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 

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

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

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

IDIOSYNCRASIES

IDIOSYNCRASIES

The green woman lured and seduced me
And took me to bed

And when the green lady undressed
She revealed two purple breasts

I laughed and howled
Because my red feet and turquoise chest
Had made me apprehensive and ashamed

And the green woman with the purple breasts
Took me with her strange body

And told to me strange stories of love i had not heard before
And held me until dawn in awe and fascination

The strange and mystical human beings have messages to bring
Romance to pronounce, dreams to spin
If we only open our flesh colored ears.

The green woman lured and seduced me
And took me to bed,
A woman of wile and mysteries,
With her strange body and assorted idiosyncrasies. 

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IF GOD IS IN THE DETAILS

IF GOD IS IN THE DETAILS

If God is in the details,
Then you are surely in the dreams,
Of every living architect,
Who knows what beauty means.
For your soul is vast with many rooms,
That issue forth a sweet perfume,
And I am proud and filled with song
To be sheltered in your vision strong.

If God still walks amongst us men,
He must hold tight unto your hand,
And guide you through the thick of night,
The unforgiving desert sand.
And lead you safely, gently home,
Lest you cast your foot against a stone,
And your blood should soak the evil earth,
That knows not what your life is worth.

If God should know the contents 
Of a single human heart.
Surely he'd be struck with awe,
To know the beauty yours imparts.
And time would heal the wounds of fools
At the end of the longest day.
And you would be protected
From the slings and arrows cast your way.

If God is in the details, 
Then surely he has heard our plans,
Of the life we plan to build together,
Lovers hand in hand.
And surely he won't turn
A blind eye to our private dreams,
Leaving us to labor,
All alone behind the scenes.

But God will rise and call us blessed,
Beloved sons with grand finesse,
Bring us flowers on our wedding day,
An impassioned speech to light our way.

If God is in the details,
We are sitting in his hands,
And he has blessed our union sweet,
All across this quiet land.
You and i will live in peace,
Safe in the harbor of our love,
As the lion lays down with the lamb,
And the eagle courts the dove.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

AUTUMN CHILL IS IN THE AIR

AUTUMN CHILL IS IN THE AIR

The autumn chill is in the air,
It echoes through the streets so fair,
And climbs the orchard trees in bloom,
The apples in their sweet perfume.

The autumn chill creates a stir,
With memories of the way we were,
In full regalia on the lawn,
All our wedding finery on.

Cathedral bells they tolled the songs,
And all our voices sang along,
Echoing with love divine,
The holy blessings of our times.

I wrapped my arms around you tight,
To shield you from the coming night,
And taste the mysteries in your lips,
The heaven in your fingertips.

The autumn chill caressed the throng,
That followed as we moved along.
On horseback carriage down the lane,
My heart was calling out your name.

And later in that rustic place,
With all our future dreams in place,
The inn we spent our honeymoon,
Shimmered sweet its fragrant tune.

And naked in our wedding bliss,
I felt my skin weld soft with yours,
The sweet expression of a kiss,
Across these sacred contours.

The next days teemed with quiet walks,
Gathering apples, cider fine,
The grand conclusion that began
The day your heart uncovered mine.

The autumn chill is in the air, 
It echoes loud its overture,
And fills this harvest time with cheer,
This love of ours with gladness pure.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DIXIE CARTER HAS NOTHING ON YOU

DIXIE CARTER HAS NOTHING ON YOU
        (FOR SUZANNE LEE)

Lovely, ample, beautiful woman,
With the long black flowing hair,
I'd dance with you on blissful feet,
Tango with you anywhere.

And though I've only known you for an infancy of time,
I have fallen hard for the treasures of your spirit and your mind.

Designing woman, how you thrill me,
With your back rubs and sensuous kisses.
The gentle way you guide me,
Through my hits and through my misses.

Your sweet, sincere acceptance 
Of each and every part of me.
The Parkinson's that slows me so,
My different sexuality.

Dixie Carter has nothing on you,
With your mellifluous voice,
Your sweet southern ways.
And I hope our friendship's like a light
To illuminate the coming days.

A light that shines through hardship.
That transcends distance far and wide.
I feel your presence everywhere,
It stems the wild and raging tide.

Dixie Carter has nothing on you,
With your warmth and your wit and your scandalous tongue.
A love that transcends grief and loss,
A treasure trove of passion strong.

Lovely, ample beautiful woman, stay just the way you are.
I love you so, my precious friend, my guiding light and star.
Our dance a balm of quiet calm that echoes through the hemisphere.
i wish you peace and happiness,
In the dawning of each brand new year.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THROUGH THE PANES DARKLY

THROUGH THE PANES DARKLY

Through the panes darkly,
I see remnants of a life,
My finger driven dusty
O'er the unkempt windowsill.

Through the panes darkly
Seeps a weak, withered light,
Greedy and bloated,
Having drunk all its fill.

And in the basement gloomy,
Where the ghosts still creep,
Your apparition comes and goes,
Wreaks havoc with my sleep.

Like a sharp wooden stake,
Run deep through the vampire's chest,
You suck the life from out the air
With your acrid winter breath,
Through the panes darkly,
I trace the subtle hand of Death. 

I pray for the days when my feet
Did not flail and falter,
And lay a futile sacrifice
On the steps of this sacred altar.

A prayer for relief, from the depths of belief.
Alive and well, rescued alas, from a renegade hell.
In the churchyard down the alleyway,
I hear the tolling bell.

Through the panes darkly,
Through the sand and the sod,
I hopelessly seek for the footprints of God.

But I find not an inkling, a clue or a trace,
Through the panes darkly,
In this perilous place.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IN MY HIDING PLACE

IN MY HIDING PLACE

In my hiding place, secluded from those who say they love me,
In this cozy space, apart from the ones who once held my heart.
I long for their forgiveness, but I know not where to start.

The relentless rain of regret pours down my cheeks like a flurry.
The world wants my soul, but I'm in no hurry to give it.

The trespassers want my castle, like knights of yore they besiege it.
My enemies want my heart, like bloodsuckers they come and they bleed it.

I am drifting, lonely as a withered leaf,
Stripped of my pride and of what's underneath,
Detritus and rusted metal.

My foot lunges for the brake pedal,
But slowly I come crashing,
Running through the stoplights
And the red that they keep flashing.

My hands they try in vain to steer,
But stiff and stained and rusted by the rain,
I submit to my fate, ruined and murdered here.

Here in the dark castle, I submit to my chains,
To the fabled past I stick and adhere.
It has not been my finest decade,
Nor my finest year.

And the post-it note I left for you, 
Taped with a rose to your back door,
Is written in some foreign tongue
And the petals stain your hardwood floor.

There is nothing left but to mourn your loss,
I lay here stretched upon my cross,
Here in my hiding place,
Secluded from you who say you love me.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SUNLIGHT ON THE WATER

SUNLIGHT ON THE WATER

Sunlight on the water, here on the West Coast,
Back in San Francisco, we raise the glass and toast.
Toast our love and toast survival, toast the remnants of the day,
Toast the luxury of this life that Fortune's sent our way.

Sunlight dancing off the water, framed by the Golden Gate,
Freeing these two travelers, these prisoners of Fate.
Prisoners who have come so far, like aliens from outer space,
Soaking up some chilly rays, before our fall from grace.

The Coit Tower, the TransAmerica building, loom in the distance,
Alcatraz across the island, a relic from the fabled past,
As time it casts its shadow and rushes by too fast.

The sea lions purr on Fisherman's Wharf, fat and happy in the sun,
Basking in belligerence, they will not budge for anyone.
Panhandlers and peddlers, the native and the transplant,
The people talking to themselves, the Hare Krishna chant.

The specter of all humankind, in its rich and varied tapestry,
The rich, the poor, the searching, the wonder of this magic city.
Some folks come to find themselves, to reinvent their lives.
Others try to run away from a shattered yesterday,
Hoping that for just this once they can keep the wolf at bay.
He's always howling at the door, he longs to wash up on some shore,
Where sorrows are unheard of and troubles are no more.

Where fog can stretch for miles and miles, and life is seen through mist,
Where a weary soul can find some rest and a measure of forgetfulness.
Perhaps a night of drinking at the bars that never close,
Peet's coffee and the native blends to rouse you from repose.

The flowers slumbering in their beds, along with human sleepyheads.
And sunlight on the sacred water, setting, fading of the light.
So long, San Francisco, on this our final farewell night.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SAN FRANCISCO SUITE

GOLDEN GATE SUICIDE

I came to California,

Hunting down my death.

Weary of this lonely life,

Despair in every breath.

I came to the grandeur of this bridge

Staged my suicide,

And felt a quiet kinship

With the waters and their raging tides.

I heeded not the beauty of this city,

The architecture of this Golden Gate.

My soul was filled with blackness,

The world was full of hate.

My demons all yelled jump

And urged me to be bold,

And I flung myself from off the bridge

Into the water freezing cold.

And I did not use the phone 

To call the suicide hotline.

My plans were etched in concrete, 

An immutable design.

But as i fell to a frigid death,

I felt the crush of my regret,

Falling like a stone from this beautiful bridge.

I came to California, desperate and bereft,

Soured on this wretched life,

I cursed my every breath.

I beheld the grandeur of the bridge

And I staged my suicide,

A quiet thankful kinship

With the solemn raging tides.

I heeded not the beauty of the city,

I carried my darkness everywhere.

I came to this bridge and naked I fell,

Spilling the flowers from my sunburnt hair.

SCENES FROM A PARK

The Coit Tower as a backdrop,

The smell of the ocean and sea birds soaring.

San Fran beautiful and all a shimmer,

And you and I loafing at Fisherman's  Wharf.

This beautiful park with its flowering trees,

And the sunlight brilliant, not a cloud to be seen.

For the first time we touch in a public place,

The thrill rushes through me on this day so serene.

The flowers splash blazes of color our way,

Nature the architect comes out to play.

Such beauty unparalleled laid at our feet,

As the cable cars rumble by on the street.

The TransAmerica building graces the skyline,

And I am lost in reveries fine.

Here on this bench, hand resting in yours,

Two eager travelers awaiting their tour.

This charming moment, these feelings so rare, 

I gaze at your profile and can't help but stare.

And stunned by your beauty, your grace and your charm,

I reach out and touch you, my hand on your arm.

This beautiful park, this glorious day,

Two eager travelers carried away.

Sunlight is brilliant, not a cloud to be seen.

For the first time we touch in a public place

And the thrill rushes through me, a feeling serene.

ALCATRAZ

The beauty of the city looming in the distance,

Across this glorious vista, how punishing for you.

To see and know it can never be for you,

The city of rainbow flags and sparkles.

The grand taste of liberty wasted at your feet.

A tiny cell, a toilet,

A tome on loan from the prison library.

Time in the rec yard to savor the view

Of a city that can never be for you.

How your life drifted, how your dreams sifted,

How the years passed with you cloistered away.

Behind the iron bars the plans that were yours,

Flew like the seabirds and crashed on the ocean floor,

Never to be heard from anymore.

Alone in your cell the loneliness came,

How grim in the night it whispered your name.

And once a year on New Year's Eve, the silence was shattered,

And you could hear the revelry of San Francisco,

Booming their fireworks from that distant shore.

To hear that sound and know it can never be for you.

The city of rainbow flags and sparkles.

The grand taste of liberty, catching in your throat.

WOODS OF MUIR

Woods of Muir, with your redwoods bold that scrape the sky,

Magical forest with your shaded paths and hollowed out trees,

You create such a world of wonder.

I imagine a witch hurling fire at the scarecrow,

These trees turning angry, hurling apples at me.

I imagine my heart's desire,

Sweet contemplation amidst the cool breeze.

Woods of Muir, our bus climbed the mountain perilous steep,

And brought us to your summit of enchantment.

My lover and I beneath your shade hold our breath at your beauty,

As he snaps his pictures with carefree delight,

The sunlight through the tree leaves whets the appetite,

For an evening of love beneath your night stars,

Away from the city and the rumbling of the streetcars.

Woods of Muir, with your redwoods bold that scrape the sky,

My lover and I find our way to your sandy beach,

Stealing a moment of kisses sweet.

Magical forest, with shaded paths and hollowed out trees,

You create such a world of wonder.

I imagine a witch lurking in the brush,

With apple hurling trees that give a heady rush.

Where two Friends of Dorothy can feel right at home,

Grandly traversing your yellow brick road.

WOMAN IN THE CASTRO

I met a woman in the Castro,

Thin as a bird who wanted money.

Six dollars to get back in her room

Where she could lie down on her soft bed

And maybe take a shower and wash away the day's malaise.

She said she had terminal bladder cancer

And apologized for the way she smelled.

And could I please spare the six dollars

And help her just this once.

Well, maybe she was taking me, maybe I'm a fool.

But something about her touched my soul,

And I pondered on the Golden Rule.

I reached into my pocket,

And took five dollars from my wallet.

It was all the cash that I had left,

And I gave it to this woman bereft,

Because i believed her.

And she flung her arms around me and asked me my name,

And told me that she loved me and I told her that I loved her too.

i walked away believing every word she said was true.

I met a woman in the Castro,

Thin as a bird who wanted money.

I could feel the Parkinson's in my own body,

And I saw myself in this woman's stare,

I walked away blessed from this sacred encounter,

Feeling as though I were walking on air.

-Bruce Potts

Revised Copyright 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

TOMORROW WILL SHINE BRIGHTER

TOMORROW WILL SHINE BRIGHTER

No one matches me in sorrow, I win hands down in misery.
I sleep in trepidation, awash in ancient history,

Trapped inside an anguished heart, feeling lost and anxious,
Shadowboxing with the ghouls that lie in wait to ambush.

I carry in my wallet a Tarot card of doom,
And in my house the hands of death have fingered every room.

They turn the chairs to skeletons, the couch into a gargoyle,
My dreams they lie in the desert sun, the barren rocky soil.

And yet an angel chorus rehearses and grows stronger,
Tomorrow will shine brighter, child, weep and pine no longer.

Trapped in bitter warfare, my dark side and my light,
Engage in their one-upmanship, a bitter, dirty fight.

I suffer so exquisitely, anticipating ruin,
A dark and dismal pessimism to be my great undoing.

I carry in my pockets the accoutrements of woe,
And stake my claim to psychic pain that echoes to and fro.

I tremble in a solitude that soaks me through and through,
Like a heavy soaking rain washing down the avenue.

I'm beside myself in bitterness, paralyzed by fear,
Oblivious to my blessings and the friends I hold so dear.

No one matches me in sorrow, I win hands down in misery,
I sleep in trepidation, awash in ancient history.

Yet I light a torch in darkness and my spirit starts to glow,
I see a future tentative and it beckons me to follow.

The candlelight sublime increases, growing ever stronger,
Tomorrow will shine brighter, child, weep and pine no longer.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED