HUMBLED

HUMBLED

Humbled by the icy stillness of the frozen lake,
Humbled by the rapids of the river's fearless wake.
Humbled by the hand of youth, so steady and so sure,
Humbled by the disease for which there is no cure.

Humbled by the mercy of a God who hears my pleas,
Humbled by the shelter of the towering redwood trees.
Humbled by the power of the righteous hurricane,
Humbled by disaster, and the splitting, piercing pain.
Humbled by the faces of triumph and despair,
Humbled by a lover and his tender hands that care.

In the maddening deafness, in the darkened rooms,
Where sit unfathomable mysteries, the flowers placed on tombs.
In the brilliant light that sweeps across the landscape,
The honor of the coffin with the flag so softly draped.
Humbled by the soldier and his final sacrifice,
Humbled for his widow, who herself has paid a price.
Humbled for the children lost to mines and gunfire,
Humbled by our unsafe schools, the black crow on the fence wire.

Humbled by the timeless miracle of human birth,
Humbled by the graciousness that pours forth from the earth,
Humbled by the breath of life, and when that breath it blows no more,
Humbled by the hand of God, beckoning on that distant shore.

Humbled by the beauty of the body and the mind,
The holy stream of consciousness defying space and time.
Rejoicing in each footprint left upon the sand,
How each precious day of life unique and oh so grand,
Fills us with the glory of the stream and waterfall,
We cross ourselves and marvel at the wonder of it all.

In the startling blindness of the kindnesses of friends,
We find the lonely saving grace upon which life depends.
In the myriad halls of kings, the humble cave of peasants,
Lie untold riches of the soul, we kneel before their mighty presence.
Humbled by the good that's found,
Humbled by the shaking ground,
The volcanoes and the mudslides.
Humbled by the whim of nature,
The swift and raging tides.

Humbled by the tragic, humbled by the nonsense,
Humbled by the pauper, emboldened by the prince.
Humbled by the chance for joy,
When alas the world becomes your toy.
Humbled by the shifting sands,
The glory of these maiden lands.

Humbled by the billowing sails, by the triumphs and travails.
Humbled that I'm still alive, despite the falls, despite it all,
Humbled that I'll be around when at last the savior calls.
Humbled by your love for me, your all too human grace,
Humbled by the beauty of your spirit and your face.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IMAGINATION

IMAGINATION

Don't leave me to my imagination solely.
Those black curls make me breathe less cozily.
That smile ignites my testosterone supply.

They tell me I am wicked,
Though I've never understood just why,
And lately I've been confused
As to how a good man can suddenly turn so evil.

Don't leave me to my imagination solely,
These new aching feelings I long to explore.
For the first time in this lonely life I know what sex is for.
I confess I've watched you sleeping,
Dreamed of feeling your body warm against mine.
Last time I checked that wasn't a crime.
Your coal black hair and soulful brown eyes,
Your lips oh how they hypnotize,
Luscious pools of a dream come true,
i could recklessly dive into.

Don't leave me to my imagination only,
The life of the fancy can get mighty lonely.
Give a furtive look my way, the crowning glory of my day.
Open your arms, spread your legs, welcome me to glory,
Be the happy ending to this sad boy's anguished story.
I watch your biceps and your triceps flex,
Wanting those muscles wrapped around my own.
I feel my body relax into your weight,
It sounds to me like fate.

Don't leave me to my imagination alone,
Deep into your open arms, my fancy it has flown,
Your spirit lightens every mile,
Your walk a dream to treasure,
To think of you it makes me smile,
And fills me with sweet pleasure.

Don't leave me to my imagination solely.
Destiny waits in your skillful hands, completely and so wholly.
You make me tremble, leave me numb,
Yet here I stand, both deaf and dumb,
Wishing I had just a modicum of oratorical grace,
Not just dreams and visions of your sleeping face.

Don't leave me to my imagination and its scars,
My field of visions helpless as a mass of prison bars.
I sometimes wish I could tell you,
But my friends tell me not to spend all my secrets at once.
And meanwhile your smile ignites my testosterone supply.
Don't ask me why.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: Kyle is a blond, so this poem obviously predates my finding the love of my life. This is a rewrite of a lustful poem I wrote for a muse of mine that I never actually met, after my coming out in college circa 1983.

TOPSY TURVY

TOPSY TURVY

My life it has gone topsy turvy,
It's been that way for quite some time,
Like a sailor with a case of scurvy,
I've swum too long in the salty brine.

And now I stand amidst the seaweed,
Never a man to grovel and plead,
For one small favor, one last chance,
To take to the floor with my love and dance.

My life has gone a tad bit twirly,
Upside down and hurly burly,
And I've been exploring my feminine side,
Emotions raw on a carousel ride.

Now without my magic pills,
I break into tears at the slighest provoking,
Have even pondered marijuana smoking,
Which I have decided against for now,
But it will be my sacred cow I'm sure at a later date,
I guess I'll have to move out of state,
Or to the county jail.
For my bank account's so paltry,
It could never pay my bail.

My life it has gone topsy turvy,
I've fallen hard, head over heels,
And better watch me when I drive,
'Cause I'm quite the hell on wheels.
The head over heels is a literal reference,
I want you this to know,
Not to put on empty airs,
I fell in love a long time ago,
Now it's backwards down the stairs.
Mind you never a whole flight,
For that would be a frightful scare,
The beginning of my darkest night.

I would not want to exaggerate.
A fall that huge and gargantuan,
Surely would have done me in.
Not to mention rubadub-dub,
My hapless falls into the tub.
Not to mention my busted up knees,
And all of the times I've fallen on these.
But enough about falls for I've a theory,
That what we focus on soon into focus zooms,
And my lover man is already weary,
Of cleaning up spills in these carpeted rooms.
Lovingly he cares for me and I of course for him,
I would not care to see his patience worn so gravely thin.

My life it has gone topsy turvy,
Head over heels, hand over fist.
Perhaps I need to remove skydiving,
From atop my latest bucket list.
Confine myself to Shakespeare, Eliot, and Ezra Pound,
I tend to do my level best at pursuits done lying down.
And so I'm off to read my verse,
Or perhaps to Walmart to spill my purse,
And babble incomprehensibly to the clerk,
Who will wonder what brought this piece of work,
Into her checkout line.
Spouting his nonsense, wasting her time.
Perhaps she knows a speech therapist,
I know it sounds draconian,
But speechlessness it can afflict,
Even a robust Parkinsonian.

My life it has gone topsy turvy,
But one day will come when I shall not care,
For I am cunning and I am nervy,
And I just may vanish in thin air.
I will become a friendly ghost
And haunt the ones I loved the most,
Where once I used to hesitate,
I will most proudly levitate.
Reclining with a bottle of vintage wine,
In heaven I will spend my time.
Like a scurvied sailor relieved from disease,
Even in death drinking life to the lees.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: I owe a debt to Alfred Lord Tennyson for the memorable phrase "drinking life to the lees".

BRIDGE ALL THE GAPS

BRIDGE ALL THE GAPS

Bridge all the gaps, in between naps,
Sound the lyre and play the flute.
Do something kind for the poor and destitute.
Use your last breaths for some sort of earthly good,
Even as termites gnaw on the wood,
And buzzards circle in the sky above,
Bridge all the gaps with patience and love.

Bridge all the gaps in this world's gaping teeth,
And find the compassion that lies underneath,
Conservative pundits, would be presidents,
Who would gladly deny the 47 percent.
Say yes to the safety net, God forbid it be you,
Who needs a soft place to land,
After your life savings have fallen through,
The rabbit hole of doctors, a labyrinth of quicksand.

Bridge all the gaps, it's the least you can do,
To narrow the gulf between rich and poor,
To point out the falsehoods, shine a light on what's true,
Bridge all the gaps, what else are you here for?
Is life not more than just a slice of bread,
More than a cup of water?
In America homeless still line the streets,
Children are led like lambs to the slaughter.
And in the end we are called to heed,
All the mouths we did not feed,
The naked that we did not clothe,
Our fellow man in his hour of need.

The soldier we let roam the streets, home and yet unwelcome,
I must confess the dispossessed have become accustomed,
To soup kitchens and to bread lines, like scarlet letters,
The jobless and the hopeless who wear their fears like fetters.
Chained to the past like exiles from the mainstream,
A thinly veiled nightmare their American dream.

Bridge all the gaps in the world's aching soul,
For are we not one world, that longs to be made whole?
Strike down the labels, and turn all the tables,
Of the moneychangers and thieves, all the false gods.
Crush them like serpents with your heel unto the sod.
And if you claim as your own the Christian church,
For what is right and fair you search,
You are ordained and called to answer,
The cries of every scourge and cancer.
Every lost soul on this desolate island,
From lowlands to highlands, we hear their call.
Let there be someday an answer for all.

Bridge all the gaps, play soft your guitar.
And for accompaniment a lyre or flute.
Bang a drum loudly for the poor and destitute,
Even as every bone in your body hurts,
Even as the last breath fails and deserts,
Use it for some sort of earthly good,
Even as the termites gnaw on the wood,
And vultures they circle in the sky up above,
Bridge all the gaps with patience and love.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: A poem about the fiscal cliff that I am just now getting around to posting.