NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN

NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN

I tried to be a hero, but got strangled by the cape,
Tried to be a writer, to whip those words in shape.
I tried to be a good man, but my image was besotted,
Tried to be a gardener but my fruits and veggies rotted.

I tried to be a light in darkness, but my flame blew out and died,
Tried to always tell the truth, they never caught me in a lie,
For four long years I labored, churning out the verse,
And I never missed a single week, for better or for worse.
I tilled my Facebook page with passion,
Filled with the beauty of pictures and fashion.
Tried never to let the fruit of my labor become disgraced or rotten,
It was the lengths I went to not to be forgotten.

I found out it was all for naught, this fierce and tender battle I fought,
I was not the man I thought I was, my reputation sold and bought,
Now I sit all forlorn, solemnly pondering mortality,
And I want to ask this wretched world just what the hell was wrong with me.

I tried to be a teacher once, the students did not learn,
I tried to be permissive, the next time I tried stern,
Neither made my pupils like me or mind me in the least.
I was at best a joke to them, my class a raucous beast,
A wild and woolly mammoth that alas I could not tame,
If they still remember me, I'm sure it's with disdain.

I tried my hand at radio, did what I thought was a decent show,
Let a big city programmer break my spirit and drive me from the overnights,
Let him fill me with self-doubt, with his pointed critiques and his slights.
I got a job proofreading transcripts, did radio on the weekends,
Said goodbye to the extravaganza and all of my midnight friends.
But no one really missed me on the radio, at the end of the day I was again alone,
Thirty-eight with the world as a weight that sank me like a stone.
An overachiever in high school and college, had never held hands or been kissed,
Until I found my man and settled down, did I finally get my wish.
The same year that i found my love, I also found disease,
One long in the making, brain cells dying over time,
Perhaps Fate had it in for me, I could feel the bells in the distance chime.
Somehow though I kept my nose to the grindstone and plowed on through the storm,
My only real success in life was the love that kept me warm.

I tried to be a lover and I think I found my calling,
After years of dragging this carcass around,
After the false starts and the stalling.
Still I want to change the world, to keep myself from falling.
To rise again with pen in hand and trusty keyboard lying in wait,
I want to be more than flesh and blood that will soon fade and dissipate.
I want to be a hero, but I will never soar with this flapping cape,
I want to be a poet, but will never whip these words in shape;
So let the fruits of my love for you live in your heart forever,
My poems will wither away and die, my repartee not clever.
Let me take refuge in your arms and in your heart once I am gone;
Let my name be on your lips with the coming of the final dawn.
Try never to let the fruits of our love be tarnished or grow rotten,
It's the new lengths I will go to not to be forgotten.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: My autobiography, condensed and set to rhyme!  This poem may seem a downer, but actually all the false starts and what I thought at the time were disappointments led me to the life I lead today. My old radio friends and mentors Debra Leigh and Sue Herlihy-Dischel are still a presence in my life. So are my two cherished friends Suzanne Lee and Jeni Williams from my proofreading days, who I have celebrated in verse on this blog. Life is as good as it can be with Parkinson's disease. And of course, I have my partner Kyle, who I dedicate this poem to. The glass is definitely more than half full.