BIRDS AT PLAY

BIRDS AT PLAY

Birds at play on the lawn,

With their worms and their twigs and their chirping.

Birds at work in the trees,

With their spouses, their young, and their merriment.

Birds at play, in the world of the Spring,

With their pecking, trilling, and hopping.

Doing their specialized form of be-bopping

To the music of the sunny blue.

Birds at play,

Cheering the way,

For the lives of me and you,

The robin with his red breast trills a happy tune,

While the nightingale comes after dark to serenade the moon.

Birds at play in their treetop flats,

Devouring worms, avoiding cats.

Birds at play in the trees, ignoring human folly,

Making daydreams come alive, our waking moments jolly.

Birds at play on the lawn,

With their worms and their twigs and their chirping.

'

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2026

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DOWNSTREAM

DOWNSTREAM

I am trying to get past the mundane,

Groping for meaning is my visible task.

I resent the autumn for setting in

Before I find the needed answers.

My body close to shutting down,

The colors in my face are pale and doubtful.

The waters are all rippling 

 In anticipation of winter.

 

Looking for a reason to stay alive

Is the fundamental venture

Straining the mind past its usual heights

Watching the birds on their southward flights.

Wondering if they find new meanings

On the shores where they alight

Or if it's just boredom and the chill

That keeps them from remaining still.

No one calls the bird a mundane creature

There is a reason somewhere 

That keeps me searching for my place.

There is a reason that guides me

Makes me surrender to the thrill of this dream 

Keeps me drifting forever downstream 

Groping for meaning

Amidst cool and stationary rocks.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PURPLE SPEAKS

 PURPLE SPEAKS

Purple speaks,

In the glorious sunrise on the mountain peaks.

Purple speaks to those who listen,

Reflecting in the water, purple even glistens.

Purple speaks,

In sunsets over the mountains descending,

In psychedelic beauty,

No beginning and no ending.

Purple talks,

In hyacinths and irises, 

In redbud trees and pansies,

Along my daily walks.

Purple sings,

In some tropical fish and some birds on the wing.

Purple sighs,

Erupting in abandonment over the skies.

Purple lives in every bruise,

That moans and groans in black and blue.

Purple lives in every fall.

Lurking in the corner

Casting a pall.

Purple is,

My mother's lavender bedroom,

A grand mosaic lovely quilt,

Fruit of the pregnant loom.

Purple its mystery and mercy shrouds.

Posing in the heavens, dancing in the clouds.

Purple the favorite color

Of his Royal Badness Prince,

Purple rain comes falling

Across the firmament.

Purple speaks,

To all who will listen,

Purple creeps across the sky.

And the whole world beams and glistens.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED