CAN YOU FIND THE MAN

CAN YOU FIND THE MAN

Can you find the man in me,
Behind these crying eyes?
Look for the man with the blood stains on his thighs.

I am so unlike the men,
Strong and solemn in black suits and ties,
Men who roam the business world.

I am not the man
Who wrote his number on the wall,
I am not that man at all.

I am a man, poorly dressed and somewhat odd.
I am not much of a man by the standards set by gods.

I am clumsy, cannot dance,
Am not equipped for the hard labor of romance.
My plumbing will not work for men
Who like their sleeping partners
Marked “Satisfaction Guaranteed”.

I am not the man who cursed a blue streak in your ears.
Can you find the man in me, behind these silly boyish tears.
I am the man
Wounded by what the gods say I lack.

I am not a prize that other men covet for their own,
I am quite the man alone.

Can you find the man in me,
Behind these crying eyes?
Look for the man with the blood stains on his thighs.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ANTONIO

ANTONIO

Antonio, my darling peacock,
Leave the music on and stay awhile,
Let me bask in the glow of your Spanish smile.
I’m afraid I need the singers after all
To ease my suffering, to answer my call.

Antonio, let me strip you gently of your clothes.
I’m afraid I need to taste your body
Just once more before you go.
Just one more night in the tropic breeze,
Then leave me to my memories.

Antonio, my darling peacock,
Pucker up that rainbow set of lips
Parade past me with those swinging hips,
And kiss me one last time upon the spiral staircase,
Before you bid your sad farewell to me in this lonesome place.

Let our lips dance across the rivers of our wasted dream,
The fabric of our love unraveled and tearing at the seam.
Let me strip you gently of your clothes one more time tonight,
And press your body close to mine and hold on to me tight.

Antonio, my darling peacock, leave the music on
As the credits roll across the screen of our sad little show.
I fear I was always in need of the singers,
And was too proud to bend and let you know.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SEND NO CLOUDS

SEND NO CLOUDS

Send no clouds across my eyes,
Dragon king, you must be kind.
Send no fire across my nostrils,
No love there will you find.

I am on this lonely ride
Where I cannot see the sun.
I am on the dark side,
Lost to you and everyone.

Send no clouds across my eyes,
Dragon king, you must be kind.
Send no flesh between my fingers,
Let me have my peace of mind.

I am made to build my life with stone,
I am made for braving my seas alone.

Send no clouds across my eyes,
Lay no hands upon my groin.
Send no love to stir my thighs,
I am a drifter who must move on.

Send no clouds across my eyes,
Dragon king, you must be kind.
Leave me lost and leave me bleeding,
Leave me by the roadside.
This body is a danger zone
Set against a desolate sky.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

JENNIFER

JENNIFER

She was a poem of many voices,
And spoke to me as we walked through the courtyard,
For I sang to her in many tones.

The songs live on, in some passionate revival.
She stands within the portrait and smiles at my broken life
And looks upon the shattered dreams of tomorrow,
As together we remember a past of gleaming sunlight.

Jennifer, fall into my arms,
Though the snowfall of time has mellowed your golden hair
And blossomed it to a lovely gray.
Come back to the wonderland of our embrace.

The fireside mission beckons us to follow
And urges us on to a shrieking paradise.
I know that time has twisted your mind
Into pails of sloshing confusion.
Our wounds are fresh and open as we roam the world.
Bleed on me your lonely tales,
The dark room with the shades drawn,
The black and dismal rocking chair,
The bed and the strait-jacket.

Bleed on me.
I too have screamed into the emptiness.
I too have felt the fever.
I have been crazy, too, and locked away.
But I can remember a spring day and an autumn brisk,
When you and I sang amid the flowering willows,
And lent smiles to the fading daffodils,
And watched the world fall dead upon its self-constructed battlefields.
Do you remember our victory, when we were champions,
And you wore flowers on your head and a smile upon your shining face?

Wheelchairs and empty pocketbooks are now home for you.
But my quivering voice calls out your name in agonizing shades.
I am an old, old man alone.
The flowers in your hair have wilted and died,
And the ecstasy of meeting you again ignites my mind.
Tomorrow could be the day for you and me, when time calls us to leave.

I picked up the morning paper and saw your death notice,
An obituary in black.
And I could not hold back the tears which fell like pools to drown me.
I tried so hard to stay at peace, but all I could see was your empty stone house,
And all I could hear was the hideous creaking of your rocking chair.
Back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaked through the darkness.

Jennifer, fall into my arms, though the snowfall of time
Has mellowed your golden hair.

I bleed on you my lonely tales.
The coffin is lowered,
The flowers at your head are alive and swaying in the breeze.

I remember our stunning victories, when we were still the champions,
And the tears fall freely, for Jenny, how I loved you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1980
Revised Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED