OUR LOVE RENEWS AGAIN

OUR LOVE RENEWS AGAIN
(FOR KYLE)

Walking alone in the frosty hours of a pre-dawn Christmas Eve,
I saw but one lone star above and swore it shone for you and me.

Our Christmas union fills my dreams,
And like a child on that beauteous day,
My heart it melts in sweet desire
For all the kindness you’ve conveyed.

And Christmas bells they sound so sweet
And through the New Year linger.
For this sacred day our union’s sealed
As I place this ring upon your finger.

No empty gesture lost inside the merriment of the season.
My soul has found its calm repose, my life its shining reason.
And solemn as a wedding vow is the promise that I make you now.
To love and honor, to stand by you, forever come what may.
To give to you my life, my heart, on this our blissful day.

To forsake all others and cleave to you, my one and only lover.
My confidante, my treasured friend, a comrade like no other.

The lights that twinkle on our tree, the lights that twinkle everywhere,
Will live inside this heart of mine, both this night and forever.
A love that shines atop the pines, bright as that lone pre-dawn star,
My soulmate and my compass dear, to guide me near and far.

Happy day, my darling man, midst the wrappings and the Christmas tins.
For now each year as the yuletide sings, our love renews again.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CHRISTMAS DRUM

CHRISTMAS DRUM

I hang an angel on the tree,
And think on you, my angel true.

My darling man of fine degree,
Who warms my heart all through and through.

The painted horses swirl and swell
Beside a miniature carousel.

Electric trains around the floor,
A hint of what has come before,

A hint of what is still to come,
And so we sound the Christmas drum.

A drum that beats the song of life
And persevering through the strife.

Of weathering the storms unseen,
Of what our love has come to mean.

I hang a reindeer on the branch,
And ponder life’s strange circumstance.

The thin line between life and death,
The sacredness of each new breath.

The soulful carolers pass the torch
And harmonize on our front porch.

Hot chocolate simmers on the stove,
And tells a tale of yuletide old.

So we’ll lie together after dark,
We’ll kiss and feel the age-old spark,

And I’ll wait until the stroke of twelve
To then seduce my favorite elf,

And tip my cap to a love still young,
And blithely sound the Christmas drum.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

EPIC

EPIC
(FOR MY MOTHER)

When they laid your ashes deep in the cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love reverberating all around.

In life you were my Iliad, my keenly treasured Odyssey.
When I lost you, I lost Paradise and drowned in the briny deep.

Our love was on the grandest scale,
Like Herman Melville’s great white whale.
You were the mother who set the bar that others would aspire to,
And sinking slow in the Inferno was all that I could do.

In years to come I will sing for you a fitting elegy,
But right now all that I can do is sift through years of memories,
And celebrate your life through the glass darkly.

For you were my personal Gone With The Wind,
My Ben Hur and my Ten Commandments.
I am numb to the cost of all I have lost,
In the wake of your final passing.

Like my personal Holocaust or my private 9-11,
The sun has toppled from the sky.
A tragedy unspeakable, that leaves this witness high and dry.

I loved you in the classic way, I hold your spirit dear,
Like the Hawthorne and the Faulkner tomes,
The Chaucer and the Shakespeare.

A gentle parent, dearest friend, confidante from birth,
The finest woman in my eyes who ever walked the earth.

In life you were my Hemingway, my Romeo and Juliet,
My Odyssey, my Iliad, my Hamlet and Macbeth.
And when they laid your ashes deep in the cold, cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love, reverberating all around.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

EVERY COLOR IN THE RAINBOW

EVERY COLOR IN THE RAINBOW

You flash your lovely smile at me,
And in the beauty of that smile I see,
Every color in the rainbow,
The purple of the mountain range,
The deep blue of the rolling sea.

The green of the grass with its sparkling dew,
The red of the clay that I trudge through
On my way to your back door.
The yellow of the morning sun
That shines its rays upon the floor.

You hold my hand in a moment grand
And flashing through my mind,
Come vivid memories of our past
That steal across the sands of time.

And they speak to me of times gone by,
The awesome highs, the desperate lows.
The vivid spectrum of our romance,
Every color in the rainbow.

You sing your sweet, sweet songs to me,
Perfect songs in perfect tune.
Songs that hold the world in place,
That whisper sweet dreams to the moon.

I love you like a man possessed, I dream of you at every turn,
And through the slow parade of dreams,
Your love for me like a brush fire burns.
The smoke and flames they billow high,
They stake their claim upon my soul,
And in the black of nighttime’s arms,
I lose all self-control.

Your flash your lovely smile at me,
And in the beauty of that smile I see,
Every color in the rainbow.
The purple of the mountain range,
The deep blue of the rolling sea.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LIVING FOR TWO, LIVING FOR YOU

LIVING FOR TWO, LIVING FOR YOU

I promised you I’d call you, when I got safely home,
And then forgot your number, that was my first mistake.
And then a little thing called 4-1-1 never seeped into my brain,
Which seems to be getting smaller by the day, more stupid and inane.

Then happily I went to bed, secure in my repose,
Only to be awakened by a pounding on the door.
I peeped through the peep hole and saw your face
And promptly though, oh, oh-
Was there something I forgot to do,
that prompted this late rendezvous?

When I was a single man, I knew or thought nobody cared,
And I could be reckless with my life as often as I dared.
Now that I’m a married man with a ring upon my hand,
My life’s been changed by a love so true,
Living for two and living for you.

Once I gladly told myself when my mom was gone,
It was the end of me,
No more calls of raw concern, no reason left for me to be.
Now I find to my surprise, the same concern in your tender eyes.
Now I find were I to die, there’s someone who would cry and miss me.
Now I know when I get home, there’s someone there to gently kiss me.
And wash away the stench of a day that has left me cold and blue.
Someone to have, someone to hold, living for two and living for you.

So I promise now to always call when I say I’m going to,
To get my hair cut regularly and preferably by you.
Never again to take for granted the love you send my way
And to hold you close in thought and act until my dying day.
To trample through the meadow green and sail the ocean blue,
Your hand in mine, a fine vintage wine, living for two, living for you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WHEN I LOVED YOU

WHEN I LOVED YOU
(THE OLD MAN REMEMBERS)

Life meant the most somehow,
When I loved you.
When passion flowed like some moonlit fountain
Beside the Eiffel Tower
Or in the shadow of Big Ben.

When we were young and twirled in the sky
And took long walks at midnight beside the London Eye
And shone as bright as pure spun gold.

When you loved me and that love did flow,
Healing like a blessed savior.

Togetherness was ours to savor,
Like caviar or a sweet Sangria.
Sitting on the sofa,
Meryl Streep in Mama Mia.

And all our best laid plans,
The tender heart of my tender man
Lit the future like the glow of an Olympic torch.
The frolicking at Mardi Gras, the mischief on the porch.

Life rose and took its bow and basked in its ovation
And you became my hero, my strength and my salvation.
You found me and you held me and something stirred within my soul.

And at last I was complete and whole,
At long last I was free,
In those sacred golden years
When I loved you and you loved me.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

HOUSE OF MANY ROOMS

HOUSE OF MANY ROOMS

Can I be the one to cry upon your shoulder,
When the tidal wave crashes and the mermaids are all dead?

Will you be the one to untie all the ropes,
To loosen the noose that’s fastened to my head?

It is all change and circumstance, the mystery, the illusion,
And I need a sweet infusion to lift the shroud of my confusion.

And will you be the one I can bleed my colors into,
Every black and every white and every shade of gray?

Will you be the boatman, will you drive the chariot,
That races to the sunset of another fruitless day?

Can I be the one to undress you slowly in the moonlight,
Can I be the one to bring light to your window?

Can I be the one to drape myself all over you,
A desperate flag at half mast, quiet and subdued?

Can you be the clown for me, can you be my saint?
Can you be my Indian brave covered in his war paint?
Can you be the image of a picture perfect day,
A human rose in handsome clothes, dressed in fine array.

Can I cry upon your shoulder
when the mermaids are resting at peace in their tombs?

Will you be my knight in armor, shining house of many rooms?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE MAN I DREAMED

THE MAN I DREAMED
(FOR KYLE)

The man I dreamed was everything, an ethereal fog,
Slippery and ill-defined,
A throwback to an age long past, a relic from another time.

Never dreamed the man for me would drive a sea blue Acura
Or a shining silver Scion.

Never dreamed the man for me could send my spirit flying.

The man I dreamed was everything, a shadow, not a face,
A most erotic specter, a wet dream lost in space.

Never dreamed the man for me would know the name of every cheese,
Would be so fond of cutting hair, so predisposed to vacuuming.
Never dreamed the man for me could chain my heart so tenderly.

The man I dreamed was everything, a toss of a coin,
An item on a questionnaire,
A list of non-negotiables, a game of truth or dare.

Never dreamed the man for me would decline to touch a door knob,
Would be so fond of chicken tenders, so tolerant of slobs.
Never dreamed the man for me, could drive me helpless to my knees.

The man I dreamed was everything, a riddle unanswered
Of unknown personality,
An enigma from another time, a vision in my psyche.

Never dreamed that one day Fate would hunker down and do the work
Of fleshing out a lover fair, complete with foibles and with quirks.

The man I dreamed was everything, wrapped in gay ribbons
Of silver and blue.
The Scion, the Acura, the cheeses, the quirks,
The cherished companion, the lover so true.

The man I dreamed was everything, the man I dreamed was you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CLEAR WATER

CLEAR WATER

So good to feel your clear water,
Lapping lazily over me.

Such a treat to rest my hand
With tender feeling on your knee.

So precious do I find these moments,
Hiding soft in your embrace.

Time stands still in the windowsill,
Framed in the fold of your kindly face.

So golden as a waking dream
is my reward in loving you.

So holy, like a sermon preached
that echoes through and through.

So stunning is the vista,
So breathtaking the view,

The stain-glassed windows to your soul,
Your eyes a sparkling blue.

So good to feel your aura,
That enwraps me like an afghan,
A comforter, a lovely rug,
Solid ground on which to stand.

So kind that you should spend the time
To conjure words of healing,
And bend to kiss my desert lips,
Chapped and cracked and peeling.

So fine to know your sunshine,
In these downcast days of rain.
A verse that chimes in perfect time,
A toe-tapping refrain.

So good to feel your clear water,
Lapping lazily over me,
A sparkling spring, a bubbling brook,
The promise of eternity.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NEVER COUNT THE COST

NEVER COUNT THE COST

Memory is a fickle friend,
You can play its game and lose or win,
And sometimes you hang on the precipice
As your tires whine and spin.

Everywhere that we have been and all that we have done
Blazes in remembrance like an all-consuming sun.

I beg of you, my only love,
to always see our years together written on the stars.

To even when you find me distant, circling the maze,
Never take away your gaze, but keep the faith in what is ours.

For love’s a road map, long and sweet, replete with ruts and detours,
The surface rough, the texture coarse, with sharp and jagged contours.

Sometimes we speak in peaceful chant,
Sometimes in bloodless scream,
But cling to me forever and don’t discard the dream.

At times romance is like a war,
A long and lonesome tour of duty,
A casino of the blindest chance,
A refuge of great beauty.

Sometimes a world of petty slights,
Of slamming doors and silent nights.
Sometimes a cushioned bed of down,
With hearts and flowers all around.

I beg of you, my cherished dear,
When you count the tally of our years,
To hold them in your reverie as angel-kissed and heaven sent,
To never count the cost of love and find your dreams misspent.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GALLOWS HUMOR

GALLOWS HUMOR

The ship is slowly sinking and with it go the rats,
The vampire’s cave is stinking with the excrement of bats.

The window to my soul is leaking, with a strong and steady downpour.
I’m lost somewhere in no man’s land, where lions meow but never roar.

And nothing’s as it seems to be, but everything is broken,
And all complaints and murmurings are useless and verboten.

So all I have is a spirit dark and its wicked tales to spin,
Nothing left but gallows humor underneath my skin.

The captain of the ship is busy, controlling the near mutiny,
And the rats are getting tired of this relentless disease.
And still they do their jobs like pros and come up smelling like a rose,
While the ship’s hull cracks and acrid water spills upon my clothes.

The night is young but the bees have stung, and a knife can’t cut the tension,
The rats are dying right and left, the ship is lost amid dissension.

And I have to wonder what’s the use, as I feel the fastening of the noose,
And I tread in waters shallow, swinging wildly from the gallows.

The ship has run aground at last, it seems to have no moorings.
No anchor firm, a still slow burn, the captain he is snoring.
Everything is up for question, nothing’s understood,
But flames are burning from the ship, I can smell the charring wood.

And so I laugh, for it’s all I know, it’s all I care to do.
I snicker, snort and chortle and guffaw the whole day through.
My soul it has turned dark and damp and clammy is my skin,
With only crumbs of gallows humor to show the state I’m in.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MOTHER NATURE'S SHOW

MOTHER NATURE’S SHOW

I yearn to pace the forest floor,
The dried leaves crunching beneath my feet,

Flora and fauna all around me,
Mother Nature’s patterns sweet.

The handsome deer that roam the woods,
Gentle and so full of grace.

The cardinal and the robin red,
Lend subtle magic to this place.

The possum and the grizzly bear
That prowl in all their glory.

The hoot owl in the trees at night
Who belts his lonesome story.

The squirrels agile at their games,
The skunk so downright smelly,
The lizards and the reptiles rare
That crawl upon their bellies.

I yearn to pace the forest floor and cast my sidelong gazes.
To drink the very stuff of life, lost in all the mazes.
Of creatures that creep in the stillness of day,
Eyes gleaming brightly, stalking their prey.

The circle of life, touting its mystery,
Raining down on me elaborate history.

I yearn to pace the forest floor, traipsing to and fro,
The curtain rising high and proud on Mother Nature’s show.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PEPPERMINT SHIRT

PEPPERMINT SHIRT

Don’t I look quite fetching,
In my peppermint pink shirt?

A most becoming candy cane,
I proudly prance the earth.

I know that it’s a little loud,
Perhaps a smidgeon bright.
And yet my shirt of peppermint
Perpetually delights.

My dashing shirt is all the rage
Throughout this fashion town.
It wraps me in its sweet embrace
When I am feeling down.

Ode to the colors running,
Ode to the hues of pink and rose,
Ode to the sight so stunning
Of me in such perfect clothes.

Ode to the folks who remark on it
With praises most sincere.
Who want to touch and fondle it,
Who greet it with such cheer.

Don’t I look just fabulous in my shirt of peppermint?
And my pants a solid hue of black,
A stunning complement.

I know that it’s a little wild
To wear a shirt that glows.
But free will is my birthright,
And it’s the shirt I chose.

I wear it on my saddest days,
The results are always stellar.
When wearing such a joyful shirt,
I scarce need an umbrella.

Don’t I look the fashion plate,
In my peppermint pink shirt?

A most becoming candy cane,
I proudly prance the earth.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
All RIGHTS RESERVED

BEYOND ALL FEAR

BEYOND ALL FEAR

In the middle of the longest night,
I feel your arms around me tight.
Your lips that dangle blessings,
Your soul that teaches lessons.

And on the road I travel,
Fraught with brick and cobblestone.
The cracks on which I stumble
As I navigate alone.

I feel your eye upon me,
Your witness drawing near.
Stemming thoughts of suicide
And death that sounds its message drear.

And all for which I long,
All for which I dream,
Is somehow intertwined with you
Like ivy leaves of forest green.

And I can feel your skin against my own
Even on those long, long nights
When you’re not there and I’m alone.

The brush of your hand against my chest,
The breath of your lungs caresses my ear,
And my soul at long last takes its rest.
As I hold you close, beyond all fear.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GLORY IN THIS LOVE

GLORY IN THIS LOVE

Splendid vistas everywhere open up before me.
New stars light the autumn sky, the moonlight it adores me.

I am hanging on to you, tight as cling wrap to a sandwich,
Drinking in this newfound bliss, a song that’s sung in perfect pitch.
A shooting star that sizzles through the midnight air.
There’s glory in the universe, I feel it everywhere.

The dark night it is over, deep in the black earth sleeping.
Gone are the days of my heart’s malaise, the sound of my spirit weeping.

You swept in like a calming wind that blows from off the ocean
And sent the demons tumbling far, sinking in slow motion.
My heart beats strains of thankfulness, my spirit sings anew,
My motion sickness fades into the legend grand of me and you.

I’d fly to Paris on a whim and walk those hallowed streets again,
Or London with its fog and rain, a San Francisco trolley train.
All the things we love to do, the magical, the mundane,
Are engraved in gold upon my soul in memories that remain.

Each time we come together to celebrate the day,
The fates conspire to build a fire and steal my breath away.
The splendid vista of your flesh, the thrill of your allure,
The passion it inspires in me, the love that springs so pure.

Splendid vistas everywhere open up before me.
The lark he sings his daylight praise, the sunlight it adores me.
I cling to you tightly, saran wrap to a sandwich,
I close my eyes and there you are, a song that’s sung in perfect pitch.
You are my shooting star that glimmers in the daylight fair.
There’s glory in this love of ours, I feel it everywhere.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

YOUR APPARITION

YOUR APPARITION

I saw your apparition in a storefront piece of glass.

I was only window shopping but was startled all the same
To feel so keenly stabbed by the blunt edge of my longing,

Nostalgic echoes sounding as they rained on my parade.

I saw your visage fresh and dear as the day I first beheld you.

Tender and ripped in your leather jacket,
Dangerous in your designer jeans.

You caused me to undress you,
A tide of lust too strong to dam.

The maelstrom of your magnetism
Charged the room like stallions.

I saw your body glistening,
Sweet and fresh from a long, hot shower
Wearing just your Calvin Kleins
Pressed tight against your bulge.

You strode barefoot across the carpet,
My heart did somersaults and splits,
In praise of your erotic stroll, a ra-ra to your sexiness.

I saw your apparition in a dream I had of us,
We were screwing on some phantom beach
In sandals and Bermuda shorts.

It was just a lonely reverie, yet it pierced me all the same.
So I put back on my armor, like the soldier I’d become
And vowed to be more vigilant, as I vainly licked my wounds.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DISSOLVED MY SOUL AWAY

DISSOLVED MY SOUL AWAY

I gambled all my savings to buy an awesome boy.
We’d walk the free world arm in arm, buoyed by our joy.

But with nothing put aside, alas, for dismal April days,
He came and with his power wash dissolved my soul away.

He burst like fire into my life, like a raid by the police.
He picked the lock of my orphan heart and granted it release.

I slid over his waterfall when he promised he would stay,
His lips did move, his tongue made haste, to sweep my soul away.

He stripped me naked, took my clothes, and chained my legs together,
And he teased me with his blindfolds, his ice cubes and his feathers.

I gambled all my savings to buy a pretty man.
His heart was rogue and counterfeit, his faithfulness a sham.

He built our love on shifting sand, cracks in the foundation,
Electrified me with his fingers, drove me to distraction.

Drove past all the barricades and crashed into my yard,
Hurling past the watchdogs and the sentries standing guard.

And with nothing set aside, alas, for rain soaked April days,
He came and with his power wash dissolved my soul away.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

KEEP THIS IN MIND

KEEP THIS IN MIND

Keep this in mind, in these days of fading glory
That you and I have just begun to write a lasting story.

That I would be lost without you.
You and your disorganized checkbook,
You and your bedtime workouts,
You and your Debbie Harry,
You and your Blondie songs.

Keep this in mind, before you dance with other men.
That we have barely scratched the surface and that I’m a jealous one.
Whose wrath can be awakened faster than a loaded gun.

That I would be cold without your touch,
You and your distaste for germs
And your disregard of my beautiful feet.

You and your love of soft serve ice cream
And after dinner your something sweet.

That I would hunt you down and find you,
If ever you should wander far
And bet my life upon our love,
And the alignment of our Zodiac stars.

Me Scorpio, intense and loyal,
And you Pisces, sign of the fish.
The love I’ve always wanted, fulfillment of my every wish.

Keep this in mind, my lover dear, when you think your days are done,
That you are both my night and day, my rising and my setting sun.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LAST ONE IN

LAST ONE IN

Life’s a wondrous smorgasbord, a glorious experiment.
Life is made for celebration, custom built for merriment.
Life’s a swimming pool to dive in, delicious cool right off the bat.
Brace yourself for sweet refreshment, last one in’s a dirty rat.

There’s no time to spend in sorrow, lost in memories of the past.
Fix your gaze upon tomorrow, do not be downcast.
Life’s a kiddie pool to wade in, cool, clear water bathes your feet.
So brace yourself for pure delight, last one in’s a parakeet.

Life’s a Rubik’s cube of mystery, unfathomable to ponder.
The more you try to solve the riddle, the more you sit and wonder.
There’s no time to nurse your wounds in endless hours of worry.
Brace yourself for a dream fulfilled, last one in’s a creature furry.

There’s no time to moan and mumble, lost in all your fretting.
The sun may grace the evening sky, but soon it will be setting.
Life’s a fishing pond for schemers, the rod and reel rest by the tree.
The fish are jumping in the lake, daybreak beckons you and me.
So brace yourself for a day of joy, good luck, go break a leg.
Life’s a swimming hole for dreamers, last one in’s a rotten egg.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GLORIOUS MORNING

GLORIOUS MORNING

In the daylight I come face to face
With the demons in my mirror.

The camouflage of night dissolves
And vision becomes clearer.

The dew is on the morning grass,
The sunrise violet paints the sky.

A glorious morning rises forth
And fear and anguish fly.

You are in my thoughts this day,
With every thorn there comes a rose.

You are with me in my labor sweet
And in my soft repose.

I tremble deep in the restless night
And pray for evening clouds to lift,
As murky darkness lays its trap,
Powerful and swift.

Not illness nor infirmity, nor the ravages of age,
Can dim my eyes from the Book of Life,
Each frail and yellowed page.

Your love I carry with me, your countenance, your smile.
Your grace, your class, your eloquence,
Your dashing sense of style.

In the daylight I face down my demons,
Like David fought Goliath,
And angels hearken to my side,
To join me in my triumph.

Not death nor terrors unforeseen,
Can overtake a joyful soul,
A glorious morning rises forth,
And hopefulness takes hold.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ANOTHER PRECIOUS DAY

ANOTHER PRECIOUS DAY

I limp along the bowered path, I trip along the trail.
A power bar for breakfast, yet I’m sluggish as a snail.

Another restless night goes by, I’m hungry for the morn,
I wake to gentle music, eyes open in the dawn.

I dress and then I’m out the door, blessed music fills the car.

I scan the papers, sipping coffee, sunrise fills the rear view mirror.
Cinnamon and hazelnut, the caffeine hits my brain.

I down synthetic dopamine to soothe and calm my shaking,
Then rain or shine I’m off to work, life is for the taking

I see my friends, I take my pills and try to get some work done,
To see the humor in my plight, the mischief and the fun.

Lunch comes oh, so quickly, blessed music fills the car.
I close my eyes and meditate on what else lies in store.

The afternoon progresses and six o’clock draws nigh.
My true love waits at home for me, his arms are open wide.

We go to dinner happily, to hear his sweet voice soothes me,
And later as we lie in bed, he knows just how to move me.

His every groove is magic, a tune my flesh remembers,
Our love a brilliant phoenix arising from the embers.

We kill the lights, our bodies spoon, I kiss the hairs upon his neck.
Fingers intertwined with his, I cherish every second.

It’s more than I could ask for, as I limp along the way.
The sunset melts into the sky, another precious day.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

STILLNESS

STILLNESS

Be still and know the planets vast
Align for you in harmony.
A gentle meditation will take you by the hand
And wisely lift you out of this strange and troubled land.

You are one with God and you harness your power,
Joined with the forces of spirit and fire.

In sacred communion with angels and saints,
Caught in the crossroads of hope and desire.

You are home in your mansion and learning to trust,
The lessons you learn light your way,
And when the flesh weakens and turns into dust,
The spirit survives strong and brave.

In the stillness I find him, the Buddha, the Christ,
He helps me to soar, my soul taking flight,
Crossing the thresholds in vistas of light,
Into celestial gardens sublime,
Hurling through space and soaring through time.

Be still and know the planets vast
Unite for you in harmony.
A gentle meditation will take you by the hand
And lead you to the simple truths,
Those precious grains of sand.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE NOVELTY OF YOU

THE NOVELTY OF YOU

The newness of it all, like a sparkling Christmas
That shines in memory
Circles my heart in a rosy glow.

From the first time I saw you on a hot day in August,
You tripped a breaker in my heart and caused a fuse to blow.

And even now some eight years later, staring into the rear view,
The feelings still robust and fresh, my passion soars like new,
And it should be fading but it’s not, the novelty of you.

When you come to me, the long day done
And wash up at the bathroom sink.
I sneak up behind on noiseless feet,
And like an impulsive schoolboy,
My desire erupts and smolders,
And I kiss the hairs of your sweet neck
And place my hands on your bare shoulders.

And later as you pay your bills or surf the Net in earnest,
I watch you when you’re unaware, my heart a raging furnace.
It overheats and bubbles over, molten lava on the floor,
Your soul a house with many rooms,
I linger breathless at each door.

To see your naked backside, dripping wet from a long, hot shower,
Your bare feet soft upon the carpet stoke the simmering fire.

The newness of it all, like a shining diamond
On a young bride’s hand,
Envelops my heart in a rosy glow,
And I struggle hard to understand.
How what seems like eons later,
When I gaze into the rear view,
My devotion still unquestioned, my passion ever true,
How it should be fading, but it’s not, the novelty of you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CHURCH BELLS CHIME SLOWLY

CHURCH BELLS CHIME SLOWLY

Quiet morning in the village,
sun pale in the marketplace.

Saints and sinners mill about,
gloom on their collective face.

A coffin raised atop a buggy,
draped in finery and flowers.
Women weep in their handkerchiefs,
their men stand stoical and dour.

The church bells chime slowly
For the one we all loved.
A slow, somber march to a cool place of rest.

An untimely passing has jarred all our minds
And put our beliefs to the test.

Raise him high on the wings of a unicorn,
The cherubim and seraphim.
His ashes scatter far and wide,
His ghost alive in every hymn.

His eulogy will float along,
the towering banks of every stream.

The world will pause and feel the loss
That echoes in his widow’s dreams.

The church bells chime slowly as the buggy arrives.
In the graveyard mist where we say goodbye.
Where we all bow our heads and hold all our breath,
Humbled, alas, by the mystery of death.

Quiet morning in the village, sun pale in the marketplace,
Saints and sinners whisper prayer,
The bagpipes moan amazing grace.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CANDLE

CANDLE

If I lit a candle,
For every last betrayal,

Every night that love hung over,
Perched upon my windowsill.

I could steal from the till
And a fortune amass,
And retire from my daily dilemmas at last.

If I lit a candle
For every stray I’ve intercepted,
Every sob story I’ve collected,

I could light each corner
Of this most unfortunate land
And die in my sleep at a ripe old age
A most contented man.

If I lit every candle and burned every fuse
Of all the tragedies I did not choose
Of all the comedies that did not amuse.
My opera glass would lie broken on the floor
And the players would all beseech me on their knees
And have to take a day job to feed their families.

If I lit a candle,
I might not curse the darkness so.
I might feel better, but who knows?
And so I wait in the dark of night,
Cursing my drives and my appetites.
Folding my cards before they are played,
Deigning not to light a candle
On this the darkest of my days.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

KEYS TO THE KINGDOM

KEYS TO THE KINGDOM

My world was a heavily fortressed castle,
In which I lived, a cautious king.
Sad, depressed , and often lonely,
Possessive of the castle keys.

I lived alone and toiled in a dungeon
And told myself that that was fine.
I hid away from the world at large,
Walking the straight and narrow line.

I longed for sweet companionship, but there were never any takers,
For I was balding, growing old, both no-no’s in the land of Dorothy.
So I dug my heels into the ground and wept when no one was around,
Convinced my dreams had been bought and sold a long, long time ago.

Then your goodness stormed the castle,
And battled the demons guarding the moat.
You slew all the dragons in your sensible shoes
And your big and bad designer coat.

And something new came over me, light where there was none before.
The delight of finding a handsome prince just outside my door.

You tidied up the castle, you made it more a home
And you made me far less moody, despondent , and alone.
Inch by inch you healed my past with the fierce resolve of a resolute prince,
And I became alive again, here in the present tense.

And at last I surrendered the keys to the kingdom,
From the floors up to the rafters,
And now we are fairies in our own sweet tale,
Living happily ever after.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE

THE DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE

I would slip a sad apology, underneath your bedroom door.
A list of all my shortcomings, broken on your dusty floor.

But the battle lines are fierce and drawn,
The armies do formations on manicured lawns.

Love’s astray, in grand decay, my serenity’s hard won.
The ship has sailed for distant shores, the damage has been done.

And where were you when I was bleeding crimson,
In colors bright as autumn leaves?

Where were you when I was drifting lost,
Teardrops scattered in the evening breeze?

I crave your attention and fear the tension
Between who you are and who you claim to be.

Why do you keep such a distance, taking the path of least resistance?
You claim to love me, yet there’s this frightening dissonance,
And perhaps I demand more than you could ever give,
Clinging fast to your tender mercies, struggling just to live.

You could slip an articulate explanation under my front door,
A detailed list of your many failings, archived on the floor.

And maybe I could smile and shrug, but forgiveness beats a hollow drum,
For the ship has sailed for distant shores, and the damage has been done.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I DO NOT WANT MY EPITAPH

I DO NOT WANT MY EPITAPH

I do not want my epitaph to be all the times I’ve failed.
All my misspent years on earth just chasing my own tail.

I want my epitaph to be smooth, upbeat and happy,
Though the world turns ‘round and throws me down.

I want to be known as brave and chipper
And a constellation in the sky bright as the Big Dipper.

I write too much of sorrow, gain solace out of pain,
But I do not want to be remembered as a man who loved the rain.

I want the church to overflow, with earnest ones who loved me so,
And I want them to remember my laughter and my smiles
More so than my tortured years, my long and lonely miles.

The path I followed to contentment and the man to whom I gave my heart.
The words and rhymes I left behind in my desperate pursuit of art.

These are what I want remembered, not sorrow nor depression,
Nor a sense of hopelessness to leave the wrong impression.

I do not want my epitaph to sadden or bring low,
The many friends I’ve counted on, the ones that I love so.

I want them to imagine me, dancing on the open sea,
Walking on the waters somewhere far beyond the moon.

I want them knowing I’m at peace, floating in that sky of blue.
I do not want my epitaph distorted, dashed, or misconstrued.

I want the world to finally know, when the time it comes for me to go,
That though I seemed a pessimist and often wrote of sorrow
That I loved life in my twisted way and believed in each tomorrow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FOR LIFE'S SAKE

FOR LIFE’S SAKE

I am anxious for the future, but still I believe,
That a shred of hope lingers
In each fragile leaf that falls from the tree,

In each rippling stream that gushes toward the lake,
Still I believe in life for life’s sake.

I am worried for tomorrow, bogged down in my sorrow.
Like a weeping willow tree I bend,
Close to breaking and at wit’s end.

Still I believe there are mountains to climb,
Reasons to linger in the passageways of time.

I believe in noisemakers and streamers
And the butter cream icing on birthday cake.

Worn down by the ages, I slowly turn the pages
And bask in the glory of life for life’s sake.

Life stands in stark relief, it has its own reasons
With pomp and with pride it shows off its seasons.

And though it is often grossly unkind,
I still believe in the lessons of time.
As we grow older, we trade in our youth
For bittersweet memories and unfiltered truth.

And perhaps we grow more cynical, perhaps we grow more jaded.
Yet long after youth and beauty have faded,
We cling to the genuine, and let go of the fake,
And live triumphantly, life for life’s sake.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DISSERTATION

DISSERTATION

My theme today is weighty, not for the faint of heart.
I scarcely know where to begin, I don’t know how to start.
I have a strange flirtation, to pen my dissertation.
To sum up this life in a sentence or two,
To pass on for posterity some things I’ve learned to you.

Life can be a scary monster, it can chew you up and swallow you whole,
Sometimes it takes you places you would just as soon not go.
Life is a master teacher of suspense and of surprise,
The subtle tender mercies that live in a lover’s eyes.
Life is like a rollercoaster, life is like a rainbow.
Life is a shining prism that reflects your inner soul.

My theme today is heady, like some rare, expensive wine.
My theme today is slow decay and the shifting sands of time.
My theme today is that there isn’t much I know for sure.
But life is never perfect and life is seldom pure.

I have the inclination to write my dissertation,
Without artifice or show and without affectation.
Life is like a football scrimmage, you are tackled by your fate,
And every lesson that you learn seems to come too late.

My themes today are life and death, in all their blazing glory.
A strange but grand mythology to all who hear my story.
My theme today is crushing and can bring you to your knees
With only God in heaven to hear your silent pleas.
And what of God and his existence, what are we to think?
For life can be a bitter brew that man is made to drink.

My theme today is travel, and what happens when we die.
And now I lay me down my pen with one last final sigh.
My chariot at last has come, I’m bound for yonder sky.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WHY CAN'T I FLY

WHY CAN’T I FLY?

Why can’t I fly, just spread my wings and soar?
Why to the ground am I tethered, withered to the core?
Like a struggling plant without the nutrients it needs,
My heart is made of tired blood and clings unto my sleeve.

Why can I not celebrate, why can I not speak?
The words that issue from my mouth indecipherable as Greek.
Why can I not stand erect, why must I need a nap?
At every hour on the hour in my stocking cap.

Why must all I long to be lie buried in a tomb,
Until the gods of stem cells enchant with their perfume.
Why can’t I be blissful, why can’t I be gay?
Content to snag the remnants of blessings sent my way.

Why must I be perfect, and shrink against mistakes?
The more I travel onward, the higher grow the stakes.
And I must live unblemished from sins and from omissions
And hold to a higher standard of grace and of permission.

Why can I not levitate and will myself to higher ground?
Why can I not be present when the horn of Gabriel sounds?
Why can I not be patient, why can my hands not pray?
Why can God not hear me, a lamb that’s gone astray?

Why can’t I just fly, fling myself from this tower high?
My sun is slowly setting and evening’s drawing nigh.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DIVINE COOL

DIVINE COOL

Divine cool you are, my love,
Cool as the frostiest freezer.

Cooler than a pair of scissors
Or a wicked pair of tweezers.

Divine cool you are to me,
Like a cool cop on a motorbike.

But rest assured that it is you
And not the cool cop that I like.

Divine cool you are from your cool lips
To your cooler hips,
To your way cool far out fingertips.

A veritable, incredible edible treat,
A popsicle chilled, sweet enough to eat.

Divine cool you are, as you work out with your weights.
A muscle shirt would be your friend in such a chiseled state.

Divine cool is what you are to me on a hot day in July.
A swimming pool to dive into, a respite cool as wine.
Or perhaps a soft serve ice cream cone,
Chocolate would be fine.

Divine cool you are, a lovely flowing stream,
The coolest man I’ve ever known,
The cool fulfillment of my dreams.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FOG LIFTING

FOG LIFTING

It’s been a long time coming,
But at last my boat has come ashore.

I am no longer sorrow’s child,
Nor desperation’s youthful ward.

The chemist he has worked his magic,
His Zoloft swims inside my brain,
Turning tragedy into triumph,
Dancing through mud puddles when it rains.

The clock is always running, and there are no timeouts.
The sand in the hour glass sifts right on through
And we just go on living, what else can we do?

Like ships out on the stormy sea,
We tread the waters cautiously.
And the enemies are fog and mist,
That cloud our vision and make us clench our fist.
For who has eyes that see in the dark,
And no one knows where the journey ends
After we embark.

I am no prophet, I am no seer
And have spilt many tears into my beer.
I have trudged through the misty rain forest,
I have stumbled along these London streets.
I am starved for sleep and blessed rest
And still I won’t admit defeat.

This time I am sailing unafraid into the mist
And the fine sand as it’s shifting.
For the tide at last is turning my way
And the fog at long last lifting.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

UNREQUITED

UNREQUITED

I sent Death a fan letter, he did not answer me,
I sent him some flowers, a token of my esteem.
Apparently be was busy elsewhere, perhaps he wasn’t home.
My flowers withered on his doorstep, untended and alone.

I asked Death to take me to the prom, and he smiled apologetically,
as if to say politely he was not that into me.
and so I sat in my lonely room, filled with bitterness and gloom.

Death then threw a lavish party, and I was not invited,
It is the story of my life, love always unrequited.

I then asked Death to snatch me and to take me from this world,
For I had had enough of sorrow, could not bear to face tomorrow.
Was tired of the wretched earth kicking sand up in my face.
I was feeling quite a failure and the ultimate disgrace.
I phoned Death in a panic, asking what was wrong,
Why the time of my demise was taking him so long.

But Death alas had had enough and would not return my calls,
He sent to me his lawyers, irreconcilable differences cited.
Another dreaded evening falls, my love still unrequited.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LET ME HOLD YOU

LET ME HOLD YOU

Let me hold you in the morning, see the sunrise in your smile
And caress you in the evening after many a ragged mile.

For you and I are weary travelers, traipsing through this native sod,
Eyes wide open, ears cocked sideways, listening for the voice of God.

Let me see you in the noontime, a brave knight perched upon his horse,
Rescuing me from a torrent of tears and waterfalls of remorse.

I will ride with you to the edge of the clearing and behold with you
the vistas grand.

Beneath the grandeur of the mountains, the foam of the ocean
and its drifting sand.

And fly with you swift as a unicorn, into the great unknown,
As the world draws swiftly to its slumber, snoring like some hapless stone.

We will dance on craters of the moon and lose ourselves in twilight’s gleam,
Hurdling fast through outer space like astronauts in some fitful dream.

And all these glories we will cherish, like a child’s first cherished fairy tale
And on a ribbon of pinkish sky, together we will fondly sail.

Let me hold you in the evening, thrilling to your heartbeat dear,
And let our love be a lantern bright that burns across the hemisphere.

For after man has long been gone and life on earth a memory,
Our love will be a meteorite, blinding in its majesty.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LOOK INTO MY EYES AGAIN

LOOK INTO MY EYES AGAIN

Look into my eyes again, before you make the choice to go.
Look into the countenance of the one who loves you so.
I am the walking wounded, I am the soldier bleeding.
Look into my eyes again and banish thoughts of leaving.

Look into my eyes again that weep their silent tears
And hide behind their anger, made hard by passing years.
Taste the holy sacrament I offer up to you,
The wine and bread of a soul that’s dead but longs to rise anew.

Look into my eyes again, remember our romance
That rose above the commonplace, the usual song and dance.
A love so hot it blistered and woke me from my sleep
A love that conquered loneliness and tore into me deep.
A grand and glorious act of faith, a love forever mine to keep.

Look into my eyes again, my handsome good luck charm,
And remember just how good it felt to hold me in your arms.
Though I’m weak and weary, I hunger still for you.
Look into my eyes again, come gently to my rescue.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GAMBLING ON ANOTHER DAY

GAMBLING ON ANOTHER DAY

We die a little with each new dawn,
A sprinkling of lilacs decorate the lawn,
And like the sunrise, precious and brief,
Our lives are fragile as the crimson leaf
That hangs from the autumn tree,
Only to blow away.

So much sorrow, so much grief,
Until we make peace with the belief,
That all our days are numbered,
Like raindrops on the sod,
And each and every breath we take,
Is nurtured and controlled by God.

Or perhaps Buddha or Fate or some other higher being,
According to your vantage point, your own unique way of seeing.
It matters not your solemn creed,
It matters not your word or deed.
Life is like a bubbling brook,
Amongst a scenic overlook.
Clear and effervescent now,
But soon, alas, to crack and dry
And evaporate into the sky.

We die a little with each new dawn,
As we stumble on the lawn.
On winter’s ice we tumble
As our empires start to crumble.
Nothing left but naked dreams,
Ambition run amok.
Remnants from the wheels we spun,
Engine sputtering in the mud.
We build our lives on sweat and tears,
Covered in our holy blood.

But each day, alas, we live a little, too,
Some hopefulness is called for,
And from somewhere out of the mystic blue,
Sometimes there’s a touch of grace
To shine upon this desolate place.
A sprinkling of lilies that forever bloom,
To light the corner of the darkest room,
And so we clutch to our sliver of hope,
Climbing on our upwards slope,
We somehow rise and go our way,
Gambling on another day.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY

YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY

You make me so happy, unmitigated bliss,
Not even Steve and Adam ever knew a love like this.

Though life is sometimes tragic, you delight me with your magic
And toss my sorrow like a spinach salad to the wind.
I was never fond of vegetables so I’m glad that we are friends.

You make me ecstatic, like I’m walking on the sky.
Your good looks they mesmerize, your kindness echoes wide.

Though life is sometimes ugly, there is beauty in your smile
And you throw my woes like dandelions into the nearest junkpile.

You make me wild with passion that explodes into the sun,
A wild volcanic fever like Vesuvius on the run.

Your lips are a temptation that I dream of when I doze,
‘til you come to me so silently and take off all your clothes.

You delight me with your fingers, not to mention other things
And your kisses are like ripples in some wild and wondrous stream.

You make me so happy that I want to do a dance,
But I am slow and clumsy, so for that there’s not a chance.

And you are the grand finale to life’s fireworks display.
You sweep me fleet right off my feet and carry me away.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

OH HOW I STILL LOVE YOU

OH, HOW I STILL LOVE YOU

Early in the morning, when ghosts still haunt the streets,
I close my eyes and conjure you, and once again my days are sweet.
For from my heart you are never far, fair to imagine,
Like some shooting star that brightens up the heavens blue.
Incandescent, ever true, oh, how I once loved you.

And in the glaze of afternoon, when lost in magic sunlight’s sheen.
Your memory lives, like a waking dream, to calm my day and cool my feet
That burn from the macadam hot, like chili peppers on the street.
In my soul you still survive, I keep your essence still alive,
And in the heat and summer gloom, oh, how I once loved you.

Death is never very far, eternal life, eternal scar,
Scar of passage, scar of loss, scar of tears and chances lost.
Lost to me for now you are, but Death is never very far.

Late in the velvet evening, when I breathe in the musk of sacred dusk.
I can almost feel your spirit hover, under nightfall’s sacred cover.
Forever you are still my mother, in my heart you take your throne,
And wrap my wounds in your healing balm, comforting when I’m alone.

Late in the velvet evening, when evening’s chill it pierces through.
I sit and weep in restless sleep, oh, how I still love you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ACCUSATORY GLANCES

ACCUSATORY GLANCES

The pipes are bursting left and right,
The house has sprung a leak.
The parents they are fighting,
And the children cannot sleep.

And after the red hot anger cools,
A sullen silence fills the air.
Accusatory glances across the room do stare.

And the children cry and they know not why,
Their young minds cannot comprehend,
That the fairy tale of their parents’ lives
Is quickly drawing to an end.

The electric is turned off at last
For nonpayment of fees.
There will be no more air conditioning,
There will be no more TV.

And the parents they must live content
To simply stare at walls,
And eulogize their love that’s died.
While in distress the teacher calls.
To ask if there is something wrong.
Why do John and Jen act out?
Why has all this misbehavior all of a sudden come about?

And the children cry, and the night is long,
And the parents struggle to stay strong.
And the father’s laid off at his work,
And life just goes from bad to worse.

The pipes are bursting left and right,
And with the pipes the bank account.
The bill collectors at the door,
The troubles they do swiftly mount.

The parents, they are fighting,
The children cannot sleep.
Alone inside their bedroom,
The tears roll down their cheeks.

And in their parents’ bedroom another scene is playing out,
Accusatory glances that smolder and burn out.
After the red hot anger cools, will there still be something there,
Besides the ghosts of love gone wrong that echo on the stairs?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

HARVEST

HARVEST

Time to harvest the shining pumpkins,
To rejoice in the gorgeous gourds.

Time to stop and breathe in autumn and all its rich rewards.

All I need to know is I am yours and you are mine
And we will sail together through the grainy sands of time.

The time of harvest has appeared,
Here in the autumn of the year.
When the air is brisk with a welcome chill,
When the leaves crunch hard beneath our feet.
When we slowly waken to the thrills,
The sights and smells of the season sweet.

The smell of a fireplace caressing the air,
A warm fire burning, with comfort to spare.
And you here beside me, as evening draws near,
Your body warm and precious, my troubles disappear.

Time for apple cider, time for living dreams,
Time for sharing love divine and all that passion means.
Time for chili parties, time for football scores.
Time for jack o’lanterns blazing on porches
And trick or treaters at the door.

Time to gather the gifts of the spirit
That bloom as bright as springtime flowers.
Time to praise the harvest moon for the plenty that is ours.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SIMPLE

SIMPLE

Like a brightly colored beach ball
In the arms of a happy child,

Your love is pure and simple,
And it stretches over miles.

Back to the beaches of my youth
Where I strolled alone along the sand.

Love came to me quite simply, like nothing I had planned.

In my eyes you walk on water and shower me anew
With blessings that crash over me in waves of crystal blue.
And if I had a crystal ball, I will never understand,
The wonderment of your embrace,
The thrill of your outstretched hand,

Like the smile that shows the precious dimple,
Your love is pure and oh, so simple.
Like a billowing parachute or a bouncing trampoline,
Those childhood games of innocence that time has come between.

The music of our youth still plays on the oldies radio,
Though we age and though our precious hair is gone or white as snow.
Though our sojourn on this earth is brief,
And to history we are but a pimple,
My love for you lives proud and strong,
Still and sweet and simple.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MOONS

MOONS

Moons will fade, years will pass,
Proud horses will bite the dust.
Life will be old and I will die,
Losing my breath as all men must.

Silences will grow, wars will cry,
Violence will be hungry,
God will fill the sky.

Futures will call, the past will rust,
The earth will stagnate and men will trust.

All the answers will surrender
To the quiet of the times.
And all the poets will be in limbo,
Suffocating on their rhymes.

Masters will spit and slaves will sing,
And this world shall pass in a fiery ring.
And the dead shall rise and walk again,
Our enemies, our beloved friends.

Moons will fade, years will pass,
Cities, they will blaze and burn,
And each one shall succumb at last,
The final lessons taught and learned.

Moons will fade, years will pass,
The world shall turn to pixie dust,
UFOs will scorch the grass.
And the doubting Thomases shall trust

Silences will grow, wars will cry,
Violence will starve to death,
And God will fill the sky.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1984
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

BEFORE MY ANGELS CALL

BEFORE MY ANGELS CALL

Morning sunshine, come to my window, have a glimpse of me,
And take a look at my lover fair, who stalwartly walks beside me.

All along life’s thoroughfares, here, there, and everywhere.
We rise with praise for each new day, and send our troubles on their way.

Afternoon sunshine, perch on my windowsill dying.
Sing me a love song from this sorry world,
Bright and strong like a thunderbolt hurled,
Straight from the forehead of mighty Zeus,
And with my warring demons I at last will call a truce.

Evening sunshine, appear on my doorstep,
Serenade me with vigor, with vim and with pep,
And wake me from an early sleep,
And send a final volley across the mountain steep.

Season my old age like a vintage salt shaker,
Remind me that I have a date with my Maker.
That the close of life, alas, can be as precious as the first,
Come, oh, come, thou evening sun, and gently quench my thirst.

Before the final rains do fall, before my blessed angels call,
Morning sun, I beg thee, noontime sun I plead with thee,
Evening sun, I implore thee, come once more to my window.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DIRGE

DIRGE

Sing me a dirge, if you’re brave and feel the urge,
For I am sinking like a stone, heading towards the Great Unknown.
And though I’m packed and ready for my everlasting trip,
I have the need for godspeed to bless my sovereign ship.

Sing me a dirge, like some graceful winged bird,
And I will soar forevermore, sight unseen and sound unheard,
Past the mountains and the canyon grand,
From the choppy sea to the golden land.

Who said this was the only dimension?
Whoever heeds and pays attention
Knows that life is an open door,
A turnstile revolving, we have all been here before,
The soul has just forgotten, its life in days of yore.

The light will beckon, the questions will dissolve,
Replaced with the answers, all finally resolved.
Friends they will greet me with outstretched arms,
There is no cause of weeping, no source of alarm.
Death is the boatman and death is a godsend.
Pay no attention to the gruff apparition in black robe and staff,
Death is a merry prankster, and he has the last laugh.

Who said this was the only dimension?
Whoever heeds and pays attention,
Knows that life is an open door,
Knows in his heart we have been here before.

And perhaps we all shall pass this way again,
No one but the shadow knows and it will not yet say,
Just bundle me up carefully and send me on my way.

Sing me a dirge, if you’re brave and feel the urge,
And when you gaze up at the stars at night,
I shall be the one that shines for you with the brightest light.
I will glimmer, I will blink, a strange, seductive private wink.
A wink that only you can see, that binds you evermore to me
And sets your doubting spirit free.

Sing me a dirge, until you have purged, every last vestige and burden of sorrow.
Sing me a dirge and believe every word, and rise to a new and a shining tomorrow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LIVING EVERY DREAM

LIVING EVERY DREAM

There are worlds yet undiscovered, sights unseen by you and me.
We have yet to sail to India and sample the cuisine.

There is vintage wine still left to taste, round sweet grapes cling to the vine.
We are Nature’s favored sons and for each rare treat there will be time.

So I’ll humor you and follow you, as far as human footsteps go,
To the far end of the moon, to the apex of the rainbow.

I will speak your name with gentle tone, with a reverent inflection,
And follow blindly where you lead, charting our direction.
So much of life untasted, its flowing waters sweet and pure.
Let’s drink our fill, for good or ill, arise and take the tour.

There are oceans yet to sail, cityscapes with wondrous views,
Autumn leaves on Vermont trees, so much left to see and do.

So take my hand and kiss my lips, the world is at our fingertips.
Let us answer God’s great call, to arise like kings before the Fall.
Like Adam and Steve in a dream of Eden, blessed by the Holy Spirit’s breath.
Before the hissing of the serpent, before the certainty of death.

We’ll conquer London, Ireland, Rome and arrive victorious back at home.
Reveling in these plans we’ve made, a joyous and a grand parade.
Two intrepid travelers, tumbling in their time machine,
Holding fast to a love that lasts, boldly living every dream.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SWING, SISTER

SWING, SISTER
(FOR DIANA KRALL)

Swing, sister, swing, let it all hang out,
Such majestic music issues from your mouth.
Swing to Sinatra and fly me to the moon,
Swing, sister, swing, astound me with your tunes.

Play, sister, play, that piano so grand,
I always hold my breath and marvel
At the speed of your graceful hands.

Sing Irving Berlin and Lerner and Lowe,
And the soft sounds of samba, the romance of Rio,
That fill quiet nights of sweet candlelight,
When lovers fill arms and snuggle so tight.

Swing, sister, swing, and devil may care,
Swing, sister, swing, your jazz fills the air.
In sweet synchronization with a crackerjack band.
Quick to give credit where credit is due,
To the musical greats who thrilled and inspired you.

How must it feel, sister, married to Elvis,
Such musical royalty, such grinding of pelvis.
And to be the proud mother of Dexter and Frank,
Must cause you each day to rise and give thanks
What glorious stories you must have to tell,
Of those cherubic angels or toddlers from hell.

No one swings better, at least for my money,
Behind the piano your voice sweet as honey.
Fill the air with the sounds of Nat King Cole,
Spiked with your patented cool, sultry soul.

Cole Porter and Bacharach pulse in your veins,
And you channel them softly like a cool morning rain.
So swing, sister, swing, and long may you thrive
And thanks for the memories you help keep alive.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

HAWAIIAN SUNSET

HAWAIIAN SUNSET

Hawaiian sunset, I wait for you alone inside this cove.
You step into God’s closet and steal the choicest robe.
Will it be the gold tonight, with a smidgeon of maroon?
Will it be a blood red hue, which robe will you choose?
Pinkish gray amidst the haze of the slowly dying day,
Or purplish with a yellow streak, each one lovely and unique.
Hawaiian sunset, midst the silence, I hear you softly speak.

You tie dye my life with the brightest of lights,
Your swaying palms a backdrop to the day’s descent to night.
Black and gray and mystic, a rare and wondrous sight.

Hawaiian sunset with your cloud wisps laced with lavender,
A hula dancer swings her hips, another day falls off the calendar.
Into the night sky, a palette of colors you do infuse.
When you step inside God’s closet, which robe will you choose?
I love the way you mix the paints, like some expert color saint.

Hawaiian sunset slowly dies, streaking ‘cross the tropic skies.
Transient beauty never lasts yet it brings comfort nonetheless.
I blink at your scenes of gorgeous ink,
that you blend like an artist in some cosmic sink.

Hawaiian sunset shines in the sky like a burning, slowly dying fuse.
When you step into God’s closet, which robe will you choose?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

QUENCH MY THIRST

QUENCH MY THIRST

Quench my thirst for romance, take my hand and let us dance.
Dance away the night terrors, dance away the fitful sleep.
Dance away the Parkinson’s, kiss me slow and deep.

I hope you’ll find me handsome still, some vestige left of who you met,
On that magic night now long ago, that shines in my heart like an amethyst.
I hope you’ll find me funny yet, full of attitude and piss,
Not some weakened, sick old man, but a strong and vibrant spirit.

Quench my thirst for your hand, my hunger for our best laid plans,
And satisfy my appetite, with your soul so pure and your teeth so white.
And dance away the specter of Mr. Death and all his henchmen,
Dance away the strait-laced ways and fill the night with sin.

Quench my thirst for passion, my hunger for your company,
Dance away my clumsiness, my inner Humpty Dumpty.
And promise that you’ll stay with me when the wilderness is all too much
And conjure fever from my forehead with your healing touch.

Quench my thirst for romance and stay until the end,
And become my weeping willow, so graceful in the wind.
Stay until the curtain falls, until my final act.
No matter how the chips they fall, nor how the cards are stacked.

Quench my thirst for romance, take my hand and let us dance.
Dance away the worries that in my soul do creep.
Dance away this awful stiffness, kiss me slow and deep.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DIONYSUS

DIONYSUS

Dionysus lives in me, come join the Bacchanalia,
He the spawn of Zeus and Semele, born amid azaleas.

Semele was killed by a bolt of lightning,
Ferocious and so very frightening.

And Zeus took the child unto his thigh
And gave him second birth, gave him wings to fly.

Dionysus lives in me, buried under layers,
And once his fury issues forth
I shall be quite the player.

A player known for hedonism and for unbridled pleasure.
In this world where only pain and sorrow thrive,
I will give my new friend Dion a hale and hearty high five.

Dionysus and I, we will paint the town in blood,
And sweep away our enemies, like Pentheus once was.

Dionysus will at long last have his due,
And he will sweep up the floor with the sorry likes of you.
And you in turn shall worship him and call him by his name,
And offer up your sacrifice as sweet as sugar cane.

Dionysus is inside us all, come join the Bacchanalia,
Bring the finest of the wines and the best drug paraphernalia.
The mighty Dionysus, who rules this earth and sky,
He the spawn of mighty Zeus, pulled from the Great One’s thigh.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

EMOTION

EMOTION

If I could bundle all of my emotion,
And toss it in the sea,
It would squirm and in the murky waters
Gingerly form your body.

And I would swim after it, desperate American crawl,
Throwing away all again for the amble of your walk,
The animation of your talk,
The life that hangs in your black curls.

And oh, oh, the differences abide,
Longing for a love I cannot reach.
You sit yards away, asleep, head cradled in hands
I sit loving you, ostrich-like in my shame sand.

And oh, oh, the treacherous waves I ride,
Malcontent surfer, following you,
Treading light on your heels.

Beacon of desire, wingless and beached.
Wishing my feelings had lightning rod wheels.
Wishing I were looser at mouth and could shout my love,
Wishing my eyes could swim in your pulse and tell all.

If I could free my emotion and toss it to the sky,
Your bones would form, your face, leg, and thigh
And weave a tapestry that would bare my secret.

If ever there was an injustice, it is this-
I know you and I know you not.
I walk behind you wishing union, dreading your discovery.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1983
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CYCLE OF OUR ROMANCE

CYCLE OF OUR ROMANCE

I could cycle with you through this world
On a bicycle built for two.

So deep and strong it resonates, this passion that I feel for you.

We could cycle through the mountain passes,
All along this fruited plain.

Cycle through the fields of plenty
Or through wet streets in a drenching rain.

Cycle through life’s seasons, the summer heat, the winter chill,
Taking the good that may befall us, making light of the bad and the ill.

I could cycle with you to the depths of the bluest sparkling sea,
A champagne-laced triathlon, tailor made for you and me.

Exploring in our wet suits, each rare and wondrous curve,
Admiring your great beauty that lives in deed and word.

I could cycle with you to the midst of a clearing,
Where the deer graze peacefully in the shade,
A picnic basket full of treasures, special treats that I have made.

I could cycle with you through the skies, like Elvira Gulch in a twister mean,
With a little kitten I have kidnapped, a cute little token of my esteem.

And we will land in some Emerald City,
perhaps to be London this time around.

No matter where we wander to, you keep my feet on solid ground.

I will cycle with you to the bed we share, strip you gently of your clothes,
And behold the flesh that I adore, smooth as soy milk, scented like the rose.

I will cycle with you to the end, when time at last is still,
The cycle of our romance dear, for I love you now and always will.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MOTHER OF PEARL

MOTHER OF PEARL

There’s a joy to be found when you’re out to the world,
Dancing feet moving to a driving beat, rainbow flag unfurled.

There’s a gentle I am that rests in your hand, claiming you for its very own,
You walk through the world like an orphan child, who finds at last he is not alone.
At last you can breathe free on the streets of the city,
Where you cradle the head of your lover,
Underneath the velvet cover of the night, so welcoming and dark.

There’s a joy to be found when you’re out to the world,
Squeezing his fingers and relishing the spark.
Playing with his hair, a fond, contented twirl.
His smile shines bright like mother of pearl.

There once was a fear that seized your soul,
As you morphed into who they wanted you to be.
And you traded your soul and slowly went blind
To the men who peppered your rich fantasies.
And you spun your tires in a long, slow whine,
And shivered alone in the breeze off the sea.

‘Til one fine day the scales fell from your eyes,
And love came and took you, quite by surprise.
And you lay down your shell and came out to the world,
Shining like a diamond or mother of pearl.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SUNRISE AS USUAL

SUNRISE AS USUAL

On the day after I leave the planet,
Really nothing much will change,
The mighty buffalo still will roam,
And cowboys still will ride the range.
And mothers will labor and still give birth,
To restock the population of the earth.
Maybe a new President or a scientist will be born,
Bringing peace to a war-torn world
And healing to the sick and forlorn.

My friends will cry, my enemies will rejoice,
In equal amounts of conviction and force.
My lover will pause for a moment to grieve,
His heart an open hole will continue to bleed.
Until one day he finds another kindred soul
To heal up his wounds and again make him whole.

On the day when at last my breath does cease,
I will cross to the world of the spirit with ease,
And the faith of my fathers will fall into place,
All God’s mercy and amazing grace.
And my soul will inhabit the sky like a pearl,
And the sunrise as usual will boldly unfurl.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FUNERAL

FUNERAL
(FOR MY FATHER)

Did we ever meet, connect, Daddy?

Did our souls collide?

Your folded arms across your chest
Somehow don’t seem quite so stern.

But I hear my mother crying, and I must away.

While they close the lid, I’ll close my eyes
And think how you suffered in silence on sterile sheets,

Your fragile life held in place by useless gadgets,
Death prolongers.

And when I’m home
And only then,
I will cry for you,
For things I never did or said.

And wonder to myself
If the mystery of life finally got to you,
As right now it gets to me.

Whenever I remember those pale hands,
Those closed eyes, those last rites.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1983
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MANKIND IS A PITIFULLY HOPEFUL SPECIES

MANKIND IS A PITIFULLY HOPEFUL SPECIES

Clouds lift, wisps of cotton candy whirling in the sky.

I am one for flying, arms outstretched, into the sunny blue,
Leaving my troubles to crash head on into jagged cliffs
Along my long flight to the heavens.

Just my lover and me,
We will treat ourselves and fly first class.
With nothing on our minds but the credo of a clown,
And nothing in our hands but helium balloons,
To carry us safely, headfirst to the magical stars.

For life is little but spirits in flight,
An air show of souls who learn to fly,
After diving many times into freezing ocean depths.

Clouds lift, wisps of cotton candy whirling in the sky.
The sun, a slice of robust lemon, sets weary souls to waking.

Mankind is a pitifully hopeful species,
Sailing undaunted to candy apple sunsets.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1983
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

INSIDE THE LINES

INSIDE THE LINES

Life is not always neat and tidy,
Life does not stay inside the lines.
Life is like some rebel child,
Clutching crayons like land mines.

Love is not always black and white,
There are muted tones and shades of gray.
And lovers spend many anguished nights,
Hiding from the scandals of the sunny day.

Friendship is not all wine and song,
A jaunty dance or a jubilee.
For friends are made of flesh and bone,
The scarred remains are what you see.

And life can cheat and play its cards,
Oh, so tight, and close to the vest.
It lures you in with tasty bait,
Then puts your mettle to the test.

Life is not all zest and ease,
Life is famine and disease.
Life is love that does betray,
And fickle friends that go astray.

Life is short and life is brief,
Fragile as the autumn leaf.
Life is graveyards and decay,
The great big fish that got away.

Count your blessings with your fears,
Be thankful for your sunlit years.
And clutch your crayons ‘til you die,
Do not be afraid to cry.

Life is hard, but worth the fight,
So grit your teeth and hold on tight.
Clutch your crayons as you go,
Relax, sit back, enjoy the show.

And beat life at its own cruel game,
Until the Reaper calls your name.
There is no reason or no rhyme,
Life never stays inside the lines.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DULY NOTED

DULY NOTED

Her anger it is duly noted, double-spaced, in triplicate,
On every ink-filled page inscribed by her psychiatrist.
Each neurosis is explored in painstaking detail,
Every single woe is me, every last travail.
Can be found like coffee grounds in the bottom of the cup.
At two hundred dollars an hour, she can soak those troubles up.

Her loneliness is duly noted, in the pages of her shrink.
The wherefores and whys are analyzed and progress made she thinks.
She knows that she has issues and every one she must explore,
Lest the bad world gobble up her soul and show her to the door.

Her husband he cannot be troubled to pick up his dirty underwear,
And the kids, they just can’t manage to stay out of mommy’s hair.
And the in-laws, oh, don’t get her started, for they both are lean and mean,
And her mother-in-law has done a number on her self esteem.

And she does not call her parents, for they send her on a guilt trip
That makes her feel as heady as the latte that she sips.
And as far as reality, she is fast losing her grip.
Her life’s remiss and it’s because of this she’s feeling such remorse.
Her dreams have fallen short and all her hopes have gone off course.

Her sadness it is duly noted, the proof is in her tears
That she weeps into her Kleenex for the misery of her years.
Her shrink he does not say a word, from him there’s not a peep,
Two hundred dollars an hour and the SOB’s asleep.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WAR

WAR

Now that the war is over,
Will somebody be Old Glory
And wave in the breeze above my corpse
And my tear-racked blood-stained garment?

Tunes of glory ripple in the wind
Now that peace has come to my soul
And my lacerated, sacrificed flesh
Is eaten up slowly by cracks in the earth.

Now is the time to shriek a horrid
“what was all this worth”
To the wretched gods that made me.
And the trees that envelop and shade me with embrace
Will not look me in the face to answer my inquiries.

The sunset tonight is fiery and strong.
It fades into the teary eyes of a young man who once loved me,
A man who tried to save me.
He stares into the sunset, trembling at my memory
And trudges off the battlefield alone.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1983
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MORE THAN A FIERY SUNSET

MORE THAN A FIERY SUNSET

More than a rare sparkling coin in a rich man’s fur-lined pocket,
More than an appliance I can plug into a socket.
More than the majesty of a magic NASA rocket,
I love this image of you that I carry in this locket.

More than the lone rose that survives a winter snow,
More than the melancholy that follows where I go.
More than all the lovely birds that twitter to and fro,
I love the pot of gold you lay at the end of my bitter rainbow.

I love you so much more than these, the way you put my mind at ease,
The way you came and carried back the soul that I had sold.
I love you more than the shamans and the gypsies once foretold.

More than a puffy cloud in a bright blue autumn sky.
More than souls that beckon from the dear sweet by and by,
More than the whispers of loved ones gone that echo from the grave,
I love the lingering kisses and caresses that you gave.

The sun it rises, shining bright, hurling joy on you and me,
Creeping across the virgin day in glorious tapestry.
And yet I love you more than sun that gleams so brilliantly,
More than soft serve ice cream or fresh brewed sweet iced tea.

I love you for the sweetness of the hope that you convey.
I love the shelter that you bring to a drab pedestrian day.
I love you more than a ship on the harbor, dry land beckoning,
And I cling to you like a talisman on the day of final reckoning.
I love you more than ever, more than the day we met,
More than a cup of gourmet coffee, more than a fiery sunset.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NEVER-ENDING HONEYMOON

NEVER-ENDING HONEYMOON

When I look into your eyes so deep,
Reflecting pools of a journey shared.

The path we’ve traveled hand in hand,
The gold and silver stairs.

I see a rippling brook refreshing,
Sweeping across the water bed
And I stop to thank the angels sweet
For blessings heaped upon my head.

Eight short years have come and gone
Since first I met your countenance
And synchronized your steps with mine
With the power held in that first glance.

The gentle care you’ve shown for me
Echoes deep in memory.
Your soothing of uncertainties,
Your balm in times of trouble.

The way you found the diamond glow
In my soul’s forgotten rubble.

Eight short years have come and gone,
Since the night you first made love to me.
And still the thrill gives me a rush,
When fingers meet and bodies touch.

To lie beside you in the night, naked as my day of birth
And feel my flesh meld soft with yours, the sweetest joy on earth.

I watch you as you lift your weights,
I listen as you share your day.
Each piece of you ignites a spark,
Each inch of you I celebrate.

When I look into your eyes so deep,
Like an infant venturing from the womb,
I marvel how our lives connect,
A springtime garden in full bloom.

How after all the seeds we’ve planted,
I should be taking you for granted.
How my time with you shoots by too soon,
A never-ending honeymoon.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2006
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Today, Kyle and I celebrare our eighth year anniversary. I love him more than ever, as I hope is evident in this poem!

WAVE GOODBYE TO WANDERLUST

WAVE GOODBYE TO WANDERLUST

The lantern on the doorstep shines its halogen
through the dark night.

Welcome beacon to a world-weary soul,
Our house is bathed in light.

I leave my knapsack on the porch, take off my ratty shoes
And bathe my tired feet in bathwater sweet.

You always had an open door, whenever I would wander far.
My restless spirit yearns to land and settle right here where you are.

The lantern on our doorstep burns vigilant as an armored guard.
Cornered by its sleuthing eye, I make my way across the yard.

I see you at the screen door, barefoot, bare-chested,
Lifting your weights in those baby blue shorts.
And love begins where it left off.

Your smell that I remember well, the easy give and take we share.

The lantern on our doorstep shines its halogen through the blackness.
The nights pass sweet and dear, lying soft against your naked flesh.

I leave my knapsack on the porch, my dreams in your safekeeping,
My body here beside you on this precious bed,

Home and safe in welcome arms, at long last just the two of us,
I say a fond farewell to travel, wave goodbye to wanderlust.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FREEZING JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR

FREEZING JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR

Old age withers and stiffens my body,
At the ripe young age of 44.
Shuffling like an old codger,
Freezing just outside the door.

A poor Tim Conway’s old man’s shuffle,
A doddering fool in training,
I look outside in pained surprise
To find it always raining.

Creeping down imposing hallways,
Muscles tight and non-responsive,
Waiting for synthetic drugs to fuel my aching limbs.
Searching for my best laid plans,
Wondering what’s become of them.

Surely not the life I wanted, nor the path I bargained for,
Not the pot of shining gold I hoped to find laid at my door.
Not a precious sunlit day, but a rainbow charred and black.
I stare into the sunset and find demons staring back.

Trembling, shaking violently,
Like a house upon the fault line.
Parkinson’s a crafty mouse,
Gnawing on what once was mine.

Too quickly do they melt away,
The years I’d longed to treasure.
Like a miser counting up the coins
He had set aside for pleasure.

Movement now a luxury, walking quite a spectacle,
Driving a sheer act of will, sleeping a near miracle.
Old age claims me, crippling my thinking
At the tender age of 44.
Shuffling like a man possessed,
Freezing just outside the door.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE ANGELS CALL US HOME

THE ANGELS CALL US HOME

Softly I call to you here in the twilight
And yet there’s no answer and the heavens are still.

When the rain clouds should thunder
And the earth tear asunder,
So deeply I miss you, my dreams unfulfilled.

Softly I call for you, the one I called Mother,
Your passing a darkness that covered the day.

Softly I mourn you, a soul like no other,
A void and an emptiness blocking my way.

Loudly I scream and curse at the sky.
How dare it be sunny, how dare it be blue
And how dare my life be allowed to continue,
Here in the wilderness pining for you.

As I clean out your basement the memories flood
Of a mother and son and a tie thick as blood.

The awards and the letters and the poems that you saved,
Recipes that intrigued you that you hoped to try some day.

The newspaper clippings and the old Christmas cards,
The pale yellowed reminders of time and all its scars.

The constant echo I hear of your laughter,
Caressing the ceilings, the walls and the rafters.

How you clung to precious memories,
For in the end they are all we own,
After our last breath is drawn
And the angels call us home.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SLEEPLESS

SLEEPLESS

Sleepless I hang on the gallows at night,
The overnight deejay my rod and my staff.

The tunes roll on by, caressing these walls
‘til the darkness fades at last.

Sleepless I watch as the sheep get away,
Those crafty creatures of fleece and deceit.

Evading my capture, escaping my count,
Taunting me with the sound of their bleat.

A man’s deprived who cannot dream,
My hours pass long and lonely.

The moon shines distant through my window,
The hoot owl keeps me company.

The coyote howls in the distant hills
And the warm milk and the sleeping pills
Are experiments that fail.

A man’s forlorn whose eyes won’t close,
Whose pirate ship won’t sail.

Restlessly I walk the plank,
My canvas sterile, dull and blank.
My spirit damp as a prison camp,
My heart a dismal holding tank.

Wide awake I toss and turn,
The sadistic Sandman stifles a laugh.

Sleepless I swing on the gallows at night,
The overnight deejay my rod and my staff.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MELTING IN THE SUN

MELTING IN THE SUN

The world is melting ‘neath a sweltering sun.
Now I know how Hell must feel.
Sweating, stinking, stale sardines,
Pickled in vinegar, Satan’s meal.

The earth is slipping into perpetual heat,
And August is burning down the town.
I’d sell my soul for some sweet AC,
In perspiration I do drown.

Like my favorite wicked witch,
I am combustible and just might explode.
Or more like drip until I drop,
Of my own heat I will implode.

If I had a choice, I think it would be nice,
To end the world with pelting ice.
At least in my current frame of mind,
That turn of fate would be just fine.

I guess I’d better mend my ways,
I guess I’d better change my tune.
I better make my peace with God,
And I’d better make it soon.

The world is melting in the sun,
My life is slowly burning down.
And all that’s left my witch’s hat,
Smoldering on the thirsty ground.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED