NOT NOW, BUT IN THE NEW AGE
(FOR GAY COUPLES EVERYWHERE
WHO ARE USHERING IN THE NEW AGE
OF MARRIAGE EQUALITY)
Not now, but in the new age,
Where women can court women
And men can romance men.
I shall feel no shame uttering your name,
Our vanquished love shall usher forth again.
Not now, but in the new age, there will be no time to tarry,
No more self-righteous bigots forbidding us to marry.
The grooms atop the wedding cake, will both hold hands and smile,
And educate the wedding guests with the elements of style,
From the new age Emily Post, we will gladly tear a page,
Of wedding tips and etiquette, full of wisdom sage.
At last all this will come to pass, not now, but in the new age.
So sweet baby blue, don't cry too long in the rain,
It's not worth it and besides,
The love we feel inside,
Is the sweet love of a lifetime
And can well withstand the pain,
Of strangers who can't understand,
Men together walking, arm in arm and hand in hand.
Sweet baby blue, don't give it all up in a flash,
Do not leave our love to smolder,
To burn out and then crash.
For our love was meant to grow,
Together hand in hand.
Not now, but in the new age,
You'll come to understand.
The method to my madness,
The remnants of my dream,
That I was always your da Vinci,
With my great grand color scheme.
That you were always in the end,
My grandest love, my greatest friend,
My talisman through sorrow.
You were always dear to me,
My passport to tomorrow.
Sweet man in a blaze, I remember you beneath the sheets,
I know forbidden places hidden in your thighs,
I have known and seen misgivings in your silent angel eyes,
I have seen your grisly nights,
And I have breathed your tragic days.
Still love conquers all in a passion inspired haze,
And I will carry you on strong shoulders through the Book of Life.
I will leaf your limbs and chest.
I will read your mind, page by solemn page.
And we will stand unconvicted in nakedness,
Not now, but in the new age.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Author's note: Thank you all for reading each week. Today I celebrate the publishing of this blog's 500th poem! As for this poem, it was written a long time ago when I was still in college and before Kyle and I met. Then I recently rewrote it, now that gay marriage is becoming a reality. Hoping it is one day legalized here in Virginia. A new age indeed.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
MOTHER EARTH
MOTHER EARTH
Mother earth, you have made me to walk a fine line.
Despair protrudes through my skin and bones,
The dirt of lost years poisons my magic potions,
Covers my emotions with the smell of tomorrow's futility,
A relic unconvinced of his worth and utility.
Mother earth, you have made me a drone,
Dependent on the friends who phone
To solve all my depressions,
Who snare themselves in the tangle
of my shaky self-impressions.
Mother earth, your thumb and forefinger
Tap heavily on my shoulder.
Meanwhile I grow so much older.
While autumn leaves blow in the gutter,
And wasted old men mutter of their dreams that fell astray.
Sweet and saccharine mother earth,
There is blood on your hands today.
I sit and shiver in this twisted vessel of clay.
Nerves shot, blood clot, my stomach a twist of impossible knots.
Random chance plays out its dance,
Builds me a shallow grave where I can sink half-alive,
Falling through another of your mud slides.
Mother earth, you must make me brave,
Build me some sort of a sheltering cave.
For the rain it pours but offers no relief,
Brings only sorrow, dredges up grief.
Into the winter I fall like a leaf,
Left over from autumn, antiquated beliefs,
And old foul superstitions
To these I recklessly cling,
Of snow and ice I sing.
Mother earth, you must build me a tenable dream.
I tremble like a child before dreams that fall away,
Dreams that once seemed possible in the clear cool light of day.
Dreams that once lit up my soul with their promise and their power,
Whose smooth veneer soon disappeared like light from a meteor shower.
I soak up rays that i despise, the sun reveals its evil eyes,
And shows me my flaws and my dismal worth
Yet I linger in the shifting mother earth.
Mother earth, I am left to cope,
With the longstanding challenge of your tightrope.
Black clown walking with grass stained shoes,
Dipped in a paint pail marked the blues,
Perishing in your pool of unbearable sadness.
Is there no way out of this careless earthen madness?
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Mother earth, you have made me to walk a fine line.
Despair protrudes through my skin and bones,
The dirt of lost years poisons my magic potions,
Covers my emotions with the smell of tomorrow's futility,
A relic unconvinced of his worth and utility.
Mother earth, you have made me a drone,
Dependent on the friends who phone
To solve all my depressions,
Who snare themselves in the tangle
of my shaky self-impressions.
Mother earth, your thumb and forefinger
Tap heavily on my shoulder.
Meanwhile I grow so much older.
While autumn leaves blow in the gutter,
And wasted old men mutter of their dreams that fell astray.
Sweet and saccharine mother earth,
There is blood on your hands today.
I sit and shiver in this twisted vessel of clay.
Nerves shot, blood clot, my stomach a twist of impossible knots.
Random chance plays out its dance,
Builds me a shallow grave where I can sink half-alive,
Falling through another of your mud slides.
Mother earth, you must make me brave,
Build me some sort of a sheltering cave.
For the rain it pours but offers no relief,
Brings only sorrow, dredges up grief.
Into the winter I fall like a leaf,
Left over from autumn, antiquated beliefs,
And old foul superstitions
To these I recklessly cling,
Of snow and ice I sing.
Mother earth, you must build me a tenable dream.
I tremble like a child before dreams that fall away,
Dreams that once seemed possible in the clear cool light of day.
Dreams that once lit up my soul with their promise and their power,
Whose smooth veneer soon disappeared like light from a meteor shower.
I soak up rays that i despise, the sun reveals its evil eyes,
And shows me my flaws and my dismal worth
Yet I linger in the shifting mother earth.
Mother earth, I am left to cope,
With the longstanding challenge of your tightrope.
Black clown walking with grass stained shoes,
Dipped in a paint pail marked the blues,
Perishing in your pool of unbearable sadness.
Is there no way out of this careless earthen madness?
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Saturday, October 12, 2013
AS IF THERE'S NO TOMORROW
AS IF THERE'S NO TOMORROW
I plan to let my engine rev and shift it into overdrive,
To buzz the local plaza, and give the cops a high five.
As long as I am able to go speeding past my sorrow,
I'll live with throttle open wide as if there's no tomorrow.
My dyskinetic feet, they cannot find the brake pedal,
It's a daily test of my moxie, my firm resolve and my mettle.
So if you see me coming, I'm warning you beware,
I'm a man of steel and I'm hell on wheels,
Cruising through without a care
There are those who say I'm a gloomy guss,
Whose only goal is to fume and fuss,
But they are wrong I'm sure you'll see.
My days are long and sometimes lonely,
I wait here at home for my one and only,
Who works hard for the money, that cursed legal tender,
Leaving me to ponder the terms of my surrender.
For disease it has me in its grip,
Into its whirlpool I slide and I slip,
Come perilously close to letting go,
But I hold on firmly for the sake of the night,
And his arms that hold me fast and tight,
As if there's no tomorrow.
I cannot write a Hallmark card,
I've never lived that kind of life,
I live with the fragments and the shards,
Pain that cuts like the blade of a knife.
Unless you've walked in these rigid shoes,
Do not diminish the depth of these blues,
Nor the lengths I sometimes go to hide them.
Antidepressants only go so far,
My life is like a blazing star,
Soon to fade and flicker out.
I have no currency in this kingdom,
Nor have I any clout.
I only rise and do my best,
To pass the daily Rorshach test,
To find the vivid colors left,
To connect the dots and plummet the depths,
To adjust my meds to the ebb and flow,
Try not to ponder demise and death,
As if there's no tomorrow.
Do not get your feelings hurt if I lash you with my tongue,
I suffer fools not gladly, should they be old or young.
A waterfall of wicked words might come spewing from my lips,
Hot molten vocabulary, bubbling like Vesuvius.
i've been building for some time,
Just follow my bouncing ball of rhyme,
And wear your comfy work clothes,
I should not make a mess of those,
When alas my stack she blows.
I plan to rev my engine loud and long,
Until at last it spits and sputters,
Until my voice its last words utters.
After that live on I may, it's really not for me to say.
Don't tread on me, don't ride my back,
I am no fancy Cadillac,
Much less some sporty Peugot,
I'm coming at last to the finish line,
The church bells chime of borrowed time,
As if there's no tomorrow.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
I plan to let my engine rev and shift it into overdrive,
To buzz the local plaza, and give the cops a high five.
As long as I am able to go speeding past my sorrow,
I'll live with throttle open wide as if there's no tomorrow.
My dyskinetic feet, they cannot find the brake pedal,
It's a daily test of my moxie, my firm resolve and my mettle.
So if you see me coming, I'm warning you beware,
I'm a man of steel and I'm hell on wheels,
Cruising through without a care
There are those who say I'm a gloomy guss,
Whose only goal is to fume and fuss,
But they are wrong I'm sure you'll see.
My days are long and sometimes lonely,
I wait here at home for my one and only,
Who works hard for the money, that cursed legal tender,
Leaving me to ponder the terms of my surrender.
For disease it has me in its grip,
Into its whirlpool I slide and I slip,
Come perilously close to letting go,
But I hold on firmly for the sake of the night,
And his arms that hold me fast and tight,
As if there's no tomorrow.
I cannot write a Hallmark card,
I've never lived that kind of life,
I live with the fragments and the shards,
Pain that cuts like the blade of a knife.
Unless you've walked in these rigid shoes,
Do not diminish the depth of these blues,
Nor the lengths I sometimes go to hide them.
Antidepressants only go so far,
My life is like a blazing star,
Soon to fade and flicker out.
I have no currency in this kingdom,
Nor have I any clout.
I only rise and do my best,
To pass the daily Rorshach test,
To find the vivid colors left,
To connect the dots and plummet the depths,
To adjust my meds to the ebb and flow,
Try not to ponder demise and death,
As if there's no tomorrow.
Do not get your feelings hurt if I lash you with my tongue,
I suffer fools not gladly, should they be old or young.
A waterfall of wicked words might come spewing from my lips,
Hot molten vocabulary, bubbling like Vesuvius.
i've been building for some time,
Just follow my bouncing ball of rhyme,
And wear your comfy work clothes,
I should not make a mess of those,
When alas my stack she blows.
I plan to rev my engine loud and long,
Until at last it spits and sputters,
Until my voice its last words utters.
After that live on I may, it's really not for me to say.
Don't tread on me, don't ride my back,
I am no fancy Cadillac,
Much less some sporty Peugot,
I'm coming at last to the finish line,
The church bells chime of borrowed time,
As if there's no tomorrow.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Saturday, October 5, 2013
MY ETERNAL FALL
MY ETERNAL FALL
The medley of the falling leaves,
Dash their tune across the windshield,
The song of bringing in the sheaves,
The corn and pumpkin from the field.
The reds, the yellows, the blazing torches,
The last remnants of summer scorches.
I mark it and I remember it all,
So that I can keep the wonder in me,
Of my eternal fall.
Should I never see another,
Should I not pass these roads again,
I will hold this season like my own lost mother,
Feel her kisses linger on the top of my head,
All I had hoped for and given up for dead,
Will live again in this sacred autumn and its jack o'lantern smile,
I am none the worse for wear despite the weight of miles,
From the depths of my spirit I arise and call,
And feel the timeless echo in my eternal fall.
The medley travels joyous forth in wheelbarrow and apple crate,
Sings a song as clear as blue and gold as heaven's gate.
As across these fertile fields like a madman I do traipse,
I have not fools to suffer nor any breath to waste.
I will travel blindly forward and not once will I stall,
'Til I have crossed the threshold of my eternal fall.
Speak not of frailty, old age or tears.
Speak only of the spirit that brings forth fresh the years.
The medley of the universe, its sweetness enriches,
A rare unseen embroidery of heavenly stitches,
The trees undress ever so slowly for winter,
Their gold and crimson let me always remember,
In the frost of all my latter years when movement slows and stalls,
I will keep these old fond memories of my eternal fall.
Speak not of losses or of sorrow,
Dwell not in the past but on tomorrow.
And a future bright and golden with undiminished hues,
Grab your sad harmonica and learn a happy blues.
And if the future dims and fails,
The wind alas gone from your sails,
Let memory be the light to always be your guide,
Into the golden sunset of this your earthly ride.
So I'll jump prostrate and hearty before this pile of fallen leaves,
Sing my own off key tune of bringing in the sheaves.
Rest in the soft mounds that I am loath to rake,
Remembering when my walking was such a piece of cake.
The reds, the yellows, the blazing torches,
The cool last remnants of summer scorches.
I mark and I remember it all,
So that I can keep the wonder in me,
Of my eternal fall.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The medley of the falling leaves,
Dash their tune across the windshield,
The song of bringing in the sheaves,
The corn and pumpkin from the field.
The reds, the yellows, the blazing torches,
The last remnants of summer scorches.
I mark it and I remember it all,
So that I can keep the wonder in me,
Of my eternal fall.
Should I never see another,
Should I not pass these roads again,
I will hold this season like my own lost mother,
Feel her kisses linger on the top of my head,
All I had hoped for and given up for dead,
Will live again in this sacred autumn and its jack o'lantern smile,
I am none the worse for wear despite the weight of miles,
From the depths of my spirit I arise and call,
And feel the timeless echo in my eternal fall.
The medley travels joyous forth in wheelbarrow and apple crate,
Sings a song as clear as blue and gold as heaven's gate.
As across these fertile fields like a madman I do traipse,
I have not fools to suffer nor any breath to waste.
I will travel blindly forward and not once will I stall,
'Til I have crossed the threshold of my eternal fall.
Speak not of frailty, old age or tears.
Speak only of the spirit that brings forth fresh the years.
The medley of the universe, its sweetness enriches,
A rare unseen embroidery of heavenly stitches,
The trees undress ever so slowly for winter,
Their gold and crimson let me always remember,
In the frost of all my latter years when movement slows and stalls,
I will keep these old fond memories of my eternal fall.
Speak not of losses or of sorrow,
Dwell not in the past but on tomorrow.
And a future bright and golden with undiminished hues,
Grab your sad harmonica and learn a happy blues.
And if the future dims and fails,
The wind alas gone from your sails,
Let memory be the light to always be your guide,
Into the golden sunset of this your earthly ride.
So I'll jump prostrate and hearty before this pile of fallen leaves,
Sing my own off key tune of bringing in the sheaves.
Rest in the soft mounds that I am loath to rake,
Remembering when my walking was such a piece of cake.
The reds, the yellows, the blazing torches,
The cool last remnants of summer scorches.
I mark and I remember it all,
So that I can keep the wonder in me,
Of my eternal fall.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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