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

THOSE LEFT STRANDED

THOSE LEFT STRANDED

Here's a rhyme for those left stranded,
For those adrift and landed,
Floating in lifeboats on a stormy ocean,
Here's a prayer for a spell and a potion,
To ease the passage from life to death,
The voyage begins and ends with a breath.
Here's a prayer to set them free,
To carry them to the other side.
Let their packing be light and their burden be soft,
That they may fly freely, carried aloft.
That their suffering and their struggles cease,
That their souls be granted peace.

Here's a few words for the lost,
Who live and breathe at quite a cost.
Whose existence depends on the kindness of machines.
Here's to those who linger unseen,
And know not yet how to depart.
May God's mercy land on their delicate hearts,
And guide them safely across the bar,
That divides us near and far.
The bridge we all must dare to cross,
In the midst of our sorrow, in the midst of our loss.
Let our tears be washed away,
In the dawning of a brand new day.

Here is a rhyme for those going under,
Prisoner to each little blithesome blunder.
The mistakes and failures that rise to the rafters,
That tarnish our ever afters.
That fill up the spirit with consummate gloom,
Lead us all to that great Upper Room,
Carry us safely through the clouds,
Our bodies wrapped in the burial shroud.
But let untarnished spirit soar,
Both now and evermore.

Bang the drum and sound the warning,
That if I should be gone by morning,
No one should weep but just carry on,
Whatever work I leave behind,
The words that outlive me in the dawn.
Then lay me to rest in field or stream,
This life was merely a bitter dream,
A strange and twisted avocation.
Leave it where my body lies,
Point me to the substation,
That leads me to the skies.

Here's a song and a benediction,
For those adrift and landed.
A long and solemn farewell taps,
For all of those left stranded.
Here's a prayer for a peaceful death,
The voyage begins and ends with a breath.
May all these old sad sufferings cease,
And may your souls be granted peace.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IN THE SACRED MORNING

IN THE SACRED MORNING

In the sacred morning, if you cock your head and listen,

You can hear the dew moist on the grass, silent as it glistens.

And if you ever ponder what became of the likes of me,

Just look to the horizon and feel the touch of the gentle breeze.

And I will be there hovering, somewhere past the point of death,

A rose about to bloom in heaven, a spray of baby's breath,

That lingers on the fencepost, out there in the field,

Like some fierce and fabulous fighter, clutching sword and shield.

In the solemn eventide, I will lie and think of you,

And all the plans we cherished like ships upon the blue.

The emerald and the amethyst clenched in fury like a bully's fist.

And I will read your mind again with the grand telepathy

That used to flow from me to you, a brand of hallowed weaponry,

That warded off our hunger for a life not lived alone,

But sank beneath my willfulness like a haggard, hapless stone.

In the sacred morning, when we rose and broke the trust,

Of old and vetted promises that fell and bit the dust.

I will clutch to my breast the memory of our shining midnight sun,

The remnants of Alaska, when he with the most toys won.

And I will vanish from whence I came, the ether of this cyber world,

My white flag flung upon the field, my once bright vision blurred,

Our clarion song when youth stood strong and blind ambition stirred.

In the sacred morning, when the dove exhales his song,

And the robin treats her young to breakfast in the nest where they belong.

When the freaks and geeks of doublespeak rise to take their bow,

And my eyes turn toward the sunrise and the sacredness of now.

In the sacred morning, this tired old body sheds its skin,

And rises to the heavens to be with all its kin.

But not forgetting where it came from, what it leaves behind,

The stirring art of your wondrous heart that loved me in its time.

-Bruce Potts

Revised Copyright 2015

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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

SPIRITUAL

SPIRITUAL

I have looked under rocks for the spiritual,
I have listened for the hymns of the silent sod,

I have chased and dressed down bubbling brooks,
Traipsed the mountainous overlooks
For the soft, silent whispering voice of God.

I have danced with a few select men and women,
Philosophy and wisdom dripping from their tongues.
Forgiveness I have found there and offered up alms,
In the soft understanding warmth of palms.

I have gazed into the eyes of towering gallant trees,
With the notion that they could hear my pleas,
Looking for the spiritual in the steady force of root and bark.
I have wandered in a non-committal dark,
As the blood through my veins it courses,
Seeking good and evil, benign and malignant forces.

I have made a shaky peace with the physical,
Lost in the throes of this disease,
I have searched my own psychology,
Found immutable laws of my psyche.

I dig up the spiritual in breathtaking gardens,
Before my body returns to the ground,
Before my heart it freezes and hardens,
I have looked to the comfort of the spiritual,
To fill the voids and gaps in my determinism.

How many years slip away into dust,
How many dreams are lost in the fuss.
'Til God lifts his hand and says it's enough,
Who snuffs out the body in the shrill noise of the night,
Leads you to his kingdom and its blinding light.
Once and for all for your sins He has atoned,
And tells you at long last you can live alone,
A wanderer, a dreamer and a lover
In this world of unchecked mystery.
All of your regrets they slip away,
Through the black hole of your ancient history.

I have looked under rocks for the spiritual,
Listening for the hymns of the silent sod,
I have found the spiritual in a tiny corner of my mind,
At long last lifted and pulled out of time,
By the merciful arms of a gracious God.

Now I float on clouds and swim in the spiritual,
Awakening from my slumber, in a brand new abode,
Learning the language and cracking the code.
Rejoicing in the knowledge of who I was and who I'll always be,
Swimming with no lifeguard and drowning in the spiritual,
The deep sacred river that was always me.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED