HERE COMES YOUR HAPPY

HERE COMES YOUR HAPPY

Here comes your happy you’ve been wanting from me,
I’m like a court jester and my goal is to please.
Open the flood gates, sunlight’s pouring through,
I’m weak and I’m weary but I can still dance for you.

Here comes the mother ship to sail on a rhyme.
To a gentler habitat, and a sunnier clime.
Close your eyes you might miss it, here’s your last warning,
My smile it is waning, may be gone by the morning.

Here comes your happy, here comes your dance.
Here comes the fever and the rush of romance.
One last fling of summer, one last walk upon the sand,
Hold on to your happy as long as you can.

I’m ripped apart, I’m wailing,
I slip and reach for the railing,
I tumble to the ocean,
Hole in this boat I am sailing.

But I’ll try to do it quietly,
Though I’d rather do it riotously,
But not at all righteously and not at all piously.
I am the perfect specimen,
A persnickety Parkinsonian.
And though I’m feeling crass and crappy,
Heaven forfend I should stomp on your happy.

I only want the shining sea,
To flail in lost and gallantly,
Its waves to roll right over me.
A desperate slave to the Deity.
I know he knows what’s best for me,
And not to go all soft and sappy,
Come get it quick, here comes your happy.

You try happy with a bounty on your head,
And you try joyous, with arms as stiff as lead.
Why, the most I can hope for is another day of breath,
And at the end, at the road’s final bend, a most delicious death.

For those of you in a mirthful mood,
Beware my hapless attitude,
Life is what you make it and I know it’s true for me,
I’ll make it to the pearly gates a long, long time before ye.
So this is alas, all the joy I can muster,
I’m filled to the brim with boisterous bluster.

I’d hum a hopeful number, but it would be off key.
And you would see right through my frank dishonesty.
But don’t go pout and don’t go faint.
I’ve plenty of rouge and a boatload of greasepaint.
Here comes your happy, with nary a complaint.

Here comes your happy you’ve been wanting from me.
Like a golden retriever my goal is to please.
Come and swim in this gooey pool of rhyme.
But do hurry in before you get slimed.

Come get your happy, like manure hides a pony,
This happy is here for a short time only,
Come now and jump into this raucous bale of hay.
And have a little fun with me, before I melt away.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DAY FOR GIVING PRAISE

DAY FOR GIVING PRAISE

In the last fleet days of autumn,
Before the winter snows.
Before the shopping frenzy,
And the Christmas wind it blows.
Comes a day untarnished by ribbons,
And brightly colored bows.
Where families at their most forgiving,
Their cups of plenty raise,
And consecrate a mighty feast
To a day for giving praise.

We praise our God for health and zest,
Whatever bounty we possess,
Open our arms to the beauty of the earth,
The riches of the spirit, and their everlasting worth.
And put aside our differences, like the pilgrims that we are
And the pilgrims we shall ever be,
Here on earth for awhile we are,
Before we claim eternity.

We carve the turkey, cook the dressing,
Pause awhile to count our blessings.
Decorate the table with the flourish
Of casseroles and candied yams.
Our hopes and dreams are nourished,
Our bellies filled with country ham.

Mashed potatoes, stewed tomatoes,
Grandma's rolls and Grandpa's naps.
Our birth or our adopted families,
And their old familiar homilies,
Babies sleep in mothers' laps,
And for just one day our cares melt away,
Our differences fall off the map.
And all is insignificant except the day's great charm,
Forgiveness is extended and grudges are disarmed.

We remember the hungry and comfort the poor,
And minister to those in need,
Those immigrants that to our shore have come,
Their cries we hear and at last we heed.
And for one day we all live in peace,
The black, the white, the straight, the gay,
We see beyond the darkness, and fear and labels cease.

Be it ever so humble, or ever so grand,
Like settlers of old we share the land,
We travel far and travel wide,
To have our familes at our side.
Even as the storm clouds grow,
Even as the tears rain down,
There is always kindness to bestow,
A wealth of blessings to be found.

Each year we find this one time refuge,
In the fleet of autumn, no pretense and no subterfuge.
Sometime between the bells of Christmas,
And the ghostly Halloween tricks and pranks,
Comes a quiet holy stillness, no greasepaint and no rouge,
Just a cherished change where our hearts loom huge,
And beat with the thrill of giving thanks.

Thanks for the sunshine, thanks for the rain,
The trials that strengthen, and even the pain.
We gather hands around the table,
And each as he is able,
Thank the Great Spirit in a myriad of ways,
Celebrate the harvest in the autumn of the year,
Watch our fears just disappear,
On this our day for giving praise.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Happy birthday, happy birthday,
Happy birthday to me,
Never thought I'd make it to this anniversary.
Two years ago I thought it'd be nifty,
To make it to the age of fifty.
And now my years beneath the sun,
They now total fifty-one.
Although I admit to jumping the gun,
And celebrating early, tempting fate,
My birthday's not until the seventh,
But I am antsy and just can't wait.

You're welcome to come to my party,
You don't have to wear a costume.
Just bring a smile that's warm and hearty,
And perhaps one of those big balloons.
You know the ones, helium filled,
With a pithy line like you're over the hill,
Or in my case, wow, you're not quite dead.
But although you're not yet deathly ill,
You spend a lot of time in bed.

And although my head is nearly bare,
And my brain as soft as jello.
I'm really none the worse for wear,
Well, not for an 80 year old fellow.
Come join my sweet frivolity,
My geriatric jollity.
Mr. Parkinson will be here,
And do his dyskinetic dance,
I made it through in spite of him,
Paid the piper, took the chance.

And now I'm set for another year,
I rejoice so much to be here,
Posting pictures of kittens and flowers,
Whiling away my final hours.
Closest thing to a Facebook king
This tired old world has ever seen.
Promoting my glorified gay agenda
And my hedonistic lifestyle,
As I gasp for breath and lurch toward death,
Blowing out the candles on my birthday cake of smiles.

Happy birthday, happy birthday,
Happy birthday to me.
Never thought I'd make it to this anniversary.
Fifty-one years on this lofty luscious earth,
You can bet I'm going to milk this day
For all the fun it's worth,

Perhaps I'll go on a vicious tear, who knows what I'll do?
Probably just spend the day with Judy and with Emmylou.
And if you are my neighbor and hear my blasting stereo,
Just say, so sad, just leave him be, it's just that birthday weirdo.

And my beloved Mary Chapin with her ashes and her roses,
Or the handsome Rufus Wainwright in provocative poses.
They will all drop by the old Victrola to spread some natal cheer,
And marvel that I made it through to see another year.
Or the great Kathy Mattea with her Appalachian charm,
A birthday boy could sure be proud to have her on his arm.

At most I may just overdose on a surfeit of chocolate,
The bittersweet is good for you, full of antioxidants.
All in all I can promise you a happy holiday,
Grateful for the wisdom that the years have sent my way.

I'll spend my birthday with my love.
He's a true blue friend of mine.
I need or want for nothing but my cherished valentine.
Happy birthday, happy birthday, I know I'll have a splendid time,
And then I'll be all tuckered out and sawing logs by nine.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED