QUIET MOMENTS OF REPOSE
To live a life of stillness,
To answer to the voice within,
To walk amid the teeming forest,
The kinship of the Zen.
To keep alive these memories sweet,
Encased in my suit of tin.
My body stiff as a corpse in waiting,
My soul begins its levitating,
The door to heaven hesitating,
Whether it should let me in,
Or kick me swiftly back to Earth
To wallow in my sin.
A piece of holy contraband,
My future rests in God's firm hand.
To live a life of beauty,
Absorbed in the birds and flowers,
Bathed in all the wonderment,
I wander lost for hours.
The stoic fragrance of the rose,
That tickles pink the willing nose.
And all my senses gratified,
My joy in living ratified,
As to the future no one knows.
But all I ask is peace in stillness,
And quiet moments of repose.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Monday, December 29, 2014
TIME LAPSE
TIME LAPSE
Monday I was a soldier,
Tuesday I was a singer in a band.
Wednesday I was a healer,
In some impoverished land.
Thursday I was a lover,
Friday I was a king.
Saturday I was a prophet,
Now I am no one and nothing.
Monday I was a fighter,
Tuesday I was a damn good singer.
Wednesday I was a healer.
Thursday I was the king of hearts,
Now I am lost forever.
A time lapse opened its fierce jaws
And devoured my calendar.
Now the days are all the same,
And I am growing older.
Hungry time lapse,
Let me ride on you 'til tomorrow.
Give me a star to straddle,
Tell me a universe riddle,
Send me an hour of glory.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday I was a soldier,
Tuesday I was a singer in a band.
Wednesday I was a healer,
In some impoverished land.
Thursday I was a lover,
Friday I was a king.
Saturday I was a prophet,
Now I am no one and nothing.
Monday I was a fighter,
Tuesday I was a damn good singer.
Wednesday I was a healer.
Thursday I was the king of hearts,
Now I am lost forever.
A time lapse opened its fierce jaws
And devoured my calendar.
Now the days are all the same,
And I am growing older.
Hungry time lapse,
Let me ride on you 'til tomorrow.
Give me a star to straddle,
Tell me a universe riddle,
Send me an hour of glory.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, December 26, 2014
BEFORE THE YEARS HAVE FLOWN
BEFORE THE YEARS HAVE FLOWN
(FOR ANN HIBBITTS)
I want to get to know you,
Adopt you as my own,
Feel friendship warm and tender,
Before the years have flown.
To lose my fear when I'm around you,
To speak the thoughts that cross my mind,
To feel the weight of the past few years,
Dissolve into the sands of time.
I want to get to know you,
Your irreverence and your wit,
A second mother in my lifetime,
Real and heaven sent.
I want to know the dreams you've carried,
Bright across the drifting sand,
The mosaic brave of choices made,
Hurdled clear across the land.
I want to feel your gentle mercy,
Echoing through my darkest night,
Your watchful eye that ever glistens,
Burning in the skies so bright.
I want to get to know you,
Both your present and your past,
Your hopes for all your grandchildren,
The well in which they're cast.
To make sense of your choices,
To see how bright they shine,
Radiant displays of you,
Both simple and divine.
To see you in my lover fair
And all his sweet array,
Of attributes that glimmer bright,
Like candles on a cloudy day.
I want to get to know you,
Adopt you as my own,
Feel friendship warm and tender,
Before the years have flown.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
(FOR ANN HIBBITTS)
I want to get to know you,
Adopt you as my own,
Feel friendship warm and tender,
Before the years have flown.
To lose my fear when I'm around you,
To speak the thoughts that cross my mind,
To feel the weight of the past few years,
Dissolve into the sands of time.
I want to get to know you,
Your irreverence and your wit,
A second mother in my lifetime,
Real and heaven sent.
I want to know the dreams you've carried,
Bright across the drifting sand,
The mosaic brave of choices made,
Hurdled clear across the land.
I want to feel your gentle mercy,
Echoing through my darkest night,
Your watchful eye that ever glistens,
Burning in the skies so bright.
I want to get to know you,
Both your present and your past,
Your hopes for all your grandchildren,
The well in which they're cast.
To make sense of your choices,
To see how bright they shine,
Radiant displays of you,
Both simple and divine.
To see you in my lover fair
And all his sweet array,
Of attributes that glimmer bright,
Like candles on a cloudy day.
I want to get to know you,
Adopt you as my own,
Feel friendship warm and tender,
Before the years have flown.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
CHRISTMAS VOICES
CHRISTMAS VOICES
The church mouse and the cherub both light my memory,
And Christmas voices of the past, they echo through the trees.
The Christmas pageants of my youth, the caroling at nursing homes,
The reward of cookies and hot chocolate to warm the frigid bones.
My Grandmother Steed and her punch of lime sherbet and ginger ale,
She opened one gift on Christmas Eve, always without fail.
And my Grandma Potts who opened all her gifts with scissors,
So as not to tear the pretty paper.
Never one to hurry the moment,
Making it quite a whole night caper.
With Miss Myrene her next door neighbor
Chiming in occasionally, then dozing on the davenport,
Making all our Christmas Eves quite the Olympic sport.
And Grandma Potts's silver tree, with the rotating color wheel,
And my Uncle Lee, he used to sing, as the Christmas bells would peal.
The candlelight communion service, the Christmas story told,
Intertwined with Santa Claus who braved the winter cold,
Heading down our chimney with record albums and shiny bikes,
And candy canes left on our stockings, which I must admit I never liked.
My brother trying to force me to open a present,
On the night before the big day.
Some years it worked and others not,
But he often was cunning and got his way.
My mother and my father who made the holiday sublime,
In the throes of childhood how slowly passed the time.
And how my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Gloria
Would always come to see,
What glorious gifts that Santa had left beneath the tree.
And how my Uncle Johnny had those Russell Stover chocolate Santas
That would melt in your mouth as sweet as cream,
He'd sneak them into our stockings, it seemed just like a dream.
My mother and her Christmas casserole for breakfast Christmas Day,
Filled with scrambled eggs and cheese and sausage that came from Safeway.
And then driving around all over town, looking at the light displays,
The neighbors' ingenuity that took our breath away,
And my mom and I in later years, blasting Judy Collins from the car,
Looking for the luminaria and remembering the Christmas star.
My brother's savory Christmas Eve dinners and Mr. Agner's wit,
Every delicious morsel that melted so tastily on the tongue.
We all seemed so immortal then and oh, so very young.
Now an old fashioned Charles Town Christmas, with my brother and his Richard,
Old timey decorations and a plethora of trees,
Sparkling apple cider and a choice of prime hot teas
Dinner fit to serve a king plus all the treats that you can eat.
Smokey my brother's wily cat stealing ribbons at your feet.
And every year the grand tradition of Christmas in Mayberry,
Andy and Barney and Scrooge the sad and scary.
Then it's out into the cold with hearts that have been warmed,
By the comfort of close family and the shelter from life's storms.
And now my partner and I and our new traditions,
With my second parents Ernest and Ann.
Ann's cooking delights with each decadent bite.
The Christmas Eve I will never forget,
When Kyle and I exchanged our rings,
The proud and mighty culmination
Of every Christmas dream.
My grandmothers are both gone now,
My father died in '83.
My precious mother gone now too,
Leaving just my brother and me.
And my Uncle Johnny in a wheelchair,
Felled by some neurological disease,
My brother and I go see him there,
In a home for long term care.
And he still shares chocolate that others have brought
With my brother and me.
Still as sprightly a Christmas elf,
As you'd ever want to see.
My Aunt Gloria and her husband Ray,
We try to call on this special day.
In this the coldest month of the year,
We all can manage some Christmas cheer.
And sometimes still on Christmas Eve,
i dream of long ago,
When we were all together and the season was so sweet,
All the people in my life that made the day complete.
The church mouse and the baby Christ,
Tiptoe in to speak to me,
And Christmas voices from the past,
Echo through eternity.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The church mouse and the cherub both light my memory,
And Christmas voices of the past, they echo through the trees.
The Christmas pageants of my youth, the caroling at nursing homes,
The reward of cookies and hot chocolate to warm the frigid bones.
My Grandmother Steed and her punch of lime sherbet and ginger ale,
She opened one gift on Christmas Eve, always without fail.
And my Grandma Potts who opened all her gifts with scissors,
So as not to tear the pretty paper.
Never one to hurry the moment,
Making it quite a whole night caper.
With Miss Myrene her next door neighbor
Chiming in occasionally, then dozing on the davenport,
Making all our Christmas Eves quite the Olympic sport.
And Grandma Potts's silver tree, with the rotating color wheel,
And my Uncle Lee, he used to sing, as the Christmas bells would peal.
The candlelight communion service, the Christmas story told,
Intertwined with Santa Claus who braved the winter cold,
Heading down our chimney with record albums and shiny bikes,
And candy canes left on our stockings, which I must admit I never liked.
My brother trying to force me to open a present,
On the night before the big day.
Some years it worked and others not,
But he often was cunning and got his way.
My mother and my father who made the holiday sublime,
In the throes of childhood how slowly passed the time.
And how my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Gloria
Would always come to see,
What glorious gifts that Santa had left beneath the tree.
And how my Uncle Johnny had those Russell Stover chocolate Santas
That would melt in your mouth as sweet as cream,
He'd sneak them into our stockings, it seemed just like a dream.
My mother and her Christmas casserole for breakfast Christmas Day,
Filled with scrambled eggs and cheese and sausage that came from Safeway.
And then driving around all over town, looking at the light displays,
The neighbors' ingenuity that took our breath away,
And my mom and I in later years, blasting Judy Collins from the car,
Looking for the luminaria and remembering the Christmas star.
My brother's savory Christmas Eve dinners and Mr. Agner's wit,
Every delicious morsel that melted so tastily on the tongue.
We all seemed so immortal then and oh, so very young.
Now an old fashioned Charles Town Christmas, with my brother and his Richard,
Old timey decorations and a plethora of trees,
Sparkling apple cider and a choice of prime hot teas
Dinner fit to serve a king plus all the treats that you can eat.
Smokey my brother's wily cat stealing ribbons at your feet.
And every year the grand tradition of Christmas in Mayberry,
Andy and Barney and Scrooge the sad and scary.
Then it's out into the cold with hearts that have been warmed,
By the comfort of close family and the shelter from life's storms.
And now my partner and I and our new traditions,
With my second parents Ernest and Ann.
Ann's cooking delights with each decadent bite.
The Christmas Eve I will never forget,
When Kyle and I exchanged our rings,
The proud and mighty culmination
Of every Christmas dream.
My grandmothers are both gone now,
My father died in '83.
My precious mother gone now too,
Leaving just my brother and me.
And my Uncle Johnny in a wheelchair,
Felled by some neurological disease,
My brother and I go see him there,
In a home for long term care.
And he still shares chocolate that others have brought
With my brother and me.
Still as sprightly a Christmas elf,
As you'd ever want to see.
My Aunt Gloria and her husband Ray,
We try to call on this special day.
In this the coldest month of the year,
We all can manage some Christmas cheer.
And sometimes still on Christmas Eve,
i dream of long ago,
When we were all together and the season was so sweet,
All the people in my life that made the day complete.
The church mouse and the baby Christ,
Tiptoe in to speak to me,
And Christmas voices from the past,
Echo through eternity.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, December 22, 2014
MASKS
MASKS
Oh, the mask you wear is bound to make me cry,
Hiding in your plaintive wail to the approaching autumn sky.
Soon it will be cool again, paper leaves afire,
Soon you shall throw me down again in the winter mud and mire.
And we will all chant songs of hiding in our tear ducts,
And we'll all paint our faces like happy braves in heat.
And we'll all sprain our hearts in wicked contortions,
While the power brokers grovel at our feet.
Oh, the masks we wear are bound to make us sin.
Too much self denial leaves us nowhere to begin.
I've hid behind convention and I've hid behind the rules.
I've dressed myself to walk a sexless hero.
I've blended into the brick walls,
Like Johnny Average in the schoolyard.
I have shaved my head and ducked behind the nameless, faceless fools.
And oh, the mask I wear is bound to make me cry,
Hiding in my plaintive wail to the approaching formless sky.
Soon it will be cool again, the paper leaves afire,
And you shall throw me down again in the winter mud and mire.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, December 19, 2014
IN A NUTSHELL
IN A NUTSHELL
In a nutshell, I am leaving,
Though I know not how or when,
But gird your loins for battle
As below I do descend.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
The tattered earth for recompense.
Back to the muddy ground for freedom
And sweet forgiveness for past sins.
In a nutshell lives the soul of the squirrel,
Who hunts and gathers for the winter,
Counting up the days and weeks
With a bevy of acorns puffing his cheeks.
Life arduous and precarious,
Surviving by wit's end, dodging the speeding cars.
In a nutshell his life is nasty and brutish
And quite a lot like ours.
The dreary, draining life of men
Who rise each day to labor to support their starving kin,
Only to rise tomorrow to do it yet again.
In a nutshell I am leaving, by grace or by divine design,
As downward I do slow descend
Like a coal miner trapped in his deadly mine.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
Nourishment for the worms.
This world has been a gracious host
And now it's someone else's turn.
In a nutshell I am leaving, but do not cry for me.
Just dodge the squirrels as you drive.
May peace be yours, and tender mercies.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
In a nutshell, I am leaving,
Though I know not how or when,
But gird your loins for battle
As below I do descend.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
The tattered earth for recompense.
Back to the muddy ground for freedom
And sweet forgiveness for past sins.
In a nutshell lives the soul of the squirrel,
Who hunts and gathers for the winter,
Counting up the days and weeks
With a bevy of acorns puffing his cheeks.
Life arduous and precarious,
Surviving by wit's end, dodging the speeding cars.
In a nutshell his life is nasty and brutish
And quite a lot like ours.
The dreary, draining life of men
Who rise each day to labor to support their starving kin,
Only to rise tomorrow to do it yet again.
In a nutshell I am leaving, by grace or by divine design,
As downward I do slow descend
Like a coal miner trapped in his deadly mine.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
Nourishment for the worms.
This world has been a gracious host
And now it's someone else's turn.
In a nutshell I am leaving, but do not cry for me.
Just dodge the squirrels as you drive.
May peace be yours, and tender mercies.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
MY EYES WERE BLIND
MY EYES WERE BLIND
My eyes were blind 'til I beheld you,
In the midst of the jungle of my days.
My ears were deaf to the music of heaven,
'Til your melodies held me in their sway.
You are my hip-hop and my soul,
My country and my rock and roll,
My lakefront home, my mountain view,
My eyes were blind 'til I found you.
My lips were lifeless 'til we met,
Chapped and parched and desolate.
No drink to quench a lasting thirst,
I closed my mind and feared the worst.
My hands were empty as the glaze,
That had settled on my empty days.
The days you raised up from the dead,
With kisses laid upon my head.
My feet were scarred from the marks of the road,
That I traveled barefoot and alone,
'Til you washed them in your river fine,
Anointing them with your finest wine.
My sense of smell had disappeared,
Until I turned and found you near,
And caught a whiff of your cologne,
The scent of you, it felt like home.
My eyes were blind 'til I beheld you.
In the midst of the jungle of my days,
When you stood before me in your glory,
And sent your smile to light my way.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, December 15, 2014
ANGEL WITH WING SINGED
ANGEL WITH WING SINGED
I am a tired, fallen angel with his wing of fleece singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged,
A Hansel/Gretel look-a-like in the forest seeking crumbs,
The winter it is coming, the toes and fingers numb.
I am a lost and lonely drunkard with his bottle in the alley,
A suicidal artist fretting his final proof and galley.
A banished monarch in the snow, his army all deserting,
Both my wounded body and my broken ego hurting.
I am a city planner smothered by his ghastly pile of red tape,
A disillusioned superhero, grounded here without his cape.
A lone ranger riding alone on the dark and desolate plains,
Lapping up whatever squandered joy remains.
Here with my godsend Tonto who I hold tight to my breast,
Broken shell of the man I was, brightest and the best.
I am a weary traveler, doomed to wail and walk alone,
For sins I have forgotten that for now I must atone.
A woodman of this woeful world, stifled by his renegade rust,
In need of lubrication, for me it's Oz or bust.
I am a moonless meager shadow of the man I used to be,
Crawling through the rush of Noah's flood, alone on hands and knees.
Once a proud and sure adult who did just what I pleased,
The rain it falls like torrents, I am lost to the rushing seas.
I am braced for bradykinesia, the dunce of dyskinesia,
The hapless ham, the flim flam man, the prince of paresthesia.
I am numb for no reason, regardless the season.
I long for the sleep of forgetfulness, the sweet land of amnesia.
I am master of nothing but this merciless melancholy,
This Parkinson's mask, it cloaks my face,
I look downright tragic when I'm jolly.
I'm like some forest maple drained of all its sap,
The clock is sounding 10 am, and I'm ready for my nap.
I am like unleavened bread, I do not want to rise.
I feel the call of God again, I kneel and ask him why.
I pray that he will rescue me, restore to me my vision,
Save me from a hell on earth within my fleshly prison.
I am a tired and fallen angel with his wing of gold all singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged.
A Hansel/Gretel figure in the woodlands seeking crumbs.
Time is growing shorter and the chill of winter comes.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
I am a tired, fallen angel with his wing of fleece singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged,
A Hansel/Gretel look-a-like in the forest seeking crumbs,
The winter it is coming, the toes and fingers numb.
I am a lost and lonely drunkard with his bottle in the alley,
A suicidal artist fretting his final proof and galley.
A banished monarch in the snow, his army all deserting,
Both my wounded body and my broken ego hurting.
I am a city planner smothered by his ghastly pile of red tape,
A disillusioned superhero, grounded here without his cape.
A lone ranger riding alone on the dark and desolate plains,
Lapping up whatever squandered joy remains.
Here with my godsend Tonto who I hold tight to my breast,
Broken shell of the man I was, brightest and the best.
I am a weary traveler, doomed to wail and walk alone,
For sins I have forgotten that for now I must atone.
A woodman of this woeful world, stifled by his renegade rust,
In need of lubrication, for me it's Oz or bust.
I am a moonless meager shadow of the man I used to be,
Crawling through the rush of Noah's flood, alone on hands and knees.
Once a proud and sure adult who did just what I pleased,
The rain it falls like torrents, I am lost to the rushing seas.
I am braced for bradykinesia, the dunce of dyskinesia,
The hapless ham, the flim flam man, the prince of paresthesia.
I am numb for no reason, regardless the season.
I long for the sleep of forgetfulness, the sweet land of amnesia.
I am master of nothing but this merciless melancholy,
This Parkinson's mask, it cloaks my face,
I look downright tragic when I'm jolly.
I'm like some forest maple drained of all its sap,
The clock is sounding 10 am, and I'm ready for my nap.
I am like unleavened bread, I do not want to rise.
I feel the call of God again, I kneel and ask him why.
I pray that he will rescue me, restore to me my vision,
Save me from a hell on earth within my fleshly prison.
I am a tired and fallen angel with his wing of gold all singed,
Just this side of madness and about to come unhinged.
A Hansel/Gretel figure in the woodlands seeking crumbs.
Time is growing shorter and the chill of winter comes.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, December 12, 2014
ONWARD, UPWARD
ONWARD, UPWARD
Onward, upward from the ashes,
Like the phoenix let me rise,
And I shall blaze a trail of glory,
All across this marble sky.
Into the hand of my creator,
Bravely, blindly I must go,
And trust that there's a world beyond
This tired earth I've come to know.
Onward, upward to the angels,
Precious guides that help me fly,
Every question finally answered,
The wherefore and the why.
Into the eye of the hurricane,
Past Satan's desperate lair,
Then swept by God into his heaven,
A world of treasure waiting there.
Onward, upward, to join my father
And my mother, parents dear,
Two grandmothers who await me
With hordes of friends that have gone before.
And onward, upward in this life,
Both eyes open 'til the end,
With many miles before I rest
And earthly fences left to mend.
Friends on earth who need my caring,
Things right here I have left undone,
Before I take my sojourn grand,
To the place that waits behind the sun.
Then onward, upward from the ashes,
Like the phoenix I shall rise,
And I shall blaze a trail of glory,
All across this marble sky.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Onward, upward from the ashes,
Like the phoenix let me rise,
And I shall blaze a trail of glory,
All across this marble sky.
Into the hand of my creator,
Bravely, blindly I must go,
And trust that there's a world beyond
This tired earth I've come to know.
Onward, upward to the angels,
Precious guides that help me fly,
Every question finally answered,
The wherefore and the why.
Into the eye of the hurricane,
Past Satan's desperate lair,
Then swept by God into his heaven,
A world of treasure waiting there.
Onward, upward, to join my father
And my mother, parents dear,
Two grandmothers who await me
With hordes of friends that have gone before.
And onward, upward in this life,
Both eyes open 'til the end,
With many miles before I rest
And earthly fences left to mend.
Friends on earth who need my caring,
Things right here I have left undone,
Before I take my sojourn grand,
To the place that waits behind the sun.
Then onward, upward from the ashes,
Like the phoenix I shall rise,
And I shall blaze a trail of glory,
All across this marble sky.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID
THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID
A deadly pallor rises,
Raining down a harsh rebuke.
Curses of our fathers,
Whose mouths were taped and muted.
And frozen still within the crypt,
The ice floes never thawing,
The fossils useless still remain
Of things we left unsaid.
Who knew that all these words withheld
Could etch like acid on the heart,
And burn with acrid, lonely stench
Across these plains traversed together?
And no one knows when first we fell
Into this gaping hole of quiet,
Eery as the morn that dawns
Behind a final holocaust.
I only know I loved you
In the muted faltering steps
Footfalls that were noiseless
As bare feet on a throw rug.
Lost within a mansion of antiseptic grandeur,
Our rooms roped off and barren
Against the tour guide's numbing drone,
Faceless voices narrate, elucidate our failings.
The ghosts of love that's vanished
Slip up and down the stairs.
A specimen kept under glass,
A petri dish of ruin.
A deadly gas releases, like radon in the shadows.
A pair of gas masks go unused,
Tangled in the bed clothes.
Land mines under feather pillows,
Things we left unsaid.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A deadly pallor rises,
Raining down a harsh rebuke.
Curses of our fathers,
Whose mouths were taped and muted.
And frozen still within the crypt,
The ice floes never thawing,
The fossils useless still remain
Of things we left unsaid.
Who knew that all these words withheld
Could etch like acid on the heart,
And burn with acrid, lonely stench
Across these plains traversed together?
And no one knows when first we fell
Into this gaping hole of quiet,
Eery as the morn that dawns
Behind a final holocaust.
I only know I loved you
In the muted faltering steps
Footfalls that were noiseless
As bare feet on a throw rug.
Lost within a mansion of antiseptic grandeur,
Our rooms roped off and barren
Against the tour guide's numbing drone,
Faceless voices narrate, elucidate our failings.
The ghosts of love that's vanished
Slip up and down the stairs.
A specimen kept under glass,
A petri dish of ruin.
A deadly gas releases, like radon in the shadows.
A pair of gas masks go unused,
Tangled in the bed clothes.
Land mines under feather pillows,
Things we left unsaid.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, December 8, 2014
I'VE WITNESSED DEATH
I'VE WITNESSED DEATH
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And yet the picture's incomplete.
A final breath, an empty shell,
Then stiff and cold on pale white sheets.
I was standing in the very room
In which my mother breathed her last.
No protest issued from her lips,
No grand finale final gasp.
Just a jerk of an arm and she was gone,
Like a fading moon into the dawn.
And my brother went to get the nurse
To see if it was really true
That a soul had crossed the puffy clouds
And risen high above the blue.
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And still it mystifies,
How life can flicker suddenly
And vanish from a loved one's eyes.
How swift as leaves upon the wind
The flesh dissolves to paltry dust.
The soul goes soaring where it will,
Unrestrained and glorious.
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And yet the picture's incomplete.
I stand before my mother's grave,
Muddy mysteries at my feet.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And yet the picture's incomplete.
A final breath, an empty shell,
Then stiff and cold on pale white sheets.
I was standing in the very room
In which my mother breathed her last.
No protest issued from her lips,
No grand finale final gasp.
Just a jerk of an arm and she was gone,
Like a fading moon into the dawn.
And my brother went to get the nurse
To see if it was really true
That a soul had crossed the puffy clouds
And risen high above the blue.
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And still it mystifies,
How life can flicker suddenly
And vanish from a loved one's eyes.
How swift as leaves upon the wind
The flesh dissolves to paltry dust.
The soul goes soaring where it will,
Unrestrained and glorious.
I've witnessed death in all its sting
And yet the picture's incomplete.
I stand before my mother's grave,
Muddy mysteries at my feet.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, December 5, 2014
POEMS FOR MY MOTHER
A LAVENDER UNEQUALED LOVE
You spoke to me softly when I was a baby,
Knew I was fragile, knew I could break.
And you cheered as I cleared the hurdle of crawling,
The daunting stunt of walking upright.
You dried forgotten playground tears,
Cooked and cleaned like a woman possessed,
A legend in your own time with wide-eyed kindergartners.
You taught me to drive when I was a teen.
Fearlessly you braved me at the wheel,
As I ripped around corners and parallel parked,
Slamming on the brakes, dodging last minute dangers.
You were there for me at college,
Where I tried to make you proud.
And you listened to Barry Manilow records
At decibels quite loud.
You were there for all the ceremony,
The scandal and the bland,
And when I struggled drowning,
You led me to dry land.
We shared a wiry, precious pup,
Who turned into a wise sweet friend.
The sweet joy of his growing up,
Our anguish at his passing.
We've shared ups and we've shared downs,
Sarcoidosis, Parkinson's,
Country drives and coffee breaks and quiet confidences.
We've shared Judy Collins on balmy Wolf Trap evenings,
And a lavender unequaled love that grows with passing seasons.
REMEMBERING YOU
I want to live fearlessly, gather the wildflowers,
Praising each second, extolling each hour.
To awaken each morning with pure gratitude,
Embracing the present, remembering you.
To go on a magical journey through time,
A lavender journey with laughter and song,
Buoyed by the love and the company of friends,
Those precious companions that follow along.
I want to have a laugh of honey,
To think the best of everyone,
To trust the hand of Providence,
Taking each day as it comes.
To eat and drink with merry gusto,
To savor with supreme delight,
All the tasty treats before me,
That tease and tempt the appetite.
I want to live kindly and patient and wise
And see the world through your graceful green eyes.
The way you made allowances for man's unpleasantness.
The way you opened up your heart
And poured forth sweet forgiveness.
I want to live fearlessly, banishing sorrow,
Praising each second, each shining tomorrow,
And then in the twilight of my last dying moon,
To light all my candles, remembering you.
I MOURNED YOU EARLY
It was a gradual parting of the ways
To the woman I loved best of all,
A slow methodical decline,
I saw the writing on the wall.
I mourned you on my birthday in the year 2001,
When Judy Collins sang My Father,
And I thought of you, my mother,
And our seasons in the sun.
I mourned you oft on Friday nights,
The night of our weekly pizza feast,
When the truck bearing your oxygen
Sat parked along the street.
After your trip to the doctor
And your latest breathing tests,
The concentrator in the foyer
Became our uninvited guest.
I mourned you in my bed at night,
Listening to the motor of that lifeline grim,
Archiving my memories sweet,
Cleaving steadfast unto them.
I mourned you at your brother's funeral,
Portable oxygen at your side.
Still your effervescent self,
In your wheelchair on its maiden ride.
I mourned you at Judy's Wolf Trap show,
Will The Circle Be Unbroken pierced the summer evening air.
Its story of a mother's passing streaked my face with silent tears.
I mourned you at each intervention,
Each hospital and nursing home.
'Til at last I stood in your hospice room,
Your last breath spent and your spirit flown.
I mourned you early, loud and long,
I mourn you still, the memories strong.
And late at night I lie awake,
And hear your spirit sweetly call.
The precious one who gave me life,
The woman I loved most of all.
EPIC
When they laid your ashes deep in the cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love reverberating all around.
In life you were my Iliad, my keenly treasured Odyssey.
When I lost you, I lost Paradise and drowned in the briny deep.
Our love was on the grandest scale,
Like Herman Melville's great white whale.
You were the mother who set the bar that others would aspire to.
And sinking slow in the Inferno was all that I could do.
In years to come I will sing for you a fitting elegy,
But right now all I can do is sift through years of memories,
And celebrate your life through the glass darkly.
For you were my personal Gone With the Wind,
My Ben Hur and my Ten Commandments.
I am numb to the cost of all I have lost,
In the wake of your final passing.
Like my personal Holocaust or my private 9-11.
The sun has toppled from the sky.
A tragedy unspeakable, that leaves this witness high and dry.
I loved you in the classic way, I hold your spirit dear,
Like the Hawthorne and the Faulkner tomes,
The Chaucer and the Shakespeare.
A gentle parent, dearest friend, confidante from birth,
The finest woman in my eyes who ever walked the earth.
In life you were my Hemingway, my Romeo and Juliet,
My Odyssey, my Iliad, my Hamlet and MacBeth.
And when they laid your ashes deep in the cold, cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love, reverberating all around.
THE ANGELS CALL US HOME
Softly I call to you here in the twilight
And yet there's no answer and the heavens are still.
When the rain clouds should thunder
And the earth tear asunder,
So deeply I miss you, my dreams unfulfilled.
Softly I call for you, the one I called Mother,
Your passing a darkness that covered the day.
Softly I mourn you, a soul like no other,
A void and an emptiness blocking my way.
Loudly I scream and curse at the sky,
How dare it be sunny, how dare it be blue,
And how dare my life be allowed to continue,
Here in the wilderness pining for you.
As I clean out your basement the memories flood
Of a mother and son and a tie thick as blood.
The awards and the letters and my poems that you saved,
Recipes that intrigued you that you hoped to try some day.
The newspaper clippings and the old Christmas cards,
The pale yellowed reminders of time and all its scars.
The constant echo I hear of your laughter,
Caressing the ceilings, the walls, and the rafters.
How you clung to precious memories,
For in the end they are all we own,
After our last breath is drawn,
And the angels call us home.
OH, HOW I STILL LOVE YOU
Early in the morning, when ghosts still haunt the streets,
I close my eyes and conjure you, and once again my days are sweet.
For from my heart you are never far, fair to imagine,
Like some shooting star that brightens up, enlightening the heavens blue,
Incandescent, ever true, oh, how I once loved you.
And in the glaze of afternoon, when lost in magic sunlight's sheen,
Your memory lives, like a waking dream, to calm my day and cool my feet,
That burn from the macadam hot, like chili peppers on the street.
In my soul you still survive, I keep your essence still alive,
And in the heat and the summer gloom, oh, how I once loved you.
Death is never very far, eternal life, eternal scar,
Scar of passage, scar of loss, scar of tears and chances lost.
Lost to me for now you are, but Death is never very far.
Late in the velvet evening, when I breathe in the musk of sacred dusk.
I can almost feel your spirit hover, under nightfall's sacred cover.
Forever you are still my mother, in my heart you take your throne,
And wrap my wounds in your healing balm, comforting when I'm alone.
Late in the velvet evening, when nighttime's chill it pierces through.
I sit and weep in restless sleep, oh, how I still love you.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
You spoke to me softly when I was a baby,
Knew I was fragile, knew I could break.
And you cheered as I cleared the hurdle of crawling,
The daunting stunt of walking upright.
You dried forgotten playground tears,
Cooked and cleaned like a woman possessed,
A legend in your own time with wide-eyed kindergartners.
You taught me to drive when I was a teen.
Fearlessly you braved me at the wheel,
As I ripped around corners and parallel parked,
Slamming on the brakes, dodging last minute dangers.
You were there for me at college,
Where I tried to make you proud.
And you listened to Barry Manilow records
At decibels quite loud.
You were there for all the ceremony,
The scandal and the bland,
And when I struggled drowning,
You led me to dry land.
We shared a wiry, precious pup,
Who turned into a wise sweet friend.
The sweet joy of his growing up,
Our anguish at his passing.
We've shared ups and we've shared downs,
Sarcoidosis, Parkinson's,
Country drives and coffee breaks and quiet confidences.
We've shared Judy Collins on balmy Wolf Trap evenings,
And a lavender unequaled love that grows with passing seasons.
REMEMBERING YOU
I want to live fearlessly, gather the wildflowers,
Praising each second, extolling each hour.
To awaken each morning with pure gratitude,
Embracing the present, remembering you.
To go on a magical journey through time,
A lavender journey with laughter and song,
Buoyed by the love and the company of friends,
Those precious companions that follow along.
I want to have a laugh of honey,
To think the best of everyone,
To trust the hand of Providence,
Taking each day as it comes.
To eat and drink with merry gusto,
To savor with supreme delight,
All the tasty treats before me,
That tease and tempt the appetite.
I want to live kindly and patient and wise
And see the world through your graceful green eyes.
The way you made allowances for man's unpleasantness.
The way you opened up your heart
And poured forth sweet forgiveness.
I want to live fearlessly, banishing sorrow,
Praising each second, each shining tomorrow,
And then in the twilight of my last dying moon,
To light all my candles, remembering you.
I MOURNED YOU EARLY
It was a gradual parting of the ways
To the woman I loved best of all,
A slow methodical decline,
I saw the writing on the wall.
I mourned you on my birthday in the year 2001,
When Judy Collins sang My Father,
And I thought of you, my mother,
And our seasons in the sun.
I mourned you oft on Friday nights,
The night of our weekly pizza feast,
When the truck bearing your oxygen
Sat parked along the street.
After your trip to the doctor
And your latest breathing tests,
The concentrator in the foyer
Became our uninvited guest.
I mourned you in my bed at night,
Listening to the motor of that lifeline grim,
Archiving my memories sweet,
Cleaving steadfast unto them.
I mourned you at your brother's funeral,
Portable oxygen at your side.
Still your effervescent self,
In your wheelchair on its maiden ride.
I mourned you at Judy's Wolf Trap show,
Will The Circle Be Unbroken pierced the summer evening air.
Its story of a mother's passing streaked my face with silent tears.
I mourned you at each intervention,
Each hospital and nursing home.
'Til at last I stood in your hospice room,
Your last breath spent and your spirit flown.
I mourned you early, loud and long,
I mourn you still, the memories strong.
And late at night I lie awake,
And hear your spirit sweetly call.
The precious one who gave me life,
The woman I loved most of all.
EPIC
When they laid your ashes deep in the cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love reverberating all around.
In life you were my Iliad, my keenly treasured Odyssey.
When I lost you, I lost Paradise and drowned in the briny deep.
Our love was on the grandest scale,
Like Herman Melville's great white whale.
You were the mother who set the bar that others would aspire to.
And sinking slow in the Inferno was all that I could do.
In years to come I will sing for you a fitting elegy,
But right now all I can do is sift through years of memories,
And celebrate your life through the glass darkly.
For you were my personal Gone With the Wind,
My Ben Hur and my Ten Commandments.
I am numb to the cost of all I have lost,
In the wake of your final passing.
Like my personal Holocaust or my private 9-11.
The sun has toppled from the sky.
A tragedy unspeakable, that leaves this witness high and dry.
I loved you in the classic way, I hold your spirit dear,
Like the Hawthorne and the Faulkner tomes,
The Chaucer and the Shakespeare.
A gentle parent, dearest friend, confidante from birth,
The finest woman in my eyes who ever walked the earth.
In life you were my Hemingway, my Romeo and Juliet,
My Odyssey, my Iliad, my Hamlet and MacBeth.
And when they laid your ashes deep in the cold, cold ground,
I felt the loss of an epic love, reverberating all around.
THE ANGELS CALL US HOME
Softly I call to you here in the twilight
And yet there's no answer and the heavens are still.
When the rain clouds should thunder
And the earth tear asunder,
So deeply I miss you, my dreams unfulfilled.
Softly I call for you, the one I called Mother,
Your passing a darkness that covered the day.
Softly I mourn you, a soul like no other,
A void and an emptiness blocking my way.
Loudly I scream and curse at the sky,
How dare it be sunny, how dare it be blue,
And how dare my life be allowed to continue,
Here in the wilderness pining for you.
As I clean out your basement the memories flood
Of a mother and son and a tie thick as blood.
The awards and the letters and my poems that you saved,
Recipes that intrigued you that you hoped to try some day.
The newspaper clippings and the old Christmas cards,
The pale yellowed reminders of time and all its scars.
The constant echo I hear of your laughter,
Caressing the ceilings, the walls, and the rafters.
How you clung to precious memories,
For in the end they are all we own,
After our last breath is drawn,
And the angels call us home.
OH, HOW I STILL LOVE YOU
Early in the morning, when ghosts still haunt the streets,
I close my eyes and conjure you, and once again my days are sweet.
For from my heart you are never far, fair to imagine,
Like some shooting star that brightens up, enlightening the heavens blue,
Incandescent, ever true, oh, how I once loved you.
And in the glaze of afternoon, when lost in magic sunlight's sheen,
Your memory lives, like a waking dream, to calm my day and cool my feet,
That burn from the macadam hot, like chili peppers on the street.
In my soul you still survive, I keep your essence still alive,
And in the heat and the summer gloom, oh, how I once loved you.
Death is never very far, eternal life, eternal scar,
Scar of passage, scar of loss, scar of tears and chances lost.
Lost to me for now you are, but Death is never very far.
Late in the velvet evening, when I breathe in the musk of sacred dusk.
I can almost feel your spirit hover, under nightfall's sacred cover.
Forever you are still my mother, in my heart you take your throne,
And wrap my wounds in your healing balm, comforting when I'm alone.
Late in the velvet evening, when nighttime's chill it pierces through.
I sit and weep in restless sleep, oh, how I still love you.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
MAD TEA PARTY
MAD TEA PARTY
Slide down the rabbit hole, blindly believing,
Fall through the looking glass, breathlessly heaving.
Everyone's summoned with great ceremony,
The bones of our forefathers herald our coming.
The house of the hangman, the palace of gold,
The price of admission a hollowed out soul.
We will dance on top headstones, rejoice in confusion,
Death the Mad Hatter will serve hemlock tea.
Only the finest leaves he will gather,
Steeped to perfection for eternity.
The Red Queen will don her skin-tight dress,
Her henchmen their tuxedos,
And swarm around the honored guests,
Like armies of mosquitoes.
Evil Alice will curtsy, that malevolent child,
The teapot whistling ominously with mystery and with guile.
We will prance upon the precipice, tumble through time,
Our heads will roll like bowling balls, the end will be sublime.
We will tango with the temptress, from the Reaper score a fix,
And with our boss the Boatman we will navigate the Styx.
Death the great Mad Hatter will serve up hemlock tea,
He'll steep it to perfection for all eternity.
It will be a grand and bitter ball, so kiss this life goodbye,
And down the rabbit hole you go, with one last wistful sigh.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Slide down the rabbit hole, blindly believing,
Fall through the looking glass, breathlessly heaving.
Everyone's summoned with great ceremony,
The bones of our forefathers herald our coming.
The house of the hangman, the palace of gold,
The price of admission a hollowed out soul.
We will dance on top headstones, rejoice in confusion,
Death the Mad Hatter will serve hemlock tea.
Only the finest leaves he will gather,
Steeped to perfection for eternity.
The Red Queen will don her skin-tight dress,
Her henchmen their tuxedos,
And swarm around the honored guests,
Like armies of mosquitoes.
Evil Alice will curtsy, that malevolent child,
The teapot whistling ominously with mystery and with guile.
We will prance upon the precipice, tumble through time,
Our heads will roll like bowling balls, the end will be sublime.
We will tango with the temptress, from the Reaper score a fix,
And with our boss the Boatman we will navigate the Styx.
Death the great Mad Hatter will serve up hemlock tea,
He'll steep it to perfection for all eternity.
It will be a grand and bitter ball, so kiss this life goodbye,
And down the rabbit hole you go, with one last wistful sigh.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, December 1, 2014
EPITAPH
EPITAPH
Even in the din of youth when the bustle heaved around me,
There lived within an ancient gnome whose counsel sought and found me.
He heralded the days to come, when time sly as a bandit,
Would beckon me to slip these bonds and gently leave the planet.
He said you'll glide on atmosphere, and whisper in a loved one's ear,
The words of soft surrender dear, to ease the pain of going.
Even in the whirl of days that once seemed so unending,
There lived within a prophet wise, who to my ear came bending.
He trumpeted the final bars of life's perplexing mystery,
And told the story of my life in all its tainted history.
You'll ski down slopes of white, he said, and scale the epic heights
Or flounder in the river Styx, in all its flaming might.
Even in the siren song of childhood everlasting,
When pleasure would not let me broach the mysteries of my passing.
There lived within a wizened gnome who brought me to my senses,
"Prepare to loose your hold and soar, arise and mend your fences".
He said you'll join the vapors vast, all the spirits come and gone,
And drink the nectar, taste the prize, that waits beyond the sun.
For even in these days of awe, the mad onslaught of science,
The life span ever lengthening in the face of man's defiance.
He said somewhere it's written, if you only do the math,
Your sojourn on this earth is brief, compose your epitaph.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Even in the din of youth when the bustle heaved around me,
There lived within an ancient gnome whose counsel sought and found me.
He heralded the days to come, when time sly as a bandit,
Would beckon me to slip these bonds and gently leave the planet.
He said you'll glide on atmosphere, and whisper in a loved one's ear,
The words of soft surrender dear, to ease the pain of going.
Even in the whirl of days that once seemed so unending,
There lived within a prophet wise, who to my ear came bending.
He trumpeted the final bars of life's perplexing mystery,
And told the story of my life in all its tainted history.
You'll ski down slopes of white, he said, and scale the epic heights
Or flounder in the river Styx, in all its flaming might.
Even in the siren song of childhood everlasting,
When pleasure would not let me broach the mysteries of my passing.
There lived within a wizened gnome who brought me to my senses,
"Prepare to loose your hold and soar, arise and mend your fences".
He said you'll join the vapors vast, all the spirits come and gone,
And drink the nectar, taste the prize, that waits beyond the sun.
For even in these days of awe, the mad onslaught of science,
The life span ever lengthening in the face of man's defiance.
He said somewhere it's written, if you only do the math,
Your sojourn on this earth is brief, compose your epitaph.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, November 28, 2014
CRAVING THE RAINBOW
CRAVING THE RAINBOW
Rain hits asphalt like a hammer coming down,
Splintering my life into pieces on the ground.
These days life has lost its gentle diamond glow
And I spend all my leisure just craving the rainbow.
Craving the days of my strength and glory,
Craving the days of love's wondrous story.
Craving the days when it all came so easy,
When walking and talking and thinking were breezy.
And I walked in the world with hardly a care,
Through glorious meadows and up the steep stairs,
To the flower of my youth and the glory of my love.
I am craving the rainbow, smoke signaling the dove.
The snow hits the road like a coat of white shellac.
My wheels spin and my engine roars,
Winter launches its surprise attack.
The car veers and glides, off the road it slides,
Snowbound like this life of mine that shimmies off the track.
And though the snow is beautiful with the ice that hangs from trees,
The winter's a behemoth, that brings me to my knees.
Rain hits asphalt, like a dead man in a hurry,
The days go flying quickly by, lost in all their fury.
Life has lost its reason, its meaning and its flow,
And I am life's stepchild, still craving the rainbow.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Rain hits asphalt like a hammer coming down,
Splintering my life into pieces on the ground.
These days life has lost its gentle diamond glow
And I spend all my leisure just craving the rainbow.
Craving the days of my strength and glory,
Craving the days of love's wondrous story.
Craving the days when it all came so easy,
When walking and talking and thinking were breezy.
And I walked in the world with hardly a care,
Through glorious meadows and up the steep stairs,
To the flower of my youth and the glory of my love.
I am craving the rainbow, smoke signaling the dove.
The snow hits the road like a coat of white shellac.
My wheels spin and my engine roars,
Winter launches its surprise attack.
The car veers and glides, off the road it slides,
Snowbound like this life of mine that shimmies off the track.
And though the snow is beautiful with the ice that hangs from trees,
The winter's a behemoth, that brings me to my knees.
Rain hits asphalt, like a dead man in a hurry,
The days go flying quickly by, lost in all their fury.
Life has lost its reason, its meaning and its flow,
And I am life's stepchild, still craving the rainbow.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
THE BLESSED ARMS OF YOU
THE BLESSED ARMS OF YOU
I thought I was too young to know
The drumbeat of the marching band,
That leads the way to heaven,
And death, that foreign land.
I thought I was too old to feel,
The thrill of true love ways,
The sweet sound of your sweet voice calling,
To lighten up my days.
For some days I feel ancient,
Like Sisyphus with the boulder on his shoulder,
And some days I feel numbness,
As my world turns slowly colder.
I thought I was too old, alas, to see the world anew,
For my tired old eyes to come alive to the miracle of you.
For to youth, lost time means not a thing, we hardly mourn its passing,
Until we grow enough to know, it's rarely everlasting.
The muscles they all stiffen and the joints they creak and ache,
And the mind is unforgiving of all my past mistakes.
I thought I was too old for mercy, for someone soft and sweet,
Until the wind it blew me you, landing at my feet.
Now perhaps the groaning grave can wait a year or so,
Or five or ten or twenty, only God in heaven knows.
I thought I was too old to live, too odd, too strange, too blue,
Until your kindness filled the room, an angel weaver at the loom.
And this battered heart once deaf of tone at long last sang in tune.
I thought that I was far too old,
To know the beauty of a song,
Until you came and graced my life,
And in time I sang along.
So if my days are numbered, be they many or a few,
I will live them out in sacred bliss, in the blessed arms of you.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
I thought I was too young to know
The drumbeat of the marching band,
That leads the way to heaven,
And death, that foreign land.
I thought I was too old to feel,
The thrill of true love ways,
The sweet sound of your sweet voice calling,
To lighten up my days.
For some days I feel ancient,
Like Sisyphus with the boulder on his shoulder,
And some days I feel numbness,
As my world turns slowly colder.
I thought I was too old, alas, to see the world anew,
For my tired old eyes to come alive to the miracle of you.
For to youth, lost time means not a thing, we hardly mourn its passing,
Until we grow enough to know, it's rarely everlasting.
The muscles they all stiffen and the joints they creak and ache,
And the mind is unforgiving of all my past mistakes.
I thought I was too old for mercy, for someone soft and sweet,
Until the wind it blew me you, landing at my feet.
Now perhaps the groaning grave can wait a year or so,
Or five or ten or twenty, only God in heaven knows.
I thought I was too old to live, too odd, too strange, too blue,
Until your kindness filled the room, an angel weaver at the loom.
And this battered heart once deaf of tone at long last sang in tune.
I thought that I was far too old,
To know the beauty of a song,
Until you came and graced my life,
And in time I sang along.
So if my days are numbered, be they many or a few,
I will live them out in sacred bliss, in the blessed arms of you.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Monday, November 24, 2014
FORGET ME NOT
FORGET ME NOT
I stand beside this garden,
Wondering how it came to be,
So lovely in this wondrous space.
What deed of faith, what act of grace.
Perhaps it's just it's been there long,
Tilled by someone sweet and strong.
Giving flowers roots that tunnel deep,
The ancient secrets that they keep.
Every kind of flower, every genus,
Every color in the spectrum.
The iris, the pansy, the tulip, the rose,
Each confident in a calm repose.
Beauty springing forth unbidden,
Yet welcome when it comes,
Just a few of God's delights,
That shimmer in the morning sun.
Then I take the leap of faith
From that garden true to me and you,
How the years have quickly flown, like sand unto the wind.
How in that time you've grown to be my grandest, dearest friend.
How we've blossomed and quickly bloomed where we were planted,
Talking all our problems through, not taking things for granted.
Blossoming like the lilacs sweet that burst with color on the hillside,
World of wonder, maze of beauty, love that's true and tried.
Perhaps it's not a stretch to say, we are like that ancient garden.
We carry roots that tunnel deep, roots that guard us as we sleep.
And as long as I am standing and am rooted to this spot,
I'll be your flower on the hill, your sweet forget me not.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, November 21, 2014
I SHOULD LIKE TO COME BACK AS A FISH
I SHOULD LIKE TO COME BACK AS A FISH
(FOR MY FRIENDS THE KARENS, WHO NAMED THEIR FISH BRUCE)
When at last my time on earth is done,
And death has beat its final drum,
My worldly affairs left torn and tattered,
My heart so beaten and so battered.
It's then I'll have some thinkin' to do,
Should I stay or should I go.
Stay in heaven as my fate,
Or start all over with a brand new slate.
To play it safe just makes me chafe,
I think I'd rather reincarnate.
And were I granted my fondest wish,
i should like to come back as a fish.
I do not say this lightly, we are speaking of my soul.
I have conditions yet that must be met,
I'm picky I suppose.
And if I am to be truly whole,
I want to come back as a happy fish,
And swim in my friend Karen's bowl.
I do not want an ocean home,
To be torn and tattered on a hook.
I want to be free to swim and roam,
Not to live like a common crook.
To be gutted by a fisherman's knife,
Why, that's no kind of amphibious life.
He would brag and boast so cavalierly
And I love my friends the Karens dearly.
I do not want to be a feckless fish,
An aquarium would be my wish.
Nothing but store bought food for me,
Not to be fed on by predators
And die ignominiously.
I do not want to be a salmon nor a rainbow trout.
And sharks are far too menacing, to be a shark is out.
I'd rather be a goldfish, not at all fancy and not at all stylish.
And since I know enough of lungs, and since I know pollution kills,
I'd rather take my chances on a snazzy set of gills.
I am not much on maintenance, the Karens need not know I'm there,
Except of course to feed me and to fill my gills with air.
And since I'd be no longer than perhaps about an inch,
I'd need some sweet protection from the likes of Baxter Kinch.
There's something in my DNA that distrusts a basset hound,
Why, he'd mistake me for a chicken and promptly gulp me down.
Not to mention the other doggies, Sadie, Piper and Buddy,
Should they side with Baxter, that would turn the waters muddy.
And what to think of Karen's cats?
Why, I had not even thought of that,
Perhaps if I sleep and do not snore,
I will not bother Montecore.
Yet I could and would all day obsess,
On the evil eye of Princess.
Were I not afraid of the awful orgy,
Should I fall prey to the new one Georgie.
Perhaps Karen would make me smile,
And bring me home a friend named Kyle.
A friend with which to dance and swim,
I promise to share my food with him.
And my gayness it should not offend,
The Karens, such two faithful friends.
But I may sway a bit and I may swish,
If I should come back as a harmless fish.
If Kyle and I should hit it off and really get on great,
I promise to be a gentleman and quietly copulate.
Not like an unmannerly dog or a snooty, snorty hog.
A little privacy's all i ask and I'll be a model pet.
When i get sick, they needn't even bother with the vet.
They can flush me down the loo, when my days come to an end,
And know how very grateful I was to the likes of them.
Karen W and Karen K, for the rest of their livelong days,
Will know how much it meant to me to be part of their menagerie.
By that time this fish thing will be out of my head,
I'll either stay in heaven, pretending to be dead.
Or perhaps I'll ask God in his infinite grace,
To return me to the human race.
I only know that i'd be ready for a change of pace.
And even though I may end up with a slab of egg on my face.
It still would be my fondest wish, to reincarnate as a fish.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
(FOR MY FRIENDS THE KARENS, WHO NAMED THEIR FISH BRUCE)
When at last my time on earth is done,
And death has beat its final drum,
My worldly affairs left torn and tattered,
My heart so beaten and so battered.
It's then I'll have some thinkin' to do,
Should I stay or should I go.
Stay in heaven as my fate,
Or start all over with a brand new slate.
To play it safe just makes me chafe,
I think I'd rather reincarnate.
And were I granted my fondest wish,
i should like to come back as a fish.
I do not say this lightly, we are speaking of my soul.
I have conditions yet that must be met,
I'm picky I suppose.
And if I am to be truly whole,
I want to come back as a happy fish,
And swim in my friend Karen's bowl.
I do not want an ocean home,
To be torn and tattered on a hook.
I want to be free to swim and roam,
Not to live like a common crook.
To be gutted by a fisherman's knife,
Why, that's no kind of amphibious life.
He would brag and boast so cavalierly
And I love my friends the Karens dearly.
I do not want to be a feckless fish,
An aquarium would be my wish.
Nothing but store bought food for me,
Not to be fed on by predators
And die ignominiously.
I do not want to be a salmon nor a rainbow trout.
And sharks are far too menacing, to be a shark is out.
I'd rather be a goldfish, not at all fancy and not at all stylish.
And since I know enough of lungs, and since I know pollution kills,
I'd rather take my chances on a snazzy set of gills.
I am not much on maintenance, the Karens need not know I'm there,
Except of course to feed me and to fill my gills with air.
And since I'd be no longer than perhaps about an inch,
I'd need some sweet protection from the likes of Baxter Kinch.
There's something in my DNA that distrusts a basset hound,
Why, he'd mistake me for a chicken and promptly gulp me down.
Not to mention the other doggies, Sadie, Piper and Buddy,
Should they side with Baxter, that would turn the waters muddy.
And what to think of Karen's cats?
Why, I had not even thought of that,
Perhaps if I sleep and do not snore,
I will not bother Montecore.
Yet I could and would all day obsess,
On the evil eye of Princess.
Were I not afraid of the awful orgy,
Should I fall prey to the new one Georgie.
Perhaps Karen would make me smile,
And bring me home a friend named Kyle.
A friend with which to dance and swim,
I promise to share my food with him.
And my gayness it should not offend,
The Karens, such two faithful friends.
But I may sway a bit and I may swish,
If I should come back as a harmless fish.
If Kyle and I should hit it off and really get on great,
I promise to be a gentleman and quietly copulate.
Not like an unmannerly dog or a snooty, snorty hog.
A little privacy's all i ask and I'll be a model pet.
When i get sick, they needn't even bother with the vet.
They can flush me down the loo, when my days come to an end,
And know how very grateful I was to the likes of them.
Karen W and Karen K, for the rest of their livelong days,
Will know how much it meant to me to be part of their menagerie.
By that time this fish thing will be out of my head,
I'll either stay in heaven, pretending to be dead.
Or perhaps I'll ask God in his infinite grace,
To return me to the human race.
I only know that i'd be ready for a change of pace.
And even though I may end up with a slab of egg on my face.
It still would be my fondest wish, to reincarnate as a fish.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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