Saturday, May 30, 2009

OFF THE DEEP END

OFF THE DEEP END

The mania is coming, I can feel it once again.
My lucky penny’s working, the party can begin.

Here I come just flying, Superman in tights,
Diving off the deep end, the shoreline not in sight.

Down as low as you could go, as sad as you could want to be,
Heaven’s angels’ high neglect getting up and leaving me.

Lost and stranded in my old familiar sorrow.
I’ve lost the voice of reason, and I fear for my tomorrow.

I’m diving like a suicidal bird, a stubborn cow against the herd,
A sparrow flying low to where the evening casts its blackened rainbow.

Off the deep end like a helpless child, wandering to and fro.

I will soar and I will crash, it will all be over in a flash.
Another’s treasure is my trash, the earth my holy trash bin.

I fall upon its double-edged sword, bleeding from the shin.

The mania is coming, like a lightning fast parade.
My body heat is rising as I stumble toward the shade.

Friends they try to calm and soothe the elemental fear,
But all is toil and turmoil and the residue of tears.

Here I come just soaring, crashing hard,
Splitting the crotch of my Superman tights.

My heart is lost in palpitations,
It will not go gently into that dark night.

A weary soul has had its workout, done its share of deep knee bends,
And crashes without warning, hurling reckless off the deep end.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, May 29, 2009

STAND PROUD

STAND PROUD

So you will not stand proud like I told you
At the end of the long day.

The streets are filled with pedestrians
On their way home with slung shoulder bags.

And you walk, shoulders bent, in the afternoon shadows.

Cower, cower, and the night will engulf you
Before you chance upon your undisturbed sleep.

Tower, tower, and the stars will romance you,
Garlanding your head with their gleamings,
Protecting you in your dreamings.

Don’t be a bitter child,
Deep in the sunset you know that all roads lead to death.

Don’t be a stupid child,
Deep in the floodwaters you know you breathe your last breath.

Take the high road, with the eagle ensconced in your eyes.
Say goodbye to tears and the weepings of fools.
Wake to bathe in the early morning
In some enchanter’s magic pool.

Stand proud, like I told you, at the end of the long day.
The streets will fill with pedestrians
On their way home with slung shoulder bags.

You will walk in the dying sun with your new soul.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, May 28, 2009

QUIET SPACES

QUIET SPACES

Heal up my wounds with your blood and bones
And enter me as a lover would, under the velvet canopy of night.

Sing, the golden spoon in your mouth
And come into my quiet spaces with restoration and peace.

Let me know with surety that I will not die alone,
My nude corpse plastered on the face of some backstreet magazine.

Give me a surety that I belong in the world of the other.

Clothed in light, bathed in brilliance,
Loved by the multitudes that swoon and sway palm leaves before me.

Heat my sorrow to boiling, ‘til the raging pain evaporates
In the morning air.

Enter, spirit of the fire that is the future.
Let me believe that something of worth remains.

Enter, spirit of future promise.
Sing, the golden spoon in your mouth.

Enter me as a lover would,
And come into my quiet spaces with restoration and peace.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

HEAR MY PRAYER

HEAR MY PRAYER

Hear my prayer, the soft, low call of my soul.

Hear it in the morning when the birds sing in their nests
And I pine in my room for their sweetness.

Hear it in the noon, when the hot sun ravages and perches demonically.

Hear it in the evening, when the bloodshot moon gazes sleepily.

Holy, holy, holy, guardian of the unseen changes,
Sculptor of the body, origin of the soul.

Mercy, mercy, mercy, landlocked settlers cry.

They slave away and wake to find
The lives they wanted passed them by.

And still you sit in your pearl-shaded sky, pressing buttons, twisting knobs,
Handling lives like spinning tops
And hearing supplications from your gilded throne.

Supplications from flesh and blood soldiers who walk this earth alone.

Hear my prayer in the evening of my life,
When I reach for the bread and the wine
And break my body with decaying age.

Hear my prayer in the evening, when the bloodshot moon fades.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, May 22, 2009

WHEN THE LIGHT FADES

WHEN THE LIGHT FADES

When the light fades and it’s time for me to go,
Just draw the curtains ‘round my bed and unplug the machines,
And let me slip away unnoticed, sailing on some pleasant dream.

And whether it be drug induced or the euphoria of going home,
Let me breathe my final breaths here in this bed, blessed and alone.

When the light fades, as it surely must one day,
Remember there’s a time and place, and let me go with style and grace,
For there’s no turning back from the clickety clack
Of that long black train as it straddles the track.

So drape a blanket around my shoulders,
Place a kiss upon my forehead.
Remember all the joyful times,
The things we did, the things we said.
And do not sit and weep for me, for the mighty rivers overflow
With tears for the loved ones and friends who must go,
For as hard as we fight and as hard as we try,
No one’s getting out alive.

Just celebrate my life with me, all it was or could ever be
And I will be rich in memories to comfort me on my journey.
And you will have the photographs, the late night talks, the bedtime laughs.
All my little habit and remembered quirks.
Life was like a blessed dream, and you and I we had the works.

When the light fades and it’s time for me to go,
Just draw the curtains ‘round my bed and unplug the machines
And let me fade away unnoticed, sailing on some pleasant dream.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

BEAUTY OF THE PLANET

BEAUTY OF THE PLANET

The kaleidoscope enchants me with its rainbow views,
On a crisp autumn morning of bright and glorious hues.
And the sweet liquid blue that bathes the clouds in splendor.
I taste the beauty of the planet and bask in sweet surrender.

And years ago when my heart was in darkness,
I yearned for the end ‘til I found your sweet face.

Homeless, adrift, lonesome and shaking,
Forgotten by time, abandoned in space.
And when my body failed me and slowed me to a crawl,
You became my destiny, my shining crystal ball.

The kaleidoscope engulfs me with the rainbow of your smile,
The trajectory we travel, each new and treasured mile.
On a chilly autumn evening curled beside you in the night,
Your touch that warms and strengthens and fills my soul with light.
Your love that draws me closer, like the pull of the magnet,
I kiss your tender lips and taste the beauty of the planet.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, May 18, 2009

ELECTRICAL FIRE

ELECTRICAL FIRE

Call out the engines and rescue trucks
And sound all the alarms.

My soul’s engulfed in mystic flames,
Surrounded by your charms.

I breathe the scent of your cologne,
A sweet intoxication
That sends all reason up in smoke
Despite my protestations.

It sends the flames spiraling, billowing higher,
I’m trapped in the pheromones, lost to desire,
You kiss me and start an electrical fire,
Burning me to a rubble, driving me to distraction,
Laying your body stacked against mine,
My magical man of action.

Call out the pampers and ladder trucks
And rev up the ambulances.
You’ve indulged me in caresses,
Come hither sideways glances.

You’re such a merry arsonist,
Your smile a match to kerosene.
Each curve of flesh a work of art
That borders on obscene.

You send my heart ka-plumping,
A clash of hormones popping,
A chain reaction accident I have no hope of stopping.

I’m a four alarm freak show, walking the wire,
You touch me and start an electrical fire.
Like a car overheating, crashed on the freeway,
You offer no respite and grant me no leeway.

Call out the engines and rescue trucks
While the dangers of love surround me.
A four alarm blaze that sweetens my days
So happy I am that you found me.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, May 17, 2009

EVEN WHEN YOU'RE GONE

EVEN WHEN YOU’RE GONE

We have laid the stones securely, cemented thick and fast
And deep into the well of time our coins of passion cast.

The love that glimmers from your eyes, it lights each golden dawn
And wraps me tight in downy bliss, even when you’re gone.

Your eyes that stare from the picture frame,
The memories cascade into view.
And burn the paths that we’ve traversed,
Each fragrant scent, each glorious hue.

A treasured camaraderie, the nuance of the song,
Reverberates in sonic sweetness, even when you’re gone.

You’ve burrowed deep beneath the skin,
Pierced the thick and blunt veneer.
The objects in our shared rear view
Loom closer than they once appeared.

The Eiffel Tower flashes keen, the Seine flows like a diamond,
The walks along a moonlit beach, barefoot, joyful, spirits flying.

We have laid the stones with careful skill, I loved you then and always will.
Like a sunset pink on a cool, green lawn
That shimmers in the half-light, even when you’re gone.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Saturday, May 16, 2009

THE LONGEST DROUGHT

THE LONGEST DROUGHT

The flood of opportunity now barely makes a wave,
The singer’s voice is silenced, the actors vanish from the stage.

Though work expands to fill the time, the idle hours remain
And brother, can you spare a dime becomes my sad refrain.

And I look for a quick way out, but I’m stranded betwixt and between.
I swear this is the longest drought my weary soul has ever seen.

I’m standing in these lines for bread, selling pencils on the street,
With a sign that says will work for food held high in the noon time heat.

It’s either feast or famine in this unforgiving land.
Feast a distant memory, famine gains the upper hand.

The flood of opportunity is foolhardy and fickle.
What once gushed like a geyser has turned into a trickle.

Though work expands to fill the time, the idle hours revolve and spin,
And down and out is my claim to fame, deserted by the eagle’s grin.

And so I stumble through this desert, looking for a patch of green.
I swear this is the longest drought my heavy heart has ever seen.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am indebted to the songs "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime" written by Jay Gorney, which I first heard on Judy Collins' LP Judith, and for the eagle's grin reference I am indebted to Fred Karlin, James Griffin, Rob Wilson, and Jimmy Cox who wrote "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out", which I first heard on Don McLean's CD For the Memories. The complete line is "if I ever get hold of a dollar again, I'm going to hold on to it 'til the eagle grins." What a great line to steal for a poem, huh?

BANQUET

BANQUET

God has set the banquet table, are you people listening?
The gifts of life that flow from heaven sparkling and glistening.

They wait for you in the thoroughfares,
Catch you lost and unawares, within your waking dreams.
God has set the banquet table, a meal fit for a king.

God has set the banquet table, are you people coming?
The gifts of life that thrill the soul and keep the spirit humming.
They stay within your precious sight and warm the portals of the night.
And shimmer like an amethyst in the hands of the cock-eyed optimist.

God has rung the dinner bell, have you people heard?
The clear sweet sound that echoes ‘round
The beauty of his Holy Word.

It waits for you in the labyrinth of your passing.
Lighting the doorway in sweet golden fashion.
It’s time to come and have a seat, with grateful hearts that dare repeat
The oft told tales of Indian summer,
The dreams we’ve shared with one another.

The paths we’ve walked like pilgrims fine,
Through the deep and blinding sunshine.
Skies as blue as oceans, we taste their autumn wine.

God has set the banquet table, each new day a second chance,
Gifts that shimmer bright as moonbeams, begging us to join the dance.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, May 14, 2009

WINTER FIREWORKS

WINTER FIREWORKS

On this cold and blustery wintry night, we build a fire that blazes bright.
Two men abreast on a bear skin rug, lying nude in amorous spoon.
Bodies prone and holding hands, lost inside a lovers’ swoon.

Each night I’m ripe for rediscovering why I fell in love with you.
The stars flit through the windowsill, in dazzling shades of moonlight blue.
They prance upon the curtains proud and swirl in patterns on the ceiling,
So wrap your gentle arms around me, once again with feeling.

I will meet you at this sacred hearth, where the flames untie our bashful tongues
And I share my deepest hopes and fears, my joys and sorrows every one.
The starshine soft upon your skin sends words cascading from your mouth
And confidences fill the air ‘til the wee hours dawn and sleep wins out.

I will meet you in the velvet dark of this unassuming hearth.
For these are days that crush the spirit and incinerate the soul
And I need to take you in my arms and lick you slow from head to toe.
To make each night a shining beacon, torchlight shining far and wide,
Facing an uncertain planet, two companions side by side.

Holding on like glue to passion, clinging hard to romance,
Barefoot on the bearskin rug, gingerly we slow dance.
On this freezing evening clear, in this our private hemisphere,
We mine our past of memories dear
And bring each other to our knees with pleasure born of fantasies.

Lovers true and stalwart friends, a bond too strong to comprehend.
So meet me at the sacred hearth, and let the winter fireworks start.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

FROZEN AS A TV DINNER

FROZEN AS A TV DINNER

Never thought I’d fight back tears in the middle of the produce section,
As I gathered fruits and vegetables to begin a grocery shopping session.
Never thought I’d freeze like a statue, while pondering the frozen dinners,
The Stauffers and the Healthy Choices, those gastronomic winners.

Never thought to push a cart would be such a Herculean task,
Never thought to shop for food would border on the Sisyphean.
Believing in my driving skills was always such a given.

Never knew a bonus card could stick like cement to my billfold,
That cash could cling so tightly to the lining of my pants.
Or that a bag of frozen peas could chart the course of my disease
And leave me limping in the aisle, the king of all catastrophes.
Blocking access to the artichokes, a hindrance and a slow poke.

That merely just to break a sweat would soon require more Sinemet
Or that a box of Wheat Chex could make me lunge for Mirapex.
Never knew to reach my car would be so sweet a destination,
Traversed at first with shuffling steps and later festination.

And when my trials at last were through and I was feeling down and blue,
I never knew such mercy sweet to melt away my worry.
The cashier smiled forgivingly, said life’s too short to hurry.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, May 11, 2009

BILLOWING LAUNDRY

BILLOWING LAUNDRY

Billowing laundry in the breeze,
Dreams deficient tossed and torn,
Standing trial in the thunderclap
Of another vicious summer storm.

Standing vigil in the half-light,
The shadows drape across the plain
And hurl their hail and lightning bolts
Midst torrents of cascading rain.

And here I lie a naked sailor,
Vigilant in early dawn.
Stiff and rigid, unrelenting
Oil can empty on an unkempt lawn.

I dream in colors, waking visions
That splash across a canvas bleak,
Pleading for my yesterdays,
A panoply of movement sweet.

My lover kindly lays his hands
Upon me in his brave embrace
And counts the tears that swirl and swell
And pool in puddles across my face.

My body shakes, a timeless plea,
A litany of common prayer
To the traveler I used to be,
His footfalls lost to rogue despair.

Like billowing laundry in the wind,
My plans hang solemn, high and dry.
And carrion birds, they mock my plight,
Against the gray foreboding sky.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, May 10, 2009

THINGS I'LL NEVER THROW AWAY

THINGS I’LL NEVER THROW AWAY
(IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER)

There are memories that come to me in the middle of the night,
When insomnia wraps like a cloud with a sharp and sudden bite.

Was I the son you’d hoped for, did I do all that I could,
To make your last days peaceful ones, meaningful and good.

Going through your papers, the bills that were past due,
The mystery of your finances and how I could have helped you.

Wondering if you’d reached the point where it all became too much a chore,
Despite the outward smooth veneer, the graceful smile you always wore.

For I was here to learn and you to teach,
Some puzzles remain out of reach
Like the paper bags strewn haphazardly across your bedroom floor.

Things you never threw away but kept behind closed doors.

The basement holds more questions that will keep to another day.
The cardboard boxes, poster board, and everything in disarray.
The magazines from years gone past,
Where everything is transient and nothing made to last.

The past comes rushing back to me in the night’s unending black
When insomnia like a scorpion viciously attacks.
But I am here and you are there, somewhere on your golden shore.
I miss your phone calls every night, their absence leaves me wanting more.

The concerts and the meals we shared,
the countless ways you proved you cared,
I’ll hold them in this heart of mine, for now and evermore.
The things I’ll never throw away, or keep behind closed doors.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, May 8, 2009

LONG FORGOTTEN LULLABY

LONG FORGOTTEN LULLABY

Living out my life beneath the shadow of your dreams,
Electric current running underneath the backdrop of your muted screams.

Hungering for mercy that lingers on the edge
And hunts the fruited plain in memory
Of quiet songs that rouse the dead.

Sing to me in your darkest travail,
I will rescue you from the briny deep.
Hold you in your tattered clothes,
Restore to you your restful sleep.

And I will make the morning grand,
Bouquet of roses in your hands.

A scene domestic and divine, alive with flowers and sweet wine.

Living out my life under the shadow of your stars,
Aching with remembrance of the love that once was ours.
And tossed inside your dreams of mirth, you hunger for benevolent birth
And toast the dreams hidden inside, the places lesser loves have died.

I am in your corner like a prize fighter on speed,
I can taste the charming victory as I plant my wholesome seeds.
And build a place of great finesse, a place where hate cannot transgress.
A solemn holy refuge from the darkest times,
Times when songs fell into slumber, lost at last to humankind.

And you, alas, are lost to me, you cannot hear my muted pleas.
I am trapped beneath the canopy of your wasted sky.
A sky that fell and shattered well our long forgotten lullaby.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, May 7, 2009

DANCE WITH ME

DANCE WITH ME

Dance with me proudly on the ballroom floor,
We will do the bossa nova while the jazz band plays the score.
And we’ll fill the night with romance, flirt shamelessly with the moon
And waltz down the veranda in evening’s sweet perfume.

Dance with me proudly and without fear
On a New Year’s Eve on some Paris street.
The world and its charms alive in our arms,
The time it passes swift and fleet.

Swing your partner high and low,
Serenade me long and slow.
The world made new against your skin
‘Til the music stops then starts again.

Dance with me in the garden’s dew,
The scent of the flowers and the scent of you
That intermingle, an olfactory treat,
My dreams fulfilled and my days complete.

Dance with me blindly, man to man,
Cheek to cheek and hand in hand.
Free of the guilt and the shame of the past,
We trip the light fantastic and hold each other fast.

Dance with me a quiet waltz in the hills of Tennessee,
Or in the cabin of some ocean liner drifting on the sea.
Dance with me above the water, dance with me along the sand.
Dance with me my whole life long, dance while we still can.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, May 4, 2009

WHERE ARE YOU, MY LOVE?

WHERE ARE YOU, MY LOVE?

Where are you, my sweet love, where have you gone,
Inching your way over pebbles and stones.
Finding your passion and singing the songs
That rise in the morning, gorgeous and strong.

Where are you, my boatman, my passionate friend?
Your love’s like a story without any end,
And I sail with you lost on an ocean divine,
Immune to the renegade nature of time.

Where are you, my lighthouse, my comforter true?
I swim in the sweet, swift current of you,
And spend handsome days in the fold of your arms,
Soaking up blessings, drinking up charms.

Where are you, my savior, my dream heaven sent,
My vision of kindness, my air of contentment?
You’re there when I lay down, closing my eyes,
And there in the morning when at last I arise.
Comforting me like a warm, downy cover,
Enveloping me in the arms of a lover.

Where are you in morning time, lost to the skies,
Banished, alas, from my passionate eyes.
Are you a wizard, a king, or a saint,
A cute clown in hiding beneath all the greasepaint.

Where are you in evening time, compass pointed at the moon?
A thrill divine, how bright you shine, a master coming for me soon.
Where are you, my angel, have you spread your wings
And flown from this world of commonplace things.
Exploding in passion, caressing the songs
That rise in the morning, gorgeous and strong.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Saturday, May 2, 2009

I WILL MISS YOU MOST AT APPLE BLOSSOM TIME

I WILL MISS YOU MOST AT APPLE BLOSSOM TIME

Good friend with the quick wit and a laugh that could fill a room,
Who loved food that was bad for you,
And who left us far too soon.

I remember watching the shiny fire trucks and the rescue trucks
Parading down the street in all their pomp and glory.

With you and my brother indulging my love of the sirens
And the flashing lights,
And the firemen in their uniforms that filled the summer nights.

I will miss you most at apple blossom time
When we loaded up on greasy food and all felt in a festive mood.

The Italian sausage and the cotton candy that melted on the tongue,
The funnel cake that you always bought and that we carried home.

And how the world seemed gentler, as if your kindness
Filled its heart, and filled in all the moody spaces,
An infusion sweet of powdered sugar that carried it to softer places.

I will miss you most this time of year and how you used to mingle
A teeming crowd never bothered you, an extrovert at play
As you bundled up your funnel cake and went your merry way.

I will miss you most this time of year, and when the apple blossoms fall
Your spirit it will rise again and haunt the midway on the Old Town Mall.
Your laugh will echo in the marching bands and the memories will linger
Of your fondness for Patsy Cline, our gifted hometown singer.

And over time this grief I feel will lessen, to a ripple from a wave
As the apple blossoms fall so sweet upon your sacred grave.

-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...