Tuesday, September 30, 2014

DREAMSCAPE

DREAMSCAPE

In my magic carpet careening,
I fly through night's passages like a voyager of old,

Shot from a cannon and into the dreamscape,
A velvety passage of nightfall foretold.

It is my hilarity, it is my calamity,
It is my monstrosity to look on and behold.

For there are sweet dreams alive in evening's dust,
And there are nightmares lurking in the corner of my globe.
And I alone trek through the moon, fearless in my sleep balloon,
Dangling the tentacles of my star space probe.
Or I ramble through this creepy house,
Sleepless in my bare feet and bathrobe.

Evening so quiet it tiptoes like a mouse,
Or screams like a banshee or a horrified spouse.
In my carpet I go sailing,
Straight through the moon and its rich, bumpy craters,
Crashing through stars like a neophyte skater,
And bumbling my way through the mess of my madness,
An uplifting euphoria, a strange quiet sadness.

Alone I float in sleep's little death,
Waking in the morning to catch
The tender thread of breath.
Into the dreamscape flailing, lost and unawares,
Rushing through the sands of time,
Tumbling down its creaky stairs.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, September 26, 2014

CARRY THEM HOME

CARRY THEM HOME

All your restless energy bottled up within,
All the secrets hiding in the deep folds of your skin.

All your tears at twilight when your road comes to an end.

Bundle them up like precious cargo floating out to sea,
Gather them in your uncertain hands, carry them home to me.

All your efforts wasted like pearls thrown before swine,
All your stubborn water that will not change to wine.

All your useless, futile tries to stall and turn back time,
Carry them to my doorstep and I will make them mine.

The weakness of the flesh that tempts your lover's vow,
The fantasies of other men that tantalize you now.

The urge to wander far away with some new exquisite beauty,
Sweep them up in your ash and dust, carry them home to me.

The disappointments and regrets that rise and follow you,
All you once held to your breast as tantamount and true,

All the manmade barriers dividing me and you,
Let them go like flakes of snow in a sky of midnight blue.

All the nervous tension that courses far and wide,
All the hope that withers, the fire that slowly dies.

All the routine, mundane things you do to pass the time,
The prose that does not always flow, the poem that does not rhyme.

Bundle them up like precious diamonds, shining brilliantly.
Gather them in like treasured friends, carry them home to me.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, September 22, 2014

THE BADLANDS

THE BADLANDS

The dust of another withered afternoon
Backfires like a wayward gun.

I am pricked by the cactus,
Worn down by the scorching rays of the sun.

Huddled and sweating, heart in my throat,
While the lizards and the desert vultures
Take their calm repose.

I muddle through another day,
Alone in my desperate street clothes.

My tent is falling down around me,
Your name a prayer that coats my tongue,

In a world of sound and fury,
Heartbreak echoes like a drum.

The hymn of praise I mouth for you
Hangs silent in the air,
And like a ghost you haunt my dreams,
Broken and beyond repair.

The dregs of another muggy night
Swim in my dreams like a frantic fish,
Fins clipped and torn on the ocean floor,
Pining away in mortal anguish.

I am impaled on your indifference,
Squirming like a pig on your twirling skewer,
Cast into this Hades like some common evildoer.
The dust of another ill spent day
Backfires like a wayward gun.
Alone I roam the badlands,
Your prodigal son.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday, September 18, 2014

IN THE DAYS BEFORE THE FALL

IN THE DAYS BEFORE THE FALL

I am the navigator, 
The airplane does just what I say.
I am the captain, 
The ship it rides upon the foamy waves,
Leading to my destination, 
No hiccups and no hesitation.
I am the king, 
The leader of them all,
Mankind in all its innocence,
In the days before the fall.

I am the leader of my squadron, 
I lead my men beneath enemy fire,
Into the perils of an Iraqi desert, 
Sand that blows for miles and miles.
I am the one who weeps inside,
For the brave ones who have gladly died
And paid the price of freedom,
For all of humankind,
Their place secure in history,
And within this heart of mine.

I am the battalion chief 
Of firemen strong and valiant,
Who fight the flames that hover close, 
Whose souls are fierce and gallant.
I am the rescue crew, 
Who searches for the dead among the rubble,
Breaking the news to their anxious kin,
Talking to the press with the flourish of spin.
My sleep is often torn and troubled.

I am the God who watches,
Alone in my omnipotence,
And yet I have my plan and yet I have my reasons.
For I did form the earth and seas,
Startling in their brilliance,
I laid the corners of the globe 
And created all the seasons.

I am the navigator,
I am not asleep at the controls.
I am one who trolls the oceans, 
Fishing with my net for souls.
I am, alas, the sovereign king, 
The leader of you all,
You who once stood innocent,
In the days before the fall.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  

Saturday, September 13, 2014

LIFE'S IMMENSE BUFFET

LIFE'S IMMENSE BUFFET

So many people suffering,
So much illness, so much grief.
With only brief stretches
Of respite and relief.

The world it spins,
A twirling ball of useless tragedy,
Hurdling forward into space,
Catapulting madly.

Where does it end,
And where is the life,
Hiding lost in all the death?

What phantom criminal is loose,
Looting bodies, stealing breath?

It seems most of my friends are hurting,
It seems their many dreams sold short,
Their one and only life lies useless,
Roles left vacant on cutting room floors.

Why does all this trouble hearken?
Why do gravestones lean so close,
Whisper sweet nothings into ears?
Why has God forsaken his children,
Striking them down in the prime of their years?

So many spirits leaving,
So many souls are taking flight.
Their zest for living vanquished
By a lack of appetite.
Banquet  guests that have had their fill,
And turned and walked away.
Leaving plates of food untouched
On life's immense buffet.  

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, September 8, 2014

WHEN I'M OLD AND IN MY LIZARD SKIN

WHEN I'M OLD AND IN MY LIZARD SKIN

When I'm old and in my lizard skin,
I will ponder down each road I've been,
And likely I'll find something to lament about them all,
When i'm old and oh so wrinkly,
Like a crispy leaf in fall.

When I'm old and in my Sunday tweeds,
Wherein perhaps they'll bury me,
I'll ponder heaven and I'll ponder hell 
But alas I'll never know,
Where or in whose company
I'll be when it's time to go.

Will it be a fall from an elevator,
Or the last meal of some alligator,
To finish off my stay on earth?
Or a bumbling fall backwards down the stairs,
With a knot on the head for the angels to nurse.
Will the Parkinson's get me, or some rare kind of cancer?
I breathlessly wait in the wings for an answer.
Will the lungs go first or will I be fainthearted,
Or will this slow brain death finish what it started?

And will you be there in your botox and your perfect sparkling teeth,
Still thin as a skeleton, your hair a bedazzling wreath?
A sleeping companion still to this man encased in tin?
Or will my sleep disorder make me too cantankerous by then?

All fair questions awaiting reply,
I'll cock my head with an ear to the sky,
Will the depression meds give up the ghost
And leave me more depressed than most
With a bent toward suicide?
Right now at this idea I snort,
But I save it as a last resort.
When denied too long of earthly pleasures,
One tends to cling to desperate measures.

Though i love this life, i have to admit
At times it's a river just waiting to crest,
I'd love at times to take my rest,
In the river of forgetfulness.
Strike down the halls of memory,
Burn them beyond recognition.
By then i should be old enough to trust my intuition.
And before my dusty soul has flown,
To rely on just my wits alone.

It is all these things I wonder,
It is these strange things I ponder.
I have regrets which I cannot change,
Some things I'd like to rearrange,
Down all these roads I've been,
I'll likely die still pondering them,
When I'm old and in my lizard skin.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2014
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...