RADIANT

RADIANT

It is a brand new splendiferous day,
The sun melting my flesh in its well meaning way.

And your arms are around me,
Out the door goes my pain.

Dissolving into air, leaving nothing there,
But your radiant smile,
A clearing after a late night rain.

You could not shine brighter if you tried,
The world is young for you and I,
A carousel of painted ponies,
Come join me on life’s bumpy ride.

As we go through time together,
Facing calm and stormy weather,
Perhaps we can graduate to the ferris wheel
And the Tilt-a-Whirl.

As the years go by your radiance will blind me like a pearl.
And perhaps you’ll seek and find, the subtle radiance that is mine.

But in the meantime your arms are around me,
And I am satisfied.

And I could not love you any more,
As hard as I might try.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LIKE GANGBUSTERS

LIKE GANGBUSTERS

I want to wake like gangbusters, and hurdle out the door
With all the gusto I can summon so early in the morn.

And watch the sunrise sail its pink ship across the sky
When the rest of the world is fast asleep,
And it’s just me and the soulful birds,
Who can sing the sweetest harmonies that I have ever heard.

I want to live like gangbusters, be life short or long,
To eat my share of chocolate, to hear beloved songs.
To have my share of dreams come true, to reap my share of joy.
To bear my sorrow like a man, my rapture like a little boy.

I want to love like gangbusters, to send you flowers for no reason,
To tempt you with exotic fruit like mangoes out of season.

To pull up to your front door with a truck of Macy’s cards
Or your very own ice cream machine.
To pitch a tent for just one night and sleep under the stars,
A penny for your thoughts and a thousand for your dreams.

I want to come out like gangbusters in a splashy gay parade,
To come from the shadows into the sunshine,
To splash my queer agenda all over the front page.

I want for people everywhere to be gentle, to be free,
To break the bonds of hatred and the scourge of poverty.

I want to sleep like gangbusters at the end of my raucous day,
A deep and peaceful, restful slumber, when the Sandman comes to stay,

I want to live like gangbusters, however sad this world shall be,
For someone must be joyful and it may as well be me.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

BROKEN SUNSET, GNARLED OLD TREE

BROKEN SUNSET, GNARLED OLD TREE

Sitting with you in my private corner of this very public park,
Somber and reflective and waiting on the dark.

We are sheltered by this gnarled old tree,
The irony is not lost on me.

For mine is a gnarled old soul, gobbled up and swallowed whole.

I wait for night to gently fall
And lick my wounds with its gentle tongue.

After the day has come screeching to a close
And its melancholy songs have all been sung.

Cool winds blow, sailors come ashore
And prowl the streets ‘til morning comes
In search of love or something more.

And I am searching for something, too.
My sunset has shattered, broken and blue.

Time swings like a pendulum, back and forth before my eyes.
Life dissipates, evaporates, how rapidly time flies.

And you’re my consolation, my precious valentine,
So stay with me forever, now and ‘til the end of time.

Bring back the sacred memories of who I used to be,
Underneath the broken sunset and this precious, gnarled old tree.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WHY IS IT WHEN I'M WALKING?

WHY IS IT WHEN I’M WALKING?

Why is it when I’m walking, things all seem so clear,
In the early morning, a sparkling atmosphere.
Alone with my thoughts in the quiet of the dawn
With only just the stray night creatures
As companions on the misty lawn.

Thoughts of leaving this life behind, fragmented thoughts of suicide
Are banished by gazing at these beautiful stars.
And if only for a mile or two,
I escape the awful torture of my private bell jar.

Why is it when I’m walking there seems nothing left to lose?
I am smack within the moment under skies so sacred black.
And life or death is mine to choose, forever with no looking back.

I can feel the Great Spirit, bigger than me, bigger than you,
As its contractions narrow and it pushes hard, giving birth to a day so new.
Painting a gorgeous sunrise across the vast horizon,
A spectrum of pink and purple and orange,
A new day sparkling bright with promise and with pardon.

Pardon for all that I am not, pardon for all I have left undone.
Pardon for my ingratitude, pardon for my selfishness,
My eagerness to end it all, pity for the man who holds the gun,
Pointing straight towards his temple, all the lost and homeless ones.

Why is it when I’m walking I would never let you down
Or be careless with this life of mine as long as you’re around?
Alone with my thoughts in the quiet of this graceful dawn,
Just for today I will choose to live and to bravely soldier on.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

BRAVE HEART

BRAVE HEART

It takes a brave heart to love a man like me,
A bionic man of electrodes and wires.
A man who can shake like the San Andreas fault,
Who can thrash in his dreams like a raging brush fire.

It takes a robust and a hearty soul to love a man like me,
To take the weariness away, to set the prisoner free.
But if ever there was a man who could do it, it is you.
A soul sublime who walks the line, a one man rescue crew.

You come to me with open arms, your special jaws of life
And pry me from the wreckage in the tunnel of the night.
It takes a kind magician to work his way into my heart
With spells and magic potions of beauty and of art.

To whisk me away to places far, the firmament, the evening star.
To make each ordinary day sparkle bright as pixie dust,
To teach this doubting Thomas how to yield and how to trust.

It takes a steadfast counselor, a wise and willing friend,
To walk the path I travel down from now until the end.
To hold me when it’s all too much, to see inside my soul
As the days pass swiftly by and illness takes its toll.

It takes a brave heart to love a man like me.
To wipe the tears I sometimes weep, to listen to my fitful sleep.
To cling steadfast with great devotion,
like a gentle breeze from off the ocean.
I hold you in my heart so dear and daily put you to the test.
My gentle soul, my only hope, the one I love the best.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ARE YOU IN OR ARE YOU OUT?

ARE YOU IN OR ARE YOU OUT?

Are you in or are you out, to join me on this bumpy ride,
This heinous poker game called life?

Making up our story as we go along,
Holding our love up to the light
To see just what it’s made of.

In sunlight or in shadow, in a whisper or a shout.
You play your hand, cash in your chips,
But are you in or are you out?

Storms are streaking across my seas,
There’s a bitter salt lacing the breeze,
And I stumble over fallen trees
That litter my predestined path.

I am a marked man of the gods,
I will not escape their deadly wrath.

Are you in are or are you out, to join me on this journey far,
Tripping over galaxies, stumbling over stars?

Traveling to God knows where in search of just a little peace,
Looking past these western ways, turning towards the mystic East?
A little yoga, some tai chi, some Tantric sex for you and me.

I am not an easy man, sailing on a gentle breeze,
And sometimes a sad misfortune brings me to my knees.
But I love you so and after all, love is what it’s all about.
So cast your fortune next to mine, are you in or are you out?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CIRCLING THE WAGONS

CIRCLING THE WAGONS

When I’m forsaken by the world and need a love that’s tender,
You always come stand by my side to be my brave defender.

Just like in the frontier days, ever since you found me,
You build a fortress tall and strong, circling the wagons around me.

When I’m lost and faltering on the precipice of doom,
You welcome me inside your soul where there’s always lots of room.

Just like in a western, you gallop on your horse
And bravely take the errant reigns and set me back on course.

Just like in the frontier days, your loving acts astound me,
You take me in your gentle arms, circling the wagons around me.

When I’m left pondering what to do, when the world throws me a curve ball,
You know at once just how to act and catch me as I fall.

When the days of wine and roses turn to vinegar and thorns,
You mount your steed and ride my way and you’re always there by morn.

To give a reassuring word, comfort that will last,
To shine your magic lantern upon my shadowy path.

Just like the lone ranger times, when outlaws roamed the land,
You keep me safe from danger, fill my hour glass back with sand.

Just like in the frontier days, your love and kindness ground me.
Your kisses melt the hurt away, circling the wagons around me.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SALAD DAYS

SALAD DAYS

I do not miss my salad days, my youthful missteps.
I do not look fondly on my past,
There is much I’d soon forget.

Years of lonely longing and lying to myself,
A youthful indiscretion that filled me with self-hate
And one too many heartbreaks, infatuations unfulfilled.

Always the loner, always the odd one,
Always forever the fool on the hill.

I do not miss my salad days, nor would I go back there,
Not even for a million dollars or a full head of hair.
I was a most accomplished idiot, my hand in every pie,
And high school though I loved it then
Is now a blur in my rearview mirror.

And college is a memory of a collage of cherished friends
And a treasure chest of heartaches that caused my heart to bend.
I struggled with self-hatred, with my sexuality.
I struggled so with everything, I struggled to break free.

But it wasn’t ‘til I was nearly 40 and when you came to me,
That the veil of darkness lifted and I could finally see.
I do not miss my salad days, though I was younger and quicker then.

There are blessings to be found in age, a clarity, a Zen,
And your sweet hand joined with mine, forever to the end.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NOT PURELY ACCIDENTAL

NOT PURELY ACCIDENTAL

A twist of fate that we should meet,
At this juncture of the road.

My cup not only runneth over, but it doth explode.

And though not purely accidental, it still was a surprise,
To find the love I’d wanted standing right before my eyes.

And when friends inquire of how we met and how our love evolved,
I like to say I special ordered you from a gay male catalogue,
And built you to my specifications like a Frankenstein within my lab
And had you hand delivered for a very hefty tab.

Truth is I don’t really know what led your path to mine
Or made the sun engulf my life in such a brilliant shine.
The place we met a bit bizarre, from out my past some evil star,
And I thought myself a victim of some cruel and cosmic joke.

It took awhile for me to come around to the enormity
Of the bittersweet coincidence.
How fate had taken precedence over fear and trepidation,
And led me to your blessed door, a kind and gentle resonance,
And brushed its hand over my blind and jaded eyes,
Allowing me to see.

Not purely accidental and largely by divine design,
A twist of fate that we should meet, a miracle landing just in time.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

JOYOUS AGAIN

JOYOUS AGAIN

In dreams I am falling, over and over,
Lost in the scent of you, filled to the brim.

Walking through ancient fields of sweet clover,
Arms wrapped around you, peaceful again.

In dreams the blackness of night overtook me,
A river of blackness that soiled all my clothes.

And naked I fell like a lost star from heaven,
Pricked by the thorn of the underworld rose.

Nightmares soon hastened to eat up my mind
And I fell through the black hole of renegade time.

‘Til the sayers and wisemen sent you my way
And the violins whirled and the symphony played.

And music so precious lit up my soul,
And you gave back to me what Father Time stole.

And we walked hand in hand through the clouds in their glory
And the angels proceeded to narrate our story.
And all of creation was witness at last,
To the joys of our future, the thrills of our past.

In dreams I am falling, over and over,
Lost in the scent of you, filled to the brim.

Walking through fields of crystalline clover,
Lips pressed against yours, joyous again.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

RECLAIM YOUR LIFE

RECLAIM YOUR LIFE

Reclaim your life from the depths of the ocean,
Where it lies in the seaweed, the sand and the foam.
Reclaim your life in a gracious slow motion,
Lost in a world that you walk through alone.

Reclaim your soul from the dogma and nonsense
That reeks through the world like a stale cigarette.
And make your own rules and follow your conscience,
Stifling the shadow of needless regret.

Reclaim your love they say is a sin, and marry the person you damn well please,
Never to live in a counterfeit skin, but thriving despite them, living life to the lees.

Reclaim your wisdom, your pride, and your glory,
Courageous leaders have shown you the way.
The Great Harvey Milk and his grand mythic story,
The Martinas, the Ellens, the Great Harry Hay.

Reclaim your joy from the throes of despair,
Those jagged polar ice caps that freeze flesh and bone.
And wing through this world like an eagle unleashed,
Melting those hearts that were once cold as stone.

Reclaim your life and realize your power,
Gather your forces before it’s too late.
Today is the day and now is the hour
To vanquish all vestige of vengeance and hate.

Reclaim your life from the depths of the sea,
Where it lies crushed and wounded and hopelessly lost.
Reclaim your life in its great majesty,
No matter the effort, no matter the cost.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

COFFEE AND APPLES

COFFEE AND APPLES

Coffee and apples, let’s do it in the grand way.
Wine and cheese like the upper crust,
French kissing under the stars.

I’d bring out my finest china.
Evening in your arms implores me
To spend a little class.

Morning in your thoughts so hazy,
The sleep still in your eyes,
You’ll wonder what it is hit you.

Apple cores in the ash trays, coffee grounds in the sink.
The weatherman does his amusing stuff
And as long as I’ve got your flesh it’s enough
To see me through this fog and rain.

Like sweet caffeine, you infest and prick my brain.

Apples and coffee, dreams warmed by the fireplace.
Happiness makes for boring rhymes.
The bored cantankerous cuckoo chimes the hour for lovers.

I draw you in as the sun descends the mountains,
I shower you with kisses, raindrops in fountains.
Fountains of flowers, forests, and fauna.
Life is what we dreamed of in our poverty.

Tomorrow we will wake, two millionaires as one,
And hear the sanitation truck roar away the coffee grounds, the apple cores.
Tomorrow we will wake, and feel the wealth of kings.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SOMETHING ABOUT THE RAIN

SOMETHING ABOUT THE RAIN

Though I am a fan of sunshine,
And consider her my sweetheart dear,

There’s something about the rain,
That whispers meaning in my ear,

Nourishment to anorexic Mother Earth,
Who is haunted by her body image, craving a makeover.

I appreciate the rain as I wither and grow older,
A metaphor for those I’ve lost,
Mistakes for which I’ve paid a cost.
Times when I was mild and meek
And wish I had been bolder.

And when it rains, oh, how it pours,
How tears flow like a fountain
For all the losses we’ve endured.

There’s something about the rain that comforts
As it splashes on the asphalt street.
Sharing an umbrella with my love, it made my day complete.
That day at the Judy Collins show,
Her voice like the rain, silver and sweet.

Though I am a fan of sunshine, and resist the harsh winds when they blow.
I’m old enough to treasure the raindrops,
weary enough to welcome the rainbow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DREAM OF ME

DREAM OF ME

Dream of me often as you walk your path,
For I am the one who loves you madly,
Like a gentle breeze from off the ocean,
This Earth’s grandest melody.

Dream of me as you sail your rowboat,
Fearless down the ravaging sea,
And dream of how I shall ravage you
When the oars of your boat bring you back home to me.

Dream of me in Technicolor, never black and white,
Dream of me in pastel colors
Against the backdrop of your blackest night.

Dream of me, for I will always have your back
When it is up against the wall.
And I will be your friend in the wilderness,
Answering your distress call.
Just send smoke signals and running I will come,
My armor bright and polished,
And shimmering in the noon day sun.

Dream of me often as you lay down to sleep
And I will lay beside you and a gentle vigil keep.
Dream of me often as you fly through the air,
On your arms and legs that spread like wings,
And always make me gape and stare,
A specimen of man so fine, a homo sapiens rare.

Dream of me often, dream of me long,
Dream of our love that is special and strong.
Dream of me each and every inch of the way
And share all those dreams at the end of the day.

For I am the one who loves you madly,
Like a gentle breeze from off the ocean,
This Earth’s grandest melody.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE STARS, THEY ARE MY TAPESTRIES

THE STARS, THEY ARE MY TAPESTRIES

This precious earth is my domain,
The sky my personal canvas,
The stars, they are my tapestries.

And as I walk in the sacred darkness
Of a morning that has not been born,
The birds are sweet traveling minstrels,
Bewitching with their lovely songs.

I collect my thoughts like stamps or coins,
This meditation is my avocation
And with all of Nature I feel joined,
My life’s rejuvenation.

And all that I hold dear is represented here,
The friendships I hold as rare as gold.
My memories of my parents,
My lover’s voice whispered in my ear
Just before we turn out the lights.
All the sounds and all the sights
Of this wondrous and mysterious life.

A life that must not pass unexamined or untended,
Like gardeners we must prune and trim,
Before we pass through this world of man.
A world that fades and slips away,
As quickly as sand, sifting in a small child’s hands.

This precious planet blows a gentle morning breeze.
I walk beneath the welcome sky, the stars my glimmering tapestries.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GO EASY ON THE MYSTICISM

GO EASY ON THE MYSTICISM

Let the nasty dreams come hurdling, in vivid color, like a prism.
Let the gurus speak to me in subtle tones of muted wisdom.

Explain to me earthquakes in China, homeless lying in the streets,
In language I can understand, make it short and make it sweet.

Let the dreams come flickering silver across this afghan’s color bold,
This wondrous bed that in pain I hide in, sheltered from a world so cold.

Lift me soaring above the mountains, where this life of mine appears so small.
The earth an insulated bubble, far removed its toil and trouble.
Disappeared its cracked veneer, into a wounded atmosphere.

Let the dragons breath their fire, the monsters run amok.
The fragments of my dreams lie shattered, nothing but a cluster fuck.

The snake it circles around my neck, coiling serpent, oh so tight.
While self-important maitre'd's whip me with their chains and snarl,
Destroying my appetite.

Let the carrion birds pluck out my eyes, a most unpleasant sight to see,
But over in a gruesome instant, a fitting, final mockery.
It’s hard to smile and join the ride, to shrug off war and genocide,
And something deep inside me distrusts a prophet’s vision.

So let the gurus speak with humor, spouting a few witticisms,
In language I can understand, go easy on the mysticism.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DIGGING THE EARTH

DIGGING THE EARTH

I am digging the good earth, a holy place for me to lay
At the end of my life’s long journey when the curtain falls on my little play.

I am digging in the dirt and the smooth red clay,
Where at last I will rest at the end of this highway.

I am digging the earth and its magical moments
That fly in the face of the trouble I’ve known.

The sweet friends who love me, my cherished companion,
This swell sacred planet that I think of as home.

I am digging the earth like a mad undertaker
Who sleeps on the job and who dances on graves,
And I want to burn brightly and soar o’er the mountains,
Giving light to the world, a sweet, lovely blaze,
Like a coda to the sunset, a shiny lemon glaze.

I am digging the earth and where once I saw sorrow
That burned in my eyes like a motherless child,
Now I see goodness and kindness and mercy,
That stretch out before me, softening the miles.

I am digging the good earth, preparing my grave,
But life looms large before me like some awesome surfer’s wave.
And I will ride that wave, strong and robust,
I am not ready to be ashes and dust.

I am digging the earth in a wild, wondrous way
And I like it so much that I think I will stay,
At least for a couple million more days.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE DREAMS I CARRY

THE DREAMS I CARRY

Scarlet are the dreams I carry,
stained with blood and saline.

Drenched and beaten by the April rains
and the awful silence in between.

The dreams I carry weigh me down,
like Jesus weighed down by his cross,

And on my head is a thorny crown,
a rolling stone encased in moss.

Shiny are the dreams I shoulder,
but do not be deceived,

They’re only fool’s gold, tarnished relics,
fables not to be believed.

Strange and solemn, cold and bare,
and melting in the morning air.

My feet are muddied with the clay
that dirties up the vacant day.

And traipsing on some just waxed floor,
the dreams I carry settle scores.

And tumble lost into outer space,
lost to me forevermore.

Bluish are the dreams I carry,
puffy clouds in a crystal sky.

Silver tears that flood the heavens,
fantasies that will not fly.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

STASH

STASH

You are my stash of sunshine,
When Mother Nature throws a snit,
Throwing a belligerent fit.
Covering my cheerful earth
In a garb of rain and mournful black.

You are my stash of rainy day cash,
Hidden in the pantry, behind the sugar and spice.
Your kind words issue invitation,
Your eyes they do entice.

You are my stash of wisdom, for I can be a fool,
And you have taught me scores of lessons
I could have never learned in school.

You are sage beyond belief, clairvoyant, and oh, so kind.
You could solve the riddle of the Sphinx if given enough time.
You are loyal as the day is long, your cologne is sweet and strong.
And I want to burrow deep in you, explore your every avenue.
You are my final refuge, the only place that I belong.

You are my stash of comfort, when the world turns upside down,
When dreams come crashing to the earth and troubles gather ‘round.

You are my stash of legal drugs, not the only one by any means,
But the strongest one in my arsenal to keep me sharp and keen.
You are my stash of sunlight, when Mother Nature plays the bitch.
You are a cold, clean drink of water, you are my favorite sandwich.
And until this earthly life is done and all that’s left of me is ash,
You’re in my heart where you belong, my lovely one, my stash.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

HANDS DIRTY

HANDS DIRTY

Into the trenches I go, my boots laced high to stomp through the nonsense,
My gas mask secured to handle the stench of the lies.

This hideous world is enough to give me pause
And I am poised and ready to get hands dirty for the cause.

Into the sludge waist high I go wading, to the depths of despair I descend.
Whispered truths that you cannot count on, flagrant lies you cannot defend.

The earth is slipping into hell, global warming, NOx and SOx.
Water that’s not fit to drink, state secrets in a cold steel box.

George W. lies through the gold in his teeth, his stimulus checks bring little relief,
The clocks on the mantel are stopped at high noon,
The eagle flies on bended claws,
And I am poised and ready, to get hands dirty for the cause.

Into the river Jordan with its history proud and grand,
I wade like John the Baptist, but there’s blood upon my hands.
And like the rest of humankind, I must shoulder half the blame,
For the scores of wars that have gone before, fought in my country’s name.

The world is spinning off it axis, military suicides,
The few, the proud are going down on this grand Iraqi thrill ride.
It’s enough to make you wonder, it’s enough to give you pause.
But I am armed and ready, to get hands dirty for the cause.

Into the shining streets, with rainbow flags in hand,
We kiss our lovers openly, in a moment rare and grand.
One nation under a questionable God and a nation of questionable laws,
‘til gay and straight roll up their sleeves and get hands dirty for the cause.

The dreams of Martin Luther King, the peaceful ways of Gandhi,
Must rise from death and thrive again, alive in this democracy.
And one day we shall overcome in a world awash in flaws,
And roll up our collective sleeves and get hands dirty for the cause.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

TRUTH IS A STRANGER

TRUTH IS A STRANGER

Truth is a stranger, dangling from your lips,
And lies are crafty creatures, gnawing at your fingertips.

Your lips move and the gas prices soar,
Like a cunning vacuum cleaner salesman,
Traveling door to door.

Truth is a stranger, look in the mirror, you killed Ron and Nicole
And you will have to live forever with that blackness in your soul.

The day you crossed her threshold and used the bloody knife,
Destroying her beauty, annihilating two lives.

Truth is a stranger, and there are lies at every turn,
You set the torch to your own house, stood back to watch it burn.

Truth is like the enemy, on its tender flesh you choke,
Like on some poisonous cigarette where you take one final toke.

And it gives my heart a rush of glee to sit back and watch you trip,
And fall like a stone from your lavish throne, drunk on the vintage wine you sip.

Truth is a stranger, Mr. Governor, you sleep with prostitutes,
And think you’ll get away with it, you think the point is moot.

That surely you in all your power and your haute designer shirts,
Are immune from the luridness of your name dragged through the dirt.

You reek of double standard, it’s the woman not the man
Whose name is shamed and thought to blame for your trysts and one night stands.

And meanwhile all the honest ones are aghast at what they see.
Truth is like a stranger, imperiled fruit of the poisonous tree.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

FULL STEAM AHEAD

FULL STEAM AHEAD

Full steam ahead, like the little engine who can, can, can,
Somehow I hold my own in this perilous little land.
Full steam ahead, like a naïve little fool,
The absent minded professor in his own private school.

Full steam ahead, past the taunts of the crowd,
That grow ever stronger and reverberate loud.
To the victor go the spoils, and it’s easy to see,
That the hands down winner, the victor is me.

Full steam ahead in a full power play,
Where all that I do and all that I say,
Is taken as gospel , the law of the land,
Fearless and flawless I make my brave stand.

Full steam ahead, an impenitent soul,
Who chews up my enemies and swallows them whole.
I’m up for the challenge and all set for the dance,
A stroke of good luck or a cruel circumstance.

The good luck, the bad luck, they are part of the ride,
And I the great juggler can take them in stride.
I’m a god of my making, I am strong, I am bold.
I can bake in the sun, I can freeze in the cold.

Full steam ahead to the end of my days,
Hurled like a rocket ship into my grave.
And right ‘til the minute my bones turn to dust,
I will say what I will and do what I must,
And make like the little engine who can, can, can,
Holding my own in this tragic little land.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED