Saturday, May 12, 2018



Could you do me just one favor,
Me and my doting brain,
Go and kindly disappear
Through the orange blaze
From which you came.

Give me Bernie, Hillary,
Give me John McCain.
Your insults mount
and the body count,
Points to you and your pompous reign.

Soon you will be left,
Alone but not bereft.
You will have used up all your cronies,
Who lie for you, you silly man,
Sarah, Rudy and the other phonies,
Lips on fire like Kellyanne.

Give me back a man refined,
Obama with his promise
Of strength and grace defined.
Give me back the light that burns,
Kindly towards the refugee,
Gallantly toward black and white,
For Mexican and Cherokee.

Give this land a voice unsullied,
From childish petulant antics,
From rallies that stir malcontents,
Hyperbolic and pedantic.

Give some class and give sone peace,
Unite this land from west to east.
Things are getting far too smarmy,
Not to mention a little Stormy.

Do us all a favor,
Better now than later.
Turn back time and take a ride,
Back up that escalator.

Unless you show some empathy,
Until you show some class.
You are not my President,
And hope is fading fast.

Could you do us all a favor,
Just think before you tweet.
They leave behind an aftertaste,
They make you small and cheap.

So kindly go and disappear,
Back into your New York tower.
The distant bell it tolls for thee,
Stronger with each passing hour.
Give me Bernie, Hillary,
Give me back Joe Biden.
Give me back civility,
It's bleeding and it's dying.
The stain of Charlottesville remains,
The sting of white supremacy.
It bows at the throne where you sit alone,
You'd better ask for clemency.

So do me a solid and disappear,
Into the squalid atmosphere.
Take your sad and soiled name,
There's no one left but you to blame.
Kindly, gently take the wheel.
You and your tired, worn art of the deal.
There would be no better reckoning,
Than to hear retirement beckoning.

Take the wheel and go full throttle,
Put the genie back in the bottle.
There is forgiveness and no shame.
Close your fists into the mist,
The orange blaze from which you came.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2018

Tuesday, December 29, 2015



Had a weird dream
Got lost in the woods at a funeral.
The rain it poured.
The sun it didn't shine.
Don't know if the funeral
Was someone else's or mine.

Had a weird dream,
The same one really.
I know that may sound kind of silly.
Lost my car in a parking lot
Some five hundred or so miles long,
That was one hell of a camouflaged parking spot,
I must have parked it very wrong.
Or perhaps my feeble mind forgot.
Helped a young man and his girlfriend
Find their car when I found mine at last,
Only to find myself low on gas.

Not only was the dream scary,
The dream was downright strange,
There was one lone alpaca,
Who sat up, shook my hand,
And addressed me by my name.
He was no help with the cars though,
For he was too distraught,
It was a funeral after all,
And he was laden with sorrow.
He is a pack animal first and foremost,
Perhaps an usher at the funeral,
A minister or a host.
He sat there and wept,
While we slipped away on the road to ruin,
Come back to me with a meaning,
My dear sweet Carl Jung.

Had a weird dream
Got lost in the woods at a funeral.
Sure wish the rain had stopped and the sun had shone,
That I hadn't felt so all alone.
Wish I knew what it was all about,
For it's left me feeling down and out.
Perhaps even a bit annoyed,
Ideas, Mr. Sigmund Freud?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015

Saturday, October 31, 2015



Now and again I want to just sleep.
Sleep like a baby awash in the womb,
Sleep like a dead man alone in his tomb,
While the world and all its busy minions
All around me scurry, in some goddamned hurry,
Climb their mountains steep.
Like some glorious has been,
Whose life has met a nasty end,
Like a spoiled child 'neath the Christmas tree,
Denied one last surprise,
I want my end to come quietly,
Eternal rest to touch my eyes with slumber,
No one to bother or encumber
With these salty, shady tears,
Mark my words and mark my years,
With a single granite stone.
Mark my final days,
With a dark and dismal haze.

Let me like the ivy around the tombstone creep,
Mark the spot like the ring of the oak,
Like some guarded prophecy
The soothsayer bespoke.
Let me like a garland
Wrap my body around the sky,
Leaving you alone to ponder
The wherefore and the why.
Shrug it off, shake it off,
Like a garment you no longer deign to keep,
Welcome me to the land,
That soft and velvet sand
Of bright cascading sleep.

Sleep that covers the bitter torn eyes,
Eyes that close in a soft velvet line,
Sleep that will burn a body to ash,
Sleep like a demon this earthly party crash,
Sleep like a harlot assured of her guilt,
After all her last secrets are spilt,
Nowadays I seem to fail every test,
And all I want is sleep now and rest.
Sleep like a baby awash in the womb,
Hormones and toxins await me.
In some great primordial soup,
That has thrown me for a loop.

Sleep like a dead man alone in the tomb,
With the ghost of predestination,
Already planning the next incarnation.
There is stiffness and failure in every breath.
So much stiffness and failure and yet,
In between the burial and the purple shroud,
The will to rise again screams loud.
Maybe I will be okay, hold on for yet another day,
To rise again tomorrow, take my pills that quell the sorrow.

'Til then just close these tired eyes and feel the misty tears
That arise and pool from somewhere deep.
Close my eyes to the precious final years,
Close my eyes and like a waterfall weep,
Dim all the lights and just sleep.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015

Note: This was written on a hellish weekend I spent without my depression meds because the pharmacy was out. Anyway, Happy Halloween!

Saturday, October 17, 2015



Falling, falling, out of time,
Out of sight, then out of mind.
We all have a cross to bear,
Mine's a rib cage cracked on stairs.

Everywhere I go, I stumble,
Recklessly i slip and tumble,
In the winter, in the snow,
In the springtime, in the grass,
Watch me as I bust my ass.

Falling, falling like a star,
From the heavens tossed so far,
Look for me in every beanstalk.
But you'll likely find me on the sidewalk.
Moaning, groaning, struggling to rise,
A newborn colt who needs a nudge,
Just help me up but please don't judge.

Falling, falling, down the slope,
Lost amidst a flowered hillside,
When you fall from high and aloft,
It helps to find a landing soft.
Sweet the smell of the wildflowers,
As I await the savior,
Who will lead me from these desperate hours,
Showing me some favor.

Falling, falling into your sweet arms,
Falling victim to your charms.
Alone with you at close of day.
I stumble yet I find my way.
You hold me close, you bind my wounds,
Here inside this quiet room.
Falling, falling sweet as sin,
Falling deep in love again.

Falling, falling, drifting far,
From some lost forsaken star,
We all have a cross to bear
Mine's a rib cage cracked on stairs.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015

Saturday, October 3, 2015



Sometimes I just need to cry,
Pay no heed to the teardrop
That is forming in my eye.
Leave me to my lonely room,
A radio playing a lonely tune,
Across my dark and vagrant sky.
I could not even tell you why,
But today I need to cry.

Sometimes I need to fume and fuss,
To behave just like a sourpuss.
Best not to mess with me when I'm like this,
Stay on your side of the dark abyss
Into which I'm falling.
Do not mess with the mission of a motionless man,
Who is following his calling.

Sometimes I just need to wail,
To curse and cavort, to let out my sail,
To wobble my way far from dry land,
To fall with bare feet into the hot sand,
Like a baby colt in the desert sun.
Sometimes I just need to wail,
Beyond earshot of anyone.

Sometimes I just need to drown,
In an ocean of my own damn salt.
If I should cry myself to death,
Heaving out my final breath,
You mustn't think it your fault.
Give me room to move about,
To hissy fit, to scream and shout.
If I should drown in my own emotion,
There are far worse ways to die,
There is no tonic or no magic potion,
Just give me leave to fly.
Into the heavens, into the stratosphere,
If only for a day to be anywhere but here.
Stuck inside a stubborn body who does not care to move,
Perhaps I have a stubborn streak of which you don't approve.

Just turn out the light and close the door,
Leave me to this padded room,
A radio that comforts with some tune of long lost sorrow.
My tarnished thoughts turn toward the morrow,
Toward the sweet by and by.
I could not even tell you why,
But today i need to cry.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015

Saturday, September 19, 2015



I am just a microcosm,
Of the larger world I see,
All my thoughts and recollections,
They echo back to me.
The world is just a macrocosm,
Reflecting back my truth,
My thoughts are ancient myths colliding,
My life it stands as proof.

The world is but the tv screen,
Upon which I project.
All my scarlet dreams and fears,
The imagination interjects.
When I close my eyes to sleep,
When I laugh and when I weep,
I am just a phantom,
These joys and miseries I keep.

I am the captain and I am the master.
Ever changing in my evolving,
Like the earth around the sun revolving,
The light a shade of alabaster,
The better self is calling.

If illness is a teacher.
Then I hope to learn my lesson well,
Like the waves they crash against the shore.
And the winds they start to swell.
The ocean it is in my mind,
The winds in my imagination,
Microcosm of the fire and ice,
Echo of the final conflagration.

I come and go in stillness,
I come and go in peace,
May peace come to the larger world,
May my inner wars surcease,
For so with every man and woman,
So with every child,
The outer world may seem desolate,
More than a little wild.
But close your eyes and find your garden,
Listen to your breath,
Seek ye love and seek ye pardon,
From this den of death.

For you are just a microcosm.
And you control the screen
You are the director,
And you can steal the scene.
The world is just a macrocosm,
Reflecting back your truth,
Your thoughts are ancient myths colliding,
Your life it stands as proof.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015

Saturday, September 5, 2015



I dread it coming, the horizon I see,
Where I am only merely,
The shadow of what used to be.
When my words shrink from the page,
Turning into humble mumbles
That require interpretation.
When my mind shrinks from lofty heights,
When I resemble lowly vegetation.
When I can no longer stand and hang the moon,
When my heartstrings are as broken,
As a guitar discordant and out of tune.
As ivories that tickle a sad melancholic rhapsody,
A travesty in black and blue.

Today the bruises gather,
A stray one on the ankle,
Another on the knee.
I must say that it rankles,
That I know not where I got them.
I guess I've banged this body around carelessly,
A shadow of what it used to be,
It falls and fails, lets out its sails,
Goes forth ambitiously,
But badly underestimates,
The strength of the sounding sea.

We shrink the present down to molecules.
We romanticize and canonize the past.
Covering it in plastic like the living room couch.
Or else we pick it apart with perfect hindsight,
Until we turn quite down in the mouth.
We shout regrets, eschew contentment.
Until it all goes south,
And we rewrite our history,
Mired in unfathomable mysteries.

God help me, for I have no pride,
And I'm slipping over that great divide.
The time that stains my barren hands,
Revolves in the wind like shifting sands.
On the precipice between life and death I stand,
Stranger in a hollow land,
Trapped here for eternity,
A shadow of what used to be.
All is as it should be in the end.
And all I leave are humble mumbles,
Twisting in a garish wind.

Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015