Thursday, April 30, 2009

SHE SINGS

SHE SINGS
(FOR JUDY COLLINS)

She sings, a capella at first, a strong soprano in the amphitheater.
A melody of the working class, those hearty women of the past,
That garnered bread and roses.

Then piano crisp shimmers in the evening air
And her guitar strings ring strong against the microphone,
And she sings the song of a lover from afar,
A cowboy who rides the rodeo, coming for her someday soon.

Trees rustle and you could hear a pin drop
As her voice pierces hearts in the very back rows.
The clouds like castles of ice cream float above the Filene Center,
As she sings their praises in perfect pitch,
Opens the door to the audience that awaits
Who have gathered for an evening spent in the presence of greatness.

A maid of constant sorrow, a sorrow she transcends
Through the healing balm of music and the company of friends.
A musical trek through the mountains where she once wandered free,
A hale and hearty mountain girl, a transplant to the city.

Evening falls, and the Vienna darkness cloaks the air.
In a white gown, she sits behind the grand piano
And sings of boating down the river Seine,
The memories of a father dear, the secret gardens of flowers fair.
Isn’t it rich, the way she caresses a lyric and makes those clowns appear?
An evening divine under cool autumn skies.

She sings, a capella at last, the sweet sound of amazing grace,
Strong soprano in the amphitheater, smiles on every face.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

AUTHOR'S NOTE: TODAY, MAY 1ST, IS JUDY COLLINS' BIRTHDAY. SHE IS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE
SINGER OF ALL TIME! THIS IS THE SECOND OF TWO POEMS I'VE WRITTEN FOR HER. THE OTHER "SONGSTRESS OF SILVER" IS FEATURED ELSEWHERE ON THIS BLOG. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JUDY, AND THANKS FOR SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL MUSIC!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

THERE IS A SWEETNESS

THERE IS A SWEETNESS

There is a sweetness to mankind, not always seen by the naked eye
That trickles like a constant dream through every twisted tragic scene.
When the heart sags deep and begins to yearn,
Until the days ignite and slowly burn
And turn our memories crumbling into vagrant ash.
They soar so high above the clouds, ever joyful, strong and proud,
‘til on the jagged rock they crash, and the spirit starts its sinking.

The cruel and random hand of chance that interrupts the carefree dance,
And sets a wise man thinking
On what he’s done to offend the sun,
To antagonize the angry moon
And bring down vengeance on his head so swiftly and so soon.

There is a sweetness to the world, if you dig a little deeper
And plant your seeds of bravery when the hills you face grow steeper.
The myriad kind and gentle souls that offered up their hands to me,
A well of kindness once untapped, a welcome archaeology.

The artifacts of kind reprieve, forgiveness they have shown
On days my feet were cracked and blistered,
Stumbling through this world alone.

There is a sweetness to the vision of a mother and her child,
A father and his wide-eyed son setting off across the miles.
There’s a tenderness in the reverie, the oft-told tale of you and me.
You an angel of mercy sent, our pact of love, our covenant.

There is a sweetness coursing through my life,
That calms the days and soothes the nights.
And trickles like a constant stream
that reignites forgotten dreams.

There is a sweetness to mankind, not always seen by the naked eye,
A sweetness rare, a tender treat, that falls like manna from the sky.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

THE SNOW

THE SNOW

All the street people, bag ladies and bums,
Greet me as an old friend
As they make their way through the snow
With broken teeth, shattered dreams
And hungry souls.

They see in my eyes a pebble that makes a ripple,
A silent pain of the flesh, unspoken yet respected.

And meanwhile my lover waits across the city
With champagne, candlelight, a table set.

Roses in his hands, valentines gleaming in his eyes.

I want to gather these poor homeless, huddled masses
Into my palms like a handful of violets
And carry them across the city to share in the perversion.

But the snow is too deep, and I sink beneath their weight.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, April 27, 2009

DARKENED ROOMS

DARKENED ROOMS

Casual lovers have led me into their darkened rooms
And had their way with me
Without my half knowing why.

Casual acquaintances, the me I thought I knew
Seduced me until I denied myself
And then the cock crowed three times.

No time left for lies,
Spirits, messengers of peace
Accost me in darkened rooms.

They move through the night on gossamer wings
And die when they see the sunshine
And leave a barrel of doubts in my eyes.

Who was it once said if the gods exist,
They do not concern themselves
with the affairs of men.

Lover, lead me into your darkened rooms.

Have your way with me ‘til I deny myself
And let the cock crow three times.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, April 26, 2009

FAR AWAY AND NEAR

FAR AWAY AND NEAR

Far away and near you are to me,
Far away as a lost, ancient city,
Near as a passionate heartbeat.

And since I lost you, far away and near you have become.
Far away as a desolate planet,
Near as the rising and setting sun.

My mind so far away in fiery thoughts, stoops to catch a tear.
Tears that lurk in the back of my brain mysteriously appear.
And all of a sudden you become a strange, civil traveler in my land,
From so far away to so very near, I feel the caress of your gentle hand.

Near you are and yet so very far.
Near as my next tomorrow,
Far as a distant midnight star.

Far away and near you are to me,
Far away as a long lost rainbow.
And near as a desperate need.

I need for you to steal across these vacant years
And touch my face to still these silver tears.
I need you, love, not far away but near.

Near as a kiss, my moonlight man,
Near as a touch in the glow of daylight’s charms,
Near as a god in the morning sunrise,
Lying naked in my arms.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, April 24, 2009

DREAMERS ON PARADE

DREAMERS ON PARADE

Waving bright banners that herald my tidings,
I speak both of love and the passing of time.

Seizing the moment in all its bright colors,
Chanting my mantra with all pomp and glory.

I am a dreamer from centuries gone,
Speaking in tongues on this manicured lawn,

Proclaiming my love with the flowers I’m holding,
Seeking your mercy, your kind affirmation.

For you are a vision I’ve kept deep within me,
A treasure encased in my heart armor deep.
Yours is the memory I cleave and I cling to
When lost in a cloud of nourishing sleep.

I sing through the ages my reckless siren song
And pray for some great go-between to hasten love along.

I dream of you before me, naked, warm and tender,
Your flesh so soft against my own, the sweet taste of surrender.

Waving bright banners that herald my tidings,
I lay my heart open so fragile and frail.
Seizing the moment in all its bright colors,
Running beside you, hot on your trail.

I am one with the jesters, the dreamers on parade,
The fools who end up penniless when all their debts are paid.
I am one with sorrow and the melancholy evening,
Covered in my ashes, drowning in my dreaming.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GOODBYE TO THE BARREN PLAIN

GOODBYE TO THE BARREN PLAIN

Goodbye to the barren plain I once traversed alone,
The carrion vultures on my scent, the coarse and jagged stones.

A gentle comrade, tried and true, has hurled them into the burning sun
And all my nightmares and my cares corrode into oblivion.

Goodbye to the sullen earth I traipsed across in pain,
The land mines and the avalanches, the nights of pelting rain.

A fearless comrade, tried and true, has hurled them into the great divide,
And all my dreams and reckless schemes stand waiting on the other side.

Goodbye to the lonesome sea I sailed upon adrift,
The riptides and the coral reefs so merciless and swift.

A tireless comrade, tried and true, has hurled them into the crescent moon,
And all my storms and days forlorn sing peaceful with the loon.

Goodbye to the hollow canyon I perched above in fear,
Dreams of tumbling o’er the edge, the black hole of the biosphere.

A gallant comrade, tried and true, has seized me in his thick embrace,
And all my cares caught unawares slide forgotten into space.

Goodbye to the barren plain, the lonely years devoid of song,
And hello to the comrade dear, to whom I now belong.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

HEART AMONG THE RUINS

HEART AMONG THE RUINS

Waiting with trepidation in the corridor to your soul,
Hearing your wild heart beat hard on the precipice of tomorrow.
Learning how the days pass slow and long in the depths of your maiden sorrow.

I knew you a long time ago, when you were the favored child of Fate.
When the sun shone hot on your countenance and turned the great tide to vanquish hate.

Knowing how you braved the oceans, seeing how you calmed the storm,
Riding shotgun on your shoulders beneath these covers soft and warm.

I found you underneath the rubble and steeled my heart against the tide,
The tide of all your scourge and trouble, that upstart horse you once did ride.
You threw your arms around me in a moment so divine,
Whispered your kind blessings, turned my water into wine.

And I became your lover fair, infused with hope in the daylight air
And consumed your love like a famished child, perishing in the haunted wild.

Waiting in the soft, sad green room of your heart,
Where memories turn as pale as ghosts and like the seas do part.
I trace the steps to yesterday, lost in the haze of your perfume
And find myself a lonely traveler, heart among the ruins.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, April 20, 2009

SUN COMES STEALING

SUN COMES STEALING

Sun comes stealing, bright as a daffodil,

His fingers caressing the windowsill,
His toes doing a two-step on the front stoop.

A dainty, delicious lemon soup,
That begs of me to seize the day in all its golden radiance,
And walk in the world lost in the magic,
The rhythm and the cadence.

Sun comes stealing across sidewalk cracks,
A blissed out kleptomaniac,
Robbing the cares of my memory bank,
Lighting my dungeons so dark and so dank.

The rabbits and robins hopping on their merry way,
The tasty temptation of a sunlight souffle.

Sun comes sliding down sidewalks and gutters,
Leaving its handprint on doors and on shutters.
Sun like a model commanding the runway,
Sky up above in a gorgeous display,
Begging me to capture each minute
And drink it all in to the core of my being.
To love this sad earth and all that is in it,
Blinded with joy and a sumptuous feeling.

Sun comes stealing, hot as a pepper,
It burns to a crisp with hardly an effort,
And slows down the clamor, the maddening stampede,
Bringing the peace and the quiet we need.

Sun comes stealing, a benevolent thief,
Caressing the treetops, kissing each leaf.
Lovers dance languidly on the front stoop
Bathed in a glaze of lemony soup.
Then quick as it came, the sun fades too soon,
Dissolving like sugar in the arms of the moon.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, April 19, 2009

WITH CARE I PLANNED MY DEATH

WITH CARE I PLANNED MY DEATH

I dreamed that I lay dying and with care I planned my death,
Counting down the days until I drew my final breath.

And I wasn’t being morbid, just intentional and bold
To plan my funeral start to end, before my corpse was cold.

I had a list of songs to play to help my friends to mourn,
Jackson Browne and Judy Collins would be there to perform.
For a Dancer, Singing Lessons, Secret Gardens of the heart.
A Place Called Home at the End of the Storm, and that was just the start.

And there would be Grace Griffith to sing her song My Life
And the sun would shine through brilliantly and at last there would be light.

Then I dreamed that I lay dying, and there was no one there to cry.
No chariot came to my door, to take me to that golden shore.
There was no fabled heaven, no sweet by and by,
Nor was there a lake of fire in which the sinners fried.

I dreamed I floated lost in space, in exile from the human race.
And all I knew of dying was in books and magazines,
Religion’s solemn admonitions sandwiched in between.

My funeral was a free for all, a party and a blast,
And I was blissfully unaware, peace had come at last.

I dreamed that I lay dying, and with care I planned my death,
Counting down the days until I drew my final breath.

I was cremated and my ashes strewn upon some beauteous spot.
An Eden blessed on planet Earth, a space that time forgot.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, April 17, 2009

HOW MUCH IS THAT SOUL

HOW MUCH IS THAT SOUL?

I will buy your solace with a tear, quell your violence with my fear
And live my life with a plastic sort of cheer,
Hiding behind the waterfall like a prophet or a seer.

The days like nonsense huddle in the corner,
The years interrupted like prisoners of war.

And all the strange commotion that echoes loud with noise
Past the gorgeous hordes of women, the stunningly handsome boys.

My life is like some grayish sky, that begs the question why,
Seizing on the smallest thing, a household pest, a firefly.

And the summer nights, gentle against your skin,
Rub against my sleeping hope and bid it wake again.

Where are all the fag hags in their summer dresses,
Parading up and down the streets with their long, gay flowing tresses?

Where are all the young gay boys, burrowing like gophers,
Invisible to the untrained eye, standing aloof in their loafers.

Where’s the world that we belong, crashing parties at the pool?
I’m glad we’ve passed that whole world by, that we’re a bit old school.
Cocooning at home, episodes of Bewitched, alive and well on DVD
And a smattering of Picket Fences with its strange oddities.

The beginning and the end of stillness, a love that rises with the moon
And thrills my heart like the glorious sight of a big hot air balloon
Or the joy of rediscovering a long, lost childhood tune.

How much is that heart that beats loudly for me?
How much is that soul in the picture window?
How much that all consuming love that burns forever true?
I will purge my stash of rainy day cash
And go through all my savings to rise and follow you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I WAIT FOR YOU

I WAIT FOR YOU

I wait for you like a promised sunset
Melting over the sacred pier.

I wait for you, a quiet warrior,
Traipsing across my hemisphere.

Tender mercies rise and fall
In the shadow of your lonely call
And I wait for you like a banished sailor
Against the wailing wall.

You are ever present, like a torchlight in my dreams,
Breathing sweet companionship
Over rivers, rocks, and streams.

I wait for you, parched and poisoned,
Bereft of dreams to call my own.

I choke on words that cling forgotten,
Gentle memories, precious stones.

I wait for you for sustenance,
For the strength you can impart,

Blazing fires that fill the canyon,
Dazzling previews of your art.

I wait for you divine and tender,
Sunrise streaking morning skies.

I celebrate your ageless glory,
Your beauty filling hungry eyes.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

SLOWLY ON A DIME

SLOWLY ON A DIME

Perched upon the building tall, bowed by age and felled by time,
The weary jumper, sad and small, prepares to cross that sacred line.
The line of mystery that divides the living and the dead.
He blows a kiss to the abyss, in desperation hangs his head.

He longs for days when love was new, a springing panther from the vine,
But now the ground is brown and bare and life turns slowly on a dime.

A weakened heart beats nonetheless its sad tales and resentments.

The fairy tale in all its glory, was it just another foolish story?
The torchlight and the dreaming, a partner’s kind embrace.
Smiles that danced in a lover’s eye and moments filled with grace.

Perched upon the precipice and tethered to the past.
The vows of love bloomed early and then they faded fast.
Left behind are remnants, bread crumbs on life’s trail.
The love notes and the flowers, they withered and grew stale.

He longs for days when skies were blue, and health and vigor flowed like wine,
But now the rain clouds hide the view, and life turns slowly on a dime.

Perched upon the building grand, freezing in his overcoat.
He stumbles on the shifting sands, struggling just to stay afloat.
He treads the line that dangles fine between the living and the dead
And hurls a kiss to the abyss as storm clouds gather up ahead.

He longs for days when love was new, like precious grapes from off the vine,
And all his dreams stain black and blue, as life turns slowly on a dime.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, April 12, 2009

ALWAYS A SILVER LINING

ALWAYS A SILVER LINING

Always a silver lining, a break in the storm clouds that gush forth the rain.
A respite from the evil that thrives,
A haven from the funnel cloud that sweeps across the plain.

Look deep into the mirror of my once proud soul.
See my eyes that sparkled golden bright.
Tarry long in the roped off rooms of remembered joy,
Snuffed out by bushels full of the blackest night.

Gaze deep into the mirror of my sagging, sinking heart
And watch the dreams that glistened brightly
Turn to rust and fall apart.

Sing to me remembrances that bring to life the child of wonder,
Strum the ukulele strings to calm my inner thunder.

Sing to me soft lullabies that summon forth the child within.
The golden summer fields of youth, the carefree days that had no end.
Always a four leaf clover, amidst the poison ivy on the clinging vine.
An antidote to the sin that lingers, rescue from the tragedies
That stain these wicked times.

Gaze long into the deep, sad well of my restless spirit bruised,
The good intentions come to naught, the motives misconstrued.

Sing to me remembrances of life before the fall.
The blessed balm of quiet calm,
The tree of knowledge straight and tall, towering high above my reach,
Remembrance of the warm, sweet sand against the soles of virgin feet.

Remind me of the silver lining, a break in the cluster of storm clouds above.
Respite from a troubled journey, the healing sacrament of love.

-Bruce Potts
Copright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

AT MIDNIGHT

AT MIDNIGHT

Your memory strikes me deep and hard,
I hear the tolling of the bell.

The dream ignites and reappears,
At midnight when all should be well.

That long forgotten dream of you,
I’ve carried lo, these many years.

It colors all I say and do,
In red and green and gold and blue.

If only I had listened then,
To your siren song so clear and true.

The path not taken is the one I crave,
The years you offered up your treasure.

My regrets will follow to my grave,
A hollowness too deep to measure.

Your name swirls in the sinking sand,
That cruel and catastrophic dust,
It twirls and spins, corrodes and rusts,
And the shaman and the holy rollers
Flee this God forsaken land.

I fall beneath the weight of years
That echo louder than I’d planned.

This terrible tinnitus resounds through my ears.
I’m trapped inside the deadly din
Of all the things that could have been.

It’s hard to pull myself together, to navigate this holy hell.
Your memory strikes me loud and long,
At midnight when all should be well.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, April 6, 2009

YOURS FOR THE ASKING

YOURS FOR THE ASKING

I was lost and huddled in this makeshift life
When you caught me in my costume and gently unmasked me,
And my soul was hallowed territory, yours for the asking.

My life like a dark, musty cavern that stood in stark relief
When lit by the lantern-rich glow of your eyes
That banished my fear and grief.

The world a maze I’d navigate with hunger pangs of longing
‘til you found a way to fill the holes with your wisdom and your cunning.

I know that I’d be trapped and lost without the crumbs you’ve dropped for me.
The soft words whispered in my ear, your kind unending charity.

Saving me has been your mission since the day you burrowed past,
The fortress raised to keep you distant from the sands in my hourglass.

You dove into the wreckage like a fearless scavenger
To probe the briny depths of me, like a calm, well-seasoned mariner.

Driving the pearl from the oyster of my hapless soul
You met me on the ocean floor and charmed me with simpatico.

My life a stray pebble cast upon the sand
Found its home and resting place in the clasp of your gentle hand.

I was lost and shivering, quaking in my galoshes
When you caught me deep in my charade and gently unmasked me
And my soul was hallowed territory, yours for the asking.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, April 5, 2009

THIS DAY IS GOLDEN

THIS DAY IS GOLDEN

This day is golden, shining its blessings,
Mankind is grateful, offering thanks.
The well of regret is dried up and empty.
The nations surrender their guns and their tanks.

This day is golden, showering peace.
Africa feasts at the banquet table.
The planet rejoices, a harvest of plenty,
Its resources hearty, its vital signs stable.

This day is golden, for you and for me,
All men are worthy and on the same team.
All parents nurture and guide tenderly,
All children inherit their peace of the dream.

This day is golden, its magic unfolding,
It echoes surrender and offers its grace.
The garden is blooming, its bright flowers growing,
The rose and the tulip and iris in place.

This day is golden, so put your hand in mine
And walk with me gently the bowered trail.
Your love is a jewel, a rare, precious find,
On an ocean of glory we joyously sail.

This day is golden, overflowing with beauty,
Mankind is prayerful, offering thanks.
The well of regret is dried up and empty,
The nations surrender their guns and their tanks.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Saturday, April 4, 2009

MY HAPPY PLACE

MY HAPPY PLACE

I may be stooped and hunching and drooling at the mouth,
I may be stiff and shaking, my motor skills gone south.

But that won’t keep my heart from singing praises to the day,
I am going to my happy place, where safe inside I’ll stay.

I am a walking pharmacy, dependent on my pills,
Yellow and white oval disks that mask my myriad ills.

But that can’t dim the light within, that peaceful diamond glow,
For I am in my happy place, from where all blessings flow.

I may be cross and bitter when my mood could use a lift,
But to see that glass half full of cheer is a sweet and tender gift.

When the day is hot and sweltering, I consult my inner cool,
I find it in my happy place, where the streams come trickling through.

The world around may wear a frown, the gusses may be gloomy,
But safe inside my happy place, no harm will e’er come to me.

I sweep away my errant thoughts with my magic mental broom,
And the jukebox in my happy place blasts forth a joyful tune.

I may be prone to weeping and predisposed to sorrow,
But practice soon makes perfect so I’ll build a grand tomorrow.

I’ll wake to greet the sunrise, sing my praises to the day.
Holed up in my happy place, where safe inside I’ll stay.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, April 3, 2009

THE SHADOWS KNOW

THE SHADOWS KNOW

On a billboard I proclaim my love, the sweetness of my life and times
For passersby to note and marvel, such happiness and joy sublime.

The grin I paint on for my friend, the smile I plaster on my face
Is steadfast in its stoicalness and stately in its grace.

But the pain that leaves me hunched and limping,
The shadows see and the shadows know.

Plumbing the depths of my midnight soul,
Snuffing out the candle glow.

The loneliness that frets and moans and teeters on the shaky brink,
It cuts a swath of deadly gloom, a bitter brew of which I drink.

The misery that calls my name, the cynicism in my eyes.

The damaged goods that I’ve become, the shattered trust, the broken ties.

The tumult of my restless nights, the shadows see and the shadows know.
Phantoms hiding in the darkness, noiselessly they come and go.

Armed with protestations meek and helpless ‘neath their swift advance,
I throw my white flag on the field for infidels and miscreants.

The glory days dissolve in shade, the bed of disillusion made.
I toss and turn on jagged pillows, all my trees are weeping willows.

And all the battles I am losing, the shadows see and the shadows know,
Plumbing the depths of my arsenal, a bloody corpse upon the snow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, April 2, 2009

CIRCLING OVERHEAD

CIRCLING OVERHEAD

Gray sky thunder in the morning, lightning through a picture window,
Carrion birds chant warning, in a deep, high-pitched crescendo.

Will I fall beneath the surface, slipping deep into the quagmire?
Will the shifting sands engulf me, will I perish in the fire?

My legs move slow or not at all, my arms don’t swing, my eyes don’t blink.
My vessel’s crashed against the rocks, I watch it slowly sink.

The earth cracks open all around, just like me it trembles,
Movement slow and jerky, and limbs no longer nimble.

My body like a mudslide, slipping ‘til it caves,
A rigid mess of aching flesh, a despot warped and crazed.

The desert sky is bleeding crimson, mocking me with angry heat,
Flesh and blood my hapless prison, chains around my legs and feet.

Black sky thunder in the twilight, all forlorn I’m left for dead,
The carrion birds erupt in flight, circling overhead.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

STILL I RIDE

STILL I RIDE

Still I ride like Paul Revere, the Lone Ranger on speed,
Still I ride like a man possessed, greedy for the things I need.

A little dash of tenderness completes the recipe,
So I ride your love like tidal waves
That rise from the great salt sea.

Still I ride like a beauty queen or a prince most debonair.
Still I ride like Alladin on his magic carpet rare.

A little pinch of erotic bliss can go a long, long way,
So I ride your body for all I’m worth
From midnight until break of day.

Still you hold me fast and long, a cool, sweet kiss in a private cove
And ravish me with your pirate tongue, ‘til I’ve become your treasure trove.

Still I ride like some dignitary in the Cherry Bloom parade,
Still I ride like mighty Zorro, brandishing his blade.

A smidgeon or two of kindness is all it takes to fan the flame,
So I ride into the brazen wind, calling out your name.

Still I ride with great devotion, still I ride with style and grace.
To the ends of the earth I bravely go, seeking out your precious face.

Still I ride like Captain Ahab, dodging the great white whale and shark,
Discovering you like Chris Columbus, here in the mystic dark.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SERENADE OF TWILIGHT

SERENADE OF TWILIGHT

SERENADE OF TWILIGHT The stars in your eyes, love, I tried them on for size. They shone as bright as diamonds, how they mesmerized. And when...