by
Saint Francis, generosity of
the Jesuit Ignatius,

Songs from Natasha, three
words in the chorus of Spring,
I love you,

I love you, I love you.
We can joke and will as humans
surely stray.

But if we want to succeed in
the John Wooden way for
Peace of mind—

We will write down our goals,
our dreams, check them against
gods and feasibility,

Then with courage and care
do them, if possible, through
the pain today.

Helicopters Disturb the Peace

24 Saturday Aug 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in LAPD, Native, Poetic Blog, Police

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Love, Police, Truth

LAPD Helicopter1

by Bill Watkins, Land Thief, 8/24/2019

TITLE 11. OF CRIMES AGAINST THE PUBLIC PEACE [CPC 403 – 420.1]
( Title 11 enacted 1872. )

415.
(2) Any person who maliciously and willfully disturbs another person by loud and unreasonable noise.

Written American law code is sort of a joke, when you think that the United States government was founded on land theft.  But while here, I’ll play with it to point out how unlawful LAPD and other police agency helicopters are, operating loudly and by code illegally over our communities.

I never see the criminals or suspects around here, just hear and see the horrible sounds and sights of LAPD’s warlike choppers—fine for the Hell of CIA’s war in Vietnam, but no good for a peaceful, loving society.  I smirk, for how can we ever be, if we do not invite native America back to their land, retreat to our own lanes and spaces—from our countries of origin to smaller tracts with permission and coordination with the natives?

A horrible sound and people we have let ourselves be, from the get-go rationalized by our bibles and guns.  “We must be better than the native peoples,” we belched, “because we can kill better, curse better, drink alcohol better and steal land better.”  Shameful.

Turkish Proverb1

The moment we turn back, we can rethink the asphalt in that road, the polluting machines we use to travel on them, and above everything else the horrible war machines police abuse to abuse the peace of our neighborhoods, called helicopters.  A horrible invention by a lost people, a people who have abandoned their fathers’ graves and past—

to steal the land of native Peoples in Martin Waldseemüller’s “America.”  We have lost our way, and the abuse of helicopters is representative of this loss, along with mass shootings and gun obsession.  If we ever should want peace of mind, we must turn this ship around;

it all starts by telling the truth.

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