WATCH ME AS I FLY

 WATCH ME AS I FLY

I am sure that somewhere in the back of my closet

Tossed amidst the scrapbooks and shoes,

There's my own version of Dorian Gray

The one they see and love to hate

Just watch as I disintegrate.

Before the worms inch by to have their feast,

My body will be burned to ashes 

And I shall not care in the least,

Don't be surprised when the urn topples and smashes,

What remains of me can't be contained,

However much you try,

I'll be bound for the boundless sky,

So cower and seek cover,

For I shall always linger and hover

Just behind your jealous reach

A location that cannot be breached,

Until you take your own chariot ride

To the mighty mystic other side.

In the nighttime you will hear my Dorian Gray,

And you will see him in your mind's eye.

Falling like a suicide bomber out my window,

The last vestiges of my frail old self,

And all its silly foibles and mistakes.

Will fall and will not hesitate, to crumple and disintegrate.

All my sins will be heard and forgiven,

In the kindly vestibule of heaven. 

I am sure somewhere in the back of my closet,

Tossed between the scrapbooks and the souvenirs,

There's my own version of Dorian Gray,

The one they see and love to hate,

Just watch as I disintegrate.

A man you can no more disparage,

I shall mount my grand and golden carriage,

Blaze a path across the sky, just watch me as I fly.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WILD BLUE YONDER

WILD BLUE YONDER

Old sad earth, I shall trouble you no longer.

On the wings of a silent prayer,
Into the wild blue yonder,

I will sail across your blazing western skies,
Leaving a world of troubles in my wake,
Leaving this body that loves to shake,
Leaving my lover's heart to break.

Old sad earth, I shall cut you down to size,
Across the wild blue yonder,
Kicking sand up in your eye.

And a new day I will see, old sad earth,
A new day of forgiveness for a soul that seeks rebirth.
Into the bosom of that home beyond the stars,
Looking down on your lost highways
And their tiny little cars.

Old sad earth, you shall not miss me when I'm gone,
But in my spirit lives the fire of life and the rising of the dawn.
And I will be at peace with you and love you from afar,
From my home in the wild blue yonder, miles from where you are.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

LET THERE BE RAIN

LET THERE BE RAIN

Let there be rain and a respite from pain,
And after the rain always a rainbow,
Painted by leprechauns, colorful sash in tow.
After the rainbow a serene red gold sunset,
In stunning splendor to burn and blaze.
Let the world know that I am not done yet,
Splash some cool creative water
On the dusty dried up well of my days.
On the piercing ice cold fever of my pain,
Swallow up death's victory, let there be rain.

Let there be a mighty storm, to ease the pain of the global warm.
The sad sick humidity that keeps me indoors.
Let me run in the sands of a thousand shores.
In the face of crashing waves,
Teach me the message and meaning of brave.
I am counting on at least a few years more,
Before I see Death in his cloak at my door.
Chase away the doubts and despair of the old,
Teach me the message and meaning of bold,
Let there be thunder and let there be lightning,
I have learned to live with the specter of frightening,
Just keep me safe and keep me sane,
Naked in a drenching rain.

Let me be a leprechaun and let me paint with a broad stroke,
Give me my own nightclub act, and let me write the jokes.
Let me dance in the downpour before it's too late,
Give me a respite from the fear and hate,
Of those too ignorant  to understand.
Let me paint my masterpiece of love,
All across this troubled land.
Though I love the sunshine, as my days they wax and wane,
I want an early autumn, with its leaf enriching rain.

Let there be winds, and let me still have friends,
Friends that will serve as companion and buffer,
Tell me I no longer need to suffer,
The parading and pronouncements of fools.
Let me graduate not a moment too late,
From this stiffening, stifling school.
Let there be wisdom and let there be mercy
And let there be kindness to spare,
Let all of these rain down from the heavens,
To purify this rancid air.

Let there be puffiness and pleasant dreams,
Let there be leprechauns and morphine,
And make me a prisoner in ball and chain,
Just begging for a drop of rain.
Begging for release, for the pain to surcease,
Wrap my body in embraces warm,
Let me wake in heaven to a mighty storm.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS  RESERVED

GOD IN HEAVEN

GOD IN HEAVEN

God in heaven be with me,
When at last my time is come.
When the words no longer issue,
From this uncooperative tongue.
When I must rely on pen and clipboard
To make my wishes known.
When I'm at my cold wit's end,
Kneeling before your throne.

God in heaven be with me.
Before your followers have their way.
Hurling me to hell's dark door
For daring to be gay.
For daring to be different,
For daring to speak my mind.
God in heaven be with me,
Both in and out of time.

God be with me when these cheeks turn sallow,
When all my miracles are gone,
And all my fields lay fallow, 
In the cold light of the dawn.
When all that's left to toast,
Is an empty frame at most.
When I have no more vaunted will or energy to roam,
God in heaven be with me, when I am most alone.

Guide me to the glorious green fields of your grace,
The shining torchlight of your face,
The rare and wondrous glory
Of your grandest, greatest story.

Into the rainbow splendor of your land,
God in heaven take my hand.
And ease the trembling of my fears,
The guilts I carried through the years,
Be they my imagined sins or be they true and real.
Let your balm of Gilead come to me and heal.

God in heaven send to me forgiveness and a song,
A mantra for the journey to follow me along.
Some hint, some glimpse, some bargaining chip,
To buttress up this sinking ship,
God in heaven accompany me on this my final trip.
To a land of expectation and a house of many rooms,
Help me as I stumble, drawing nearer to the tomb.

God in heaven, look down upon me,
When at last my time has come,
When all that's left of human speech,
Deserts me and lies out of reach,
Dangling on the tongue's crude precipice,
And I am but a drooling fool in a run down earthly edifice.
When all that's left is detritus, when all that's left is rocks and stone,
When I rely on pen and clipboard to make my wishes known.
When I am at my cold wit's end, lead me kindly home.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

RESTLESS SPIRIT

RESTLESS SPIRIT

My body’s a prison with iron wrought bars,
My spirit’s a skylight that leads me to stars,
Over the black velvet darkness I fly,
The heavens alight and unfold to my eyes.

Spirit is colorless, odorless, spirit moves free,
Unlike the landlocked woebegone me.
I can get torn and tossed over all I have lost,
Or soar with the saints and the Trinity,
It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
The fruits of the spirit I treasure the most,
They are the beacons of light on my journey.

And give me the grace to make music and sing,
To ride the unicorn to Saturn’s wing,
To join the bright planets and the whirling constellations,
To make this restless spirit yield to innovation.
To not fight on past the point of no return,
To gather up the dusty lessons I’ve learned,
And mount my flaming steed to the burning skies,
To answer the saints and their beckoning cries.

To not be afraid of the land past the rainbow,
To gather my courage in droves,
And walk with the Savior in his garden of flowers
At my life’s great epic close.
To go skinny dipping through the stars,
To shed this earthly cloak,
And vanish like ether in a wooden wisp of smoke.

Goodbye to the earth below, goodbye to those who loved me.
I join the Boatman in his schooner, sailing toward eternity.
Out beyond the glorious sunset, and those purplish clouds at close of day,
Nothing left to keep me here, nothing standing in my way.

Goodbye to my lover, I will miss you most of all,
And all the tender mercies that from your lips did fall.
The feel of your flesh and the taste of your kiss,
That lent to me your golden bliss,
Your touch oh how it tingled, my skin it did enthrall.
But we all know it’s time to go,
Into that cool, bright tunnel of air,
Where all the spirits that have gone before,
Beckon me to join them there.

And to shed this body of wrought iron bars,
To break through the skylight that leads to the stars.
Over the black velvet darkness I’ll fly,
Where the heavens alight and unfold to my eyes.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PURPLE WITH PASSION

PURPLE WITH PASSION

Back then I spoke my peace, in sure and measured tones,
Today I speak it haltingly, waving my rainbow flag alone.
Wondering where the party is, those who share my views,
Purple, alas, with passion, those lovely lavender hues.

The church of Christ has all gone home to bake their apple pies,
Afraid of those they do not know, whose views they do despise.
Those awful homosexuals, those devils in disguise.
A nation of haters, toting high their Christian banners.
Forgetting fast the Golden Rule, not to mention manners.

Eating filet of chick with pride, disdain upon his sleeves,
Heaven help the Christian and the victory he achieves.
All at the expense of his nemesis, the dreadful ten percent,
The gay, the lesbian, the differently inclined,
That cannot pierce the barrier of his closed mind,
Basted in hate, perverted and bent,
So sure he’s on the side of Christ,
And what the Savior really meant.
The poor misguided Christian church, drowning in its own malaise,
Is that righteousness upon your sleeve, or a careless dab of mayonnaise?

Back then, I spoke more clearly, but can you hear me now?
My voice needs amplification to carry across the miles.
The miles I still must travel before the blessed sleep,
Across the tired and tough terrain, all up hill and steep.
I could hold my breath just like a child, ‘til I turn black and blue.
And there’d be one less homo in the world.
And that would please the likes of you.

I’ve always loved the sunsets, and I’m heading straight into my own,
Leaving behind a hateful world and the crowd left gathering stones.
And just like Shirley Jackson’s lottery,
I see my neighbor through jaundiced eyes,
His twisted love I do not need, nor his hateful prize.
Love is somehow out of fashion, a child of untenable views,
Black as death is the forlorn future, covered in its Sunday blues.

Still the sunset knows no hate, and the love of God no ending,
And to a heaven welcoming, I modestly kneel bending,
Like the sun fades in the western sky,
My last breath spent in asking why,
Why such fear and judgment,
Before we pierce the firmament?

And if there’s any justice to this life at all.
My spirit it will rise again, once more from the pall.
And I will cross the mighty bar, graceful as a shooting star.
Flaming like a meteor sunset, its colors to imbue,
Purple, alas, with passion, those lovely lavender hues.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED