SECRETS
He knows who he once was
But he keeps it camouflaged.
There are so many demented dragons
Who would like to reveal
The sick skeletons in his closet.
He lives
In clothes buttoned to the neck
And lips that hide his fangs.
And his Mickey Mouse wristwatch
Tells time in units of broken wishes.
It is two lifetimes past heartache
Two lifetimes past his lost lover.
His hood covers his pointy ears
And his plastic nose and eyeglasses
Make him another Groucho in distress.
He knows who he once was
And who he is
But he is slightly losing touch with reality
And he whiles away the time
Cutting out sensual paper dolls
In his gingerbread house with no doors.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
THE YEARNING
THE YEARNING
Some people live for the thrill of the chase,
Forever in search of their niche or their place,
Not knowing joy if it slapped them in the face.
Always forever fans of the yearning, to live perpetually in desire,
Always dreaming of new passion, the promise of the fire.
Never knowing a soul mate sent from heaven above.
From one night stand to one night stand, mistaking sex for love.
But I have lived for long enough to know,
That yearning it can be a sham.
Long enough to know just what I want, who and what I am.
And I know by now that you’re the one who sets my heart to singing.
Though there was no great cacophony of cathedral bells ringing.
No grand exploding meteorite landing right in front of me.
It was a sweet and quiet knowing, yet it set my spirit free.
Too much of the yearning destroys the soul.
Drains the spirit of its zest, swallowing it whole.
Now all I yearn for is for joy to light each path down which you walk,
To shout my love into the heavens, to let the people talk.
To wag their tongues, say what they will of the way in which I live.
And though I’m quick to anger, I know how to forgive,
The ignorance and misguided fear, they carry with them year to year.
The luggage of grudges they carry around, that falls like lead upon the ground.
Intolerance and ignorance throughout the world resound.
Some people bundle their emotion and keep it all inside,
I wear my heart upon my sleeve and hold you close with pride.
And as our love just grows and grows and the earth just keeps on turning.
I live for the thrill of your hand holding mine and let go of the yearning.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Some people live for the thrill of the chase,
Forever in search of their niche or their place,
Not knowing joy if it slapped them in the face.
Always forever fans of the yearning, to live perpetually in desire,
Always dreaming of new passion, the promise of the fire.
Never knowing a soul mate sent from heaven above.
From one night stand to one night stand, mistaking sex for love.
But I have lived for long enough to know,
That yearning it can be a sham.
Long enough to know just what I want, who and what I am.
And I know by now that you’re the one who sets my heart to singing.
Though there was no great cacophony of cathedral bells ringing.
No grand exploding meteorite landing right in front of me.
It was a sweet and quiet knowing, yet it set my spirit free.
Too much of the yearning destroys the soul.
Drains the spirit of its zest, swallowing it whole.
Now all I yearn for is for joy to light each path down which you walk,
To shout my love into the heavens, to let the people talk.
To wag their tongues, say what they will of the way in which I live.
And though I’m quick to anger, I know how to forgive,
The ignorance and misguided fear, they carry with them year to year.
The luggage of grudges they carry around, that falls like lead upon the ground.
Intolerance and ignorance throughout the world resound.
Some people bundle their emotion and keep it all inside,
I wear my heart upon my sleeve and hold you close with pride.
And as our love just grows and grows and the earth just keeps on turning.
I live for the thrill of your hand holding mine and let go of the yearning.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
SWEET CHANGE
SWEET CHANGE
Blossoms pink and petals white adorn the path I tread.
I think upon the days gone by, the evil times my soul has fled.
The days that guilt was a constant friend,
The nights that just refused to bend,
The calendar where every square
Was black and poisoned nightshade.
And I marvel just how Fate arranged and how it ushered through.
The sweet change that swept over me in the aftermath of finding you.
A young man with a smile so keen and a head of soft blond hair,
I knew you were my destiny when you took me unawares.
Flowers fresh of every hue decorate the path I walk.
My pumpkin’s turned into a coach, and Jack has climbed the beanstalk.
My life once so pedestrian, rife with ruts and potholes,
Shimmers like an amethyst that has shook my very soul.
Your fingers like a ring of keys on some brave night watchman’s belt
Unlocked my spirit with their touch and caused my heart to melt.
A bower full of fragrant trees is now my resting place
And springtime shares its bounty when I behold your face.
And I marvel just how Fate stepped in and how it ushered through,
The sweet change that swept over me, in the aftermath of finding you.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Blossoms pink and petals white adorn the path I tread.
I think upon the days gone by, the evil times my soul has fled.
The days that guilt was a constant friend,
The nights that just refused to bend,
The calendar where every square
Was black and poisoned nightshade.
And I marvel just how Fate arranged and how it ushered through.
The sweet change that swept over me in the aftermath of finding you.
A young man with a smile so keen and a head of soft blond hair,
I knew you were my destiny when you took me unawares.
Flowers fresh of every hue decorate the path I walk.
My pumpkin’s turned into a coach, and Jack has climbed the beanstalk.
My life once so pedestrian, rife with ruts and potholes,
Shimmers like an amethyst that has shook my very soul.
Your fingers like a ring of keys on some brave night watchman’s belt
Unlocked my spirit with their touch and caused my heart to melt.
A bower full of fragrant trees is now my resting place
And springtime shares its bounty when I behold your face.
And I marvel just how Fate stepped in and how it ushered through,
The sweet change that swept over me, in the aftermath of finding you.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Saturday, June 11, 2011
ONE-SIDED LOVE
ONE-SIDED LOVE
Only one person cares to trill a love song
Of one-sided tenderness.
The Cedars of Lebanon quake from the mountainside.
Beside a crystal lake, its silver waters flowing,
In a lonely wisp of flame, of orange sunsets glowing.
In the lonesome meadow where a lonesome moon hangs sleeping,
I lie a broken spirit, subdued and softly weeping.
For a one-sided love took a one-sided plunge,
Into the lake of a new love’s fire.
Born of a strange and a new desire,
The tightrope dancer on the wire, walks the shadowy mile.
A catalog of stories in a sweet refrain,
Echoes through the valley, shouting out his name.
A handful of dandelions he gathered from the field,
Scatter thus like the ash and dust that forced my heart to yield.
In keeping with the desert balls of fire,
Scorching suns dry up the winsome afternoons.
Alleys of the night, cedar trees on display,
His hands they groped me in the dark,
His lips showed me the way.
The sands are stirred, the wind it whips,
He and his magic fingertips,
Between the satin sheets, seduced by ravenous lips.
Sad, secret tales of a one-sided love,
Creep like the memory of melodies dead and dying,
Out of the frying pan into the fire, illusion free and flying,
Safe from the crypt of you and your tired iron will,
The ashes fall like timber from these vagabond hills.
I wake from a nightmare, sweating in my underclothes.
The ghost of a one-sided fantasy in the home of the deposed,
An old man with his rambling recollections
Shrieks his dead regrets to a weary, withered twilight.
I never got close enough, to fling my arms around you tight.
The cedar trees, robed in kingly majesty,
The giant of your love’s sweet ecstasy,
Are too tall taunts of my diminutive size.
Unknowingly you mock me with your reckless eyes.
I walk with a vision, burning at my fingertips,
The taste of your mouth wreaking havoc on my lips.
Night erupts from gentle day, the Cedars of Lebanon come out to play,
Their branches whipping as they heave and bend,
Your name is lost upon the fickle wind.
The evening wails, its sad and secret tales.
Loneliness tears at the only one who cares,
To sing his lonely song, fist in velvet glove.
The melancholy melody of a one-sided love.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A new poem about life BK (Before Kyle).
Only one person cares to trill a love song
Of one-sided tenderness.
The Cedars of Lebanon quake from the mountainside.
Beside a crystal lake, its silver waters flowing,
In a lonely wisp of flame, of orange sunsets glowing.
In the lonesome meadow where a lonesome moon hangs sleeping,
I lie a broken spirit, subdued and softly weeping.
For a one-sided love took a one-sided plunge,
Into the lake of a new love’s fire.
Born of a strange and a new desire,
The tightrope dancer on the wire, walks the shadowy mile.
A catalog of stories in a sweet refrain,
Echoes through the valley, shouting out his name.
A handful of dandelions he gathered from the field,
Scatter thus like the ash and dust that forced my heart to yield.
In keeping with the desert balls of fire,
Scorching suns dry up the winsome afternoons.
Alleys of the night, cedar trees on display,
His hands they groped me in the dark,
His lips showed me the way.
The sands are stirred, the wind it whips,
He and his magic fingertips,
Between the satin sheets, seduced by ravenous lips.
Sad, secret tales of a one-sided love,
Creep like the memory of melodies dead and dying,
Out of the frying pan into the fire, illusion free and flying,
Safe from the crypt of you and your tired iron will,
The ashes fall like timber from these vagabond hills.
I wake from a nightmare, sweating in my underclothes.
The ghost of a one-sided fantasy in the home of the deposed,
An old man with his rambling recollections
Shrieks his dead regrets to a weary, withered twilight.
I never got close enough, to fling my arms around you tight.
The cedar trees, robed in kingly majesty,
The giant of your love’s sweet ecstasy,
Are too tall taunts of my diminutive size.
Unknowingly you mock me with your reckless eyes.
I walk with a vision, burning at my fingertips,
The taste of your mouth wreaking havoc on my lips.
Night erupts from gentle day, the Cedars of Lebanon come out to play,
Their branches whipping as they heave and bend,
Your name is lost upon the fickle wind.
The evening wails, its sad and secret tales.
Loneliness tears at the only one who cares,
To sing his lonely song, fist in velvet glove.
The melancholy melody of a one-sided love.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A new poem about life BK (Before Kyle).
Saturday, June 4, 2011
SINBAD
SINBAD
My soul, it is not clean for you, my heart is quite contrary,
I sail this desolate ocean like an asphalt, wind-swept prairie.
I come to you with flailing stony arms,
An embrace of flaming crusty steel.
But winds in the desert blow fiercely northward,
Winds that bring the reins of change, winds that turn the wheel,
As if afraid to fall in love, as if afraid to feel.
Romance flees from the sultry reverie of a pirate on the seas,
In the stone cold ache of winter, you cannot hear my pleas.
Love lies ripping at its lonesome seams,
In the humid stillness of the night, I toss and turn in fitful dreams.
I still live a silhouette, in love with my reflection yet,
And you prefer to not acknowledge me,
Although I call your name in vain.
I see mirrors of the past, when our tarnished love was true,
When you and I we swam in sync, reflecting pools of crystal blue.
In evening’s grand and gallant shade, or in the fountain of a maddening mermaid,
I can see inside, despite this patch, the portals of your peril-
Speechless spies can see inside your mind.
Let the curtain fall and come to me,
Let the fever rest relentlessly.
I will taunt you ‘til a million milestones
Lie murdered by your lonesome throne.
Machinations dire and weighty
Haunt my dreams and those of my mateys.
Pervasions of evil cover the eyelids of Sinbad,
Slashing his sword as your mind he comes reading,
Hiding his black heart, into the ocean bleeding.
Frozen in time, you lie in wait for your departed spring,
The albatross around your neck, a bird that won’t take wing.
My soul, it is not clean for you, I sail my desolate sea so wary,
And your spirit haunts my moonlit dreams,
Like an asphalt, wind-swept prairie.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
My soul, it is not clean for you, my heart is quite contrary,
I sail this desolate ocean like an asphalt, wind-swept prairie.
I come to you with flailing stony arms,
An embrace of flaming crusty steel.
But winds in the desert blow fiercely northward,
Winds that bring the reins of change, winds that turn the wheel,
As if afraid to fall in love, as if afraid to feel.
Romance flees from the sultry reverie of a pirate on the seas,
In the stone cold ache of winter, you cannot hear my pleas.
Love lies ripping at its lonesome seams,
In the humid stillness of the night, I toss and turn in fitful dreams.
I still live a silhouette, in love with my reflection yet,
And you prefer to not acknowledge me,
Although I call your name in vain.
I see mirrors of the past, when our tarnished love was true,
When you and I we swam in sync, reflecting pools of crystal blue.
In evening’s grand and gallant shade, or in the fountain of a maddening mermaid,
I can see inside, despite this patch, the portals of your peril-
Speechless spies can see inside your mind.
Let the curtain fall and come to me,
Let the fever rest relentlessly.
I will taunt you ‘til a million milestones
Lie murdered by your lonesome throne.
Machinations dire and weighty
Haunt my dreams and those of my mateys.
Pervasions of evil cover the eyelids of Sinbad,
Slashing his sword as your mind he comes reading,
Hiding his black heart, into the ocean bleeding.
Frozen in time, you lie in wait for your departed spring,
The albatross around your neck, a bird that won’t take wing.
My soul, it is not clean for you, I sail my desolate sea so wary,
And your spirit haunts my moonlit dreams,
Like an asphalt, wind-swept prairie.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
DEATH TRAP
DEATH TRAP
I had nothing to do
But spit marbles
At the heads of park pigeons.
So I asked her over to kill some time.
She asked me
To come play hide and seek with her.
We waltzed like demons on her fire escape
And because we were both feeling
Ragged out and empty,
We decided to make a crank call
To the Suicide Prevention Center.
And we used some note pads she had stolen
From the Sheraton
To write piles of imaginative suicide notes
Which we then mailed
To all our imaginary friends.
Then
We escaped to an imaginary island together
And the rest is history.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's another one to add to the over 365 poems on this blog that no one ever reads. From my college days. I was a bit gloomy then too!
I had nothing to do
But spit marbles
At the heads of park pigeons.
So I asked her over to kill some time.
She asked me
To come play hide and seek with her.
We waltzed like demons on her fire escape
And because we were both feeling
Ragged out and empty,
We decided to make a crank call
To the Suicide Prevention Center.
And we used some note pads she had stolen
From the Sheraton
To write piles of imaginative suicide notes
Which we then mailed
To all our imaginary friends.
Then
We escaped to an imaginary island together
And the rest is history.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's another one to add to the over 365 poems on this blog that no one ever reads. From my college days. I was a bit gloomy then too!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)