Saturday, January 26, 2013

THE GREAT EQUALIZER

THE GREAT EQUALIZER

Telephone's ringing, it's best not to answer,
Could be heart disease or some form of cancer.
Mesothelioma or black lung if you're a miner,
Or the crafty eyes with the slow demise
Of Parkinson's or Alzheimer's.

Soon you'll be reduced to bones or cemetery ash,
Food for the worms, liquidation of cash,
When the life insurance check comes through,
Death, the great equalizer, has cooked you in his stew.

Buzzer's ringing on the stove, death piping hot from the oven.
Set loose the witches from their wicked little coven.
Spread the tablecloths for the friends and relations,
Fly the flags to herald the new initiation.
Bring the corpse in in his custom built casket,
His snazzy little urn, a glorified basket.
Give him a paragraph in the local news,
Hire a band of minstrels to play a little blues.
Hide his odd eccentric ways, his youthful indiscreet forays.
Fly banners from the front steps to applaud his very life,
Do your best to comfort his children and his wife.

Married, single, divorced or widowed,
Black, white, yellow, red,
Will not stop its black benediction
From descending on your head.

Soon your life will be reduced to a few lines of homespun epitaph,
A memory in a loved one's heart, a picture in a photograph,
Perhaps enshrined in a favorite song or passage in a book,
Whether you were a teacher, a fireman or a crook.
It may be hard to summarize or to encapsulate,
It may be tomorrow or some far off distant date.
It's ashes to ashes with a duel for your soul,
Whether God or the devil, with one you will go.

Soon we'll all be fertilizer, for death is the great equalizer.
And whether you're Catholic, atheist, Protestant or Jew.
Death is not fickle, just a tall dark stranger with cloak and sickle.
Someday it comes calling from out of the blue.
Just like a hurricane or spit in your eye,
Bang, bang, we loved you, we're sorry, goodbye.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: Built around a poem I wrote in college near the time of my father's death in 1983. Back then I called the poem simply "Death". But its theme was death's universality, and back then I was totally healthy, with Parkinson's not even a blip on my radar screen. So I added some verses and changed the name to "The Great Equalizer".

Saturday, January 5, 2013

FIRST WEEK

FIRST WEEK

The First Night celebrations,
That usher in the New Year,
Can seem like exhortations,
Of counterfeit cheer.
Especially when the New Year,
Despite my anguished pleas,
Simply brings more of the same,
More ennui and disease.

But without the din of New Year's Eve,
The calendar has nothing up its sleeve,
Nothing 'til Cupid draws his pesky bow,
In the chill of February with its relentless snow.
New Year's an ending and a false beginning,
Time for reflecting on losing and winning,
And the strange thin line between the two,
How our shared mortality unites both me and you.

And it will soon get better next time around,
Says the learned man in his cap and gown,
Waving his parchment letters.
Oblivious to the homeless sleeping on the ground,
Preaching his gospel, wearing his coat of down,
Looking down on his slaves in fetters.

It will soon get better say the rich to the poor,
You'll die of consumption, oh men of little gumption,
And meet your kind Jesus at the pearly door.
The world will rain prosperity, oh men of little vision,
Everything will be okay, they said so on the television.

I want so to believe them, and really what's my choice?
To drown myself in my own woes and ignore a hopeful voice?
New Year's is nothing at all if not a leap of faith,
So I'll lend my singing to the chorus,
And hope to give it needed weight.
It's a long, long time to Valentine's,
So let your words of hope and faith
Reverberate and mix with mine.

It will soon get better, said the politician to the throng,
Meanwhile learn to fake a smile, be brave, alas, and strong.
And even if his words are lies, perhaps they hide a rare surprise,
So light your candle in the darkness, arise and carry on.

January can be a bitch, 
Winter can be cold and dank,
It would not do to fold our hands,
And watch the world just tank.
So let us all join hands and sing,
Make the most of this New Year's thing.

It will soon get better, there's no way to go but up.
And this strange place on the calendar is nothinig but a hiccup
It would not do to just surrender,
This life is far too sweet and tender.
We've a long, long way to travel, this season can be bleak
So hold on tight with all your might, it's only the first week.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
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...