Saturday, March 27, 2010

URSULA

URSULA

Ursula is nothing now but a broken, worn out spring.
The spinning top and setting sun
Remember her when day is done.

Past promises step aside, nothing is permanent
And the fire burns in the attic of her sevenfold covenant.

I had a night with her, an evening sweet between the sheets
Of a million insecurities.
And I know her well enough to know
Her anguished pain at passing time.
When leaves turn the color of September sighs,
And tall trees bend in the wind of sure infinity.

Far reaching consequences follow everywhere she goes,
Down the lovely rain drenched streets of pride and primrose.

Saviors unsaved lie in the ashes of life’s unwritten page,
And bats in the belfry fight the timeless war of age.
October in Paris, December in Denmark, snow on the panes.
Her life in the crystal ball shows marked signs of strain.

“More, more, more” yell angry fans to her statue on the Champs d’Elysse,
She is the mermaid of the Seine, a prisoner in France,
Still too young to fade away, too elderly to dance.
Her once warm hopes are growing cold,
Her priceless body growing old.
It is time she went on home to her rose gardens
And faced the nights of her life’s sweet autumn.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1980
Revised Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Saturday, March 20, 2010

CHEERS

CHEERS

Cheers for the years that you were here,
Frowns for the clowns whose faces are down with despair.

The evening with its golden stars is just another freak show.
Without your arms around me, not one truth do I know.

And the desires flame like fireworks
For the caravan of passion that we knew.
For the days when my sackcloth and secrets
Lay safe in the bosom of you.

Cheers for the years when you were here,
Frowns for the clowns whose faces are down with despair.

The burly fisherman at the bar spins another tall tale,
The peanuts and the beer are stale.
The drunks in the streets stagger full of homeless golden blood.

This night was meant for agonized replies.
I hear nothing but December winds pouring from the skies.
I hear you laugh with someone else,
You cannot hear my tortured cries.

The morning with its wasteful sun is nothing but an accident.
I’d love to call you up and say that what I said was never meant
To hurt you in the least or make you want to leave me,
But perhaps you’d not believe me.

This life without you here beside me is nothing but a freak show.
Without your dreams to cherish, not one truth can I know.

And desires flare like fireworks
For the caravan of passion that we knew.
The days when all my sackcloth and secrets
Lay naked in the bosom of you.

And so I sit and raise my glass, pondering our glorious past.
Cheers for the years when you were here,
Frown for the clowns whose faces are down with despair.

-Bruce Potts
Original Copyright 1984
Revised Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sunday, March 14, 2010

MIDGE

Hers's an oldie (but hopefully goodie) from my college days. Circa 1984.

MIDGE

Every man’s dream, the flaming red head-
mop top with clothespin body
And long, sharp banana nose.

You bop along the windy cities,
Ride your unicycle down nature trails,
Scoff at candlelit dinners.

Jellybean in your lunch bucket,
What a girl, you turn me on,
And whatever made you wait this long
To string out your absurdities
For all the world to gape and see.

Cold, flapping fish dancing in your tennis shoe,
An “I Hate Fresh Men” placard
Pasted with Krazy Glue to the front door of your ivy bound cottage.

A vegetarian stew gurgles on your stove
And your love beads shine and fascinate
As they twinkle close to the freckles of your long, thin neck.

It’s nights like these I start to sit and wonder
About laying my boots beneath your cat’s warm soft form on the floor.

If you didn’t hate men so much, why,
I’d climb beside you in the sleeping bag
And try to turn you on like a Jimi Hendrix groove never could.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1984
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

WERE IT NOT FOR YOU

WERE IT NOT FOR YOU

Were it not for you, I would not have known love,
The unlawful carnal knowledge of a man.
Were it not for you, I’d have lived a fantasy,
The rest of my days in a sad dreamland.

And because of you, every dream has come true.
I have flown, I have flown through the heavens so blue,
Done all manner of things I swore I would not do,
Were it not for you.

Were it not for you, I’d have never walked a Paris thoroughfare,
Never seen the London fog and Rome’s majestic airs,
Or San Francisco with its trolleys or the Golden Gate.
I would have met quite a different fate, were it not for you.
I would not have had the money and in short would not have dared,
If not for you and your wandering spirit, I would not have even cared.

But I followed where you led, where your hands have pointed,
Feeling like a chosen one, as though I’d been anointed,
Into some brotherhood where only you and I reside
And it has been a pleasure grand to join you on this ride.

Were it not for you, I would not have known passion,
Nor even the slightest of style and of fashion.
Were it not for you, there would still be blood on my coat,
San Fran would be a distant land where dead wishes would float.

Because of you, every dream has come true,
I have flown, I have flown through horizons so blue,
Done all manner of things I swore I would not do,
Were it not for you.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, March 5, 2010

ALBERGO CESARI

ALBERGO CESARI

The Albergo Cesari, my home away from home,
For a few short days of R&R here in the streets of Rome.
A breakfast of croissants, cold cuts and tempting fare.
The pigeons gather dutifully on the corner of the square.

The Albergo Cesari, a refuge from the teeming crowd.
A haven from polizia, from buses and from taxis loud.
The almost overwhelming beauty of the young Roman men.
As soon as one passes by, another hurries by again.

The storefront with the latest fashions,
We’re with Stupid and the like,
The tiny little Roman cars, the limousines, the motorbikes.
The pizza and the gelato that melt upon the tongue,
The horns and air brakes every night when sleep it will not come.

The Albergo Cesari, where in the alleyways outside,
Angry maitre D’s scream in Italian at some hapless waiter’s sad mistake,
And the beauty of the city that could cause your heart to break.
The Pantheon, the Coliseum, where it’s now safe to be a Christian,
And sculpted lions that vomit water day and night in penance.
The Trevi Fountain and the Vatican, where we all complete our pilgrimage.
The nuns and priests with placid smiles expressed upon their visages.

The Albergo Cesari and all of this, mine for just a few days more,
As I teeter on joblessness back in the States, where nothing is secure.
The Albergo Cesari, my home away from home,
For a few short days of R&R here in the streets of Rome.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
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...