NOT BORN FOR GREATNESS

NOT BORN FOR GREATNESS

I was not born for greatness,

Not even on the wait list,

I try but all I do is cry

Then go back to my boisterous nap,

Such a disingenuous chap.

Perhaps one day, I'll earn my wings,

Aspire to great and lofty things.

But for now I slouch and hide,

Mindful of the dark divide 

That poaches so many of my desperate days.

Carrying those away.

Why are my eyelids always fluttering

Why am I lost in a dreamless sleep, 

Why do the antidepressants I take

Only serve to make me weep?

Why when I wake up in the morning

Are the contents of my night table scattered on the floor?

Is it a prank from my boyfriend, is it just the wind?

Must be my REM sleep disorder acting up again.

I was not born for greatness,

Not even on the wait list.

I may have some greatness stashed away,   

Being hoarded for some stormy days

But by the time I excavate the greatness, 

its goodness shatters to pieces in the hall,

I brace myself for the tumble and fall

Once again, the Parkinson's wins

Clumsiness its evil twin turns the front door key.

And I must learn to make my peace with mediocrity.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MOONBEAMS

MOONBEAMS

I am not sick

Nor am I deranged

Just because I stay up

Long past midnight.

I am the man who sails the moonbeams   

I am the man who swims in your dreams

I am the pixie who sprinkles the magic dust in your eyes

Before the diamond stars fall away,

Captives of the demon sunlight

I am floating on a moonbeam,

Footfalls sure, and so serene

Not like my usual faltering steps,

Festinating and inept.

Pretty sure it''s just a dream

At least that's how it seems. 

Floating happily, enjoying the grace.

Of being so utterly lost in space.

I am your devoted lover, 

And we share this sweet depravity

This freedom of defying gravity 

I work my silent magic

Before your eyes that stare in disbelief.

I am the man who sails the moonbeams

Take my hand when we are submerged in the deep.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SOLITARY FIGURES

SOLITARY FIGURES

 Little chessmen on the board joust and tussle valiantly 

One man defeats a king,

Headstrong fighter in the ring.

Newspaper headline proclaims

 "Woman fights city hall"

What a gallant fight.

A skirmish in the darkest night.

There is something I want to say

Something about David going up against Goliath

Something about pilgrims setting out on an uncertain voyage.

I want to say something about MLK marching for freedom

His gospel of nonviolence still resonates today

I want to say something about Rosa Parks

Rising high above the fray.

Refusing to give up her seat on the bus.

Her courage speaks to all of us.

I want to say something about Mahatma Gandhi, 

The way he lived as an example of gallantry and peaceful protest.

Putting his strong ideals to the test, quietly raising the bar.

I want to speak of Joan Baez, a lone woman with a guitar,

Singing we shall overcome alone on a stage,

Ushering in a new day and age for flower children everywhere,

Her clear soprano piercing the exuberant air

Little chessmen on the board spar and tussle valiantly 

One man defeats a king...

I want to say something about solitary figures

Going out and coming in alone and standing straight against the wind.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ORTHOSTATIC

ORTHOSTATIC

I am orthostatic,

Blood pressure dropping when I stand,

When the room begins to spin

And your legs can't comprehend

Just what's happening

You know to sit back down and chill

No dancing on the windowsill.

Such a helpless feeling

When you should be dancing on the ceiling,

Lionel Richie would not be pleased, 

At this new phase in my disease.

I am sitting down like a libertine,

While swallowing the Midodrine,

The latest addition to my arsenal of potions

To aid and abet my locomotion.

Unlike being automatic, photographic, acrobatic,

Unlike feeling sharp and sure,

I end up feeling down and dour,

Unsure of where to go.

i am orthostatic, charmed by the vertigo,

Teetering on the brink of disaster 

I swear I can't dance any faster.

Orthostatic's an impressive word, it sounds downright benign.

When I am orthostatic, I cannot walk a straight line,

Swear I am fine, no, I'm not drunk,

But all the blood to my legs has sunk.

It's just a hypotension thing

You probably would not understand

How Parkinson's and orthostatic

Tend to saunter hand in hand.

I am orthostatic, limping and lunging,

Blood pressure falling, dangerously.plunging

Into the murky depths of sweet forgetfulness.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IRMA

IRMA

Old lady Irma walks the town

With her beloved pet cow.

Irma must be at least ninety by now

Nothing keeps old Irma down

Every Sunday she sits in the pew

She loves a good wad of tobacco to chew.

The muggers and thugs lose by default

Nine times Irma's been arrested for assault.

She knows judo, and also karate

She is rich from when she won the state lottery

She's not the type to sit at home doing pottery.

Old lady Irma can cuss like a sailor

She's been fooling around with the thrift shop tailor

And the cops are always trying to nail her

For not keeping her cow on a leash.

Old lady Irma smokes pot, 

Those are the facts

Claims it helps her cataracts.

She rides a motorcycle when she's feeling wild

And dresses like a flower child.

A wizened wonder of a woman

Old lady Irma walks the town,

Nothing keeps old Irma down.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FLOWERS IN THE VASES

FLOWERS IN THE VASES

(FOR HAZEL) 

I have a weakness for old ladies.

Any kind of old lady.

I'm really not particular.

I like best the kind of old lady

Who reads Reader's Digest

Cooks fresh rolls and buns

Kisses her grandchildren

Tears in her eyes at the sight of them.

I also like wild old ladies all right

The kind of old lady who smokes pot

And rides a Harley Davidson

Or the spry old lady

Who likes to rob banks for a hobby.

But the kind of old lady I like best

Is the Reader's Digest type

The kind of old lady

Who is genuinely touched by sunshine,

The kind of old lady

Who spends hours in her flower garden

Tending to the roses and tulips.

The kind of old lady who loves a dirty joke,

Who loves to go out for sausage gravy and biscuits

Or a pancake at the Amherst Diner

The kind of old lady who's not afraid to share a fetish

And makes homemade cheddar cheese sticks.

I have a weakness for old ladies

Who cannot live in a house 

That is not furnished with a candy dish.

The type of old lady who would apologize profusely

 If you caught her alone in her home

Sitting without flowers in the vases.

Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

BREAKFAST WITH A FRIEND

 BREAKFAST WITH A FRIEND

(FOR BARRY)

You were the one that for years I woke up to,

I heard you first on WFFV and heard you play The Bridge by Janis Ian,

Such a pivotal moment for me and such a welcome feeling.

It was then I knew you had great taste ln music 

And it was there that I resolved I would one day know you better.

Flash forward to 1986, when I had become besotted with WINC,

When the smooth as silk Frank Mitchell took an interest in my audition tape

And to my awe and wonder added my voice to the radio landscape.

By that time you were doing mornings at WINC with your partner Don James.

A suave and dapper gentleman whose real last name was Kurzenknabe.

I became fast friends with both of you and the rest of the motley morning crew.

Radio evangelist Billy Boy Baines and his organist Ms. Flossie too. 

The almost right reverend would take it from the top and claim to heal you on the spot.

Officer Safety, gardening tips with Papa Bean, Clarence the maintenance engineer.

And all the others in between to tease and tantalize the ear.

Plus the buxom, high strung boisterous Aunt Sue, 

Who warned smooching in public was something you daren't do.

So many different personalities in such tight and little spaces

Hardly room enough for you and Don to say good morning to our faces.

I remember answering calls from schools with you and Steve on snow days,

The hustle and bustle of nonstop cancellations from near and from far,

Afterwards we piled in Steve Edwards' magic big blue boat of a car

And plowed effortlessly through the snow to Shoney's breakfast bar..

Years passed by, with different morning partners for you, 

Kauleen Sharp, Lisa Herndon, and Katie G, to name a few,

Your belief in me sustained me my entire career through.

I went from overnights to Sunday mornings yet still you kept in touch.

Even to this very day I still owe you so much;

It was a guest, Tonie Wallace, from your Cable Talk show, who began my next full time career,

A career that spanned sixteen years and gave me my Bebbee and my tango dancer,

Two friends who kept me laughing and sent my heart flying over the moon,

Good friends Barbara and Sue, and my friend Paula Strader who left us far too soon.

Tonie and Greig hired me io proof their company's transcripts,

I proofread, commas dancing in my head, giving my spirits a lift.

 

I remember coming out to you in the parking lot of WINC,

How your love and your acceptance meant so much to me,

I remember the chili parties at your cabin in Meadow Mills,

With Don James' daughter Kim and her husband Buddy keeping me company,

Making it easier to be a wallflower with social anxiety.

I remember the many kindnesses 

From you and Mary your splendiferous wife,

Who was my journalism teacher in my teenage life.

And guided me in publishing the WacoHighlights.

So I thank you for these memories and those we continue to make.

For you and Mary coming to see me and Kyle,

Reliving those golden radio days with a wink and a smile.

For caring for the community, the good vibes from your podcast,

The stories and the wisdom and the laughs I know will last.

The twinkle in your eye and your mischievous stupendous grin.

And all the myriad pleasures, of breakfast with a friend.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED