TODAY I NEED TO CRY

 TODAY I  NEED TO CRY

Sometimes I just need to cry,
Pay no heed to the teardrop
That is forming in my eye.
Leave me to my lonely room,
A radio playing a lonely tune,
Across my dark and vagrant sky.
I could not even tell you why,
But today I need to cry.

Sometimes I need to fume and fuss,
To behave just like a sourpuss.
Best not to mess with me when I'm like this,
Stay on your side of the dark abyss
Into which I'm falling.
Do not mess with the mission of a motionless man,
Who is following his calling.

Sometimes I just need to wail,
To curse and cavort, to let out my sail,
To wobble my way far from dry land,
To fall with bare feet into the hot sand,
Like a baby colt in the desert sun.
Sometimes I just need to wail,
Beyond earshot of anyone.

Sometimes I just need to drown,
In an ocean of my own damn salt.
If I should cry myself to death,
Heaving out my final breath,
You mustn't think it your fault.
Give me room to move about,
To hissy fit, to scream and shout.
If I should drown in my own emotion,
There are far worse ways to die,
There is no tonic or no magic potion,
Just give me leave to fly.
Into the heavens, into the stratosphere,
If only for a day to be anywhere but here.
Stuck inside a stubborn body who does not care to move,
Perhaps I have a stubborn streak of which you don't approve.

Just turn out the light and close the door,
Leave me to this padded room,
A radio that comforts with some tune of long lost sorrow.
My tarnished thoughts turn toward the morrow,
Toward the sweet by and by.
I could not even tell you why,
But today i need to cry.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MEDITATION

MEDITATION

In the early morning hours,
Cross-legged and hungry for truth,
Having thrown away tomorrow
In the bloom of misspent youth.

What is there left to the motionless man,
But to sit in the twilight and harmonize with birds,
To see the sun rise o'er the mountains,
A picture worth a thousand words.

In the early morning hours,
Sometimes I am grateful,
For the Parkinson's that slowed me down,
And for the dew that glistens.
For the blessings that fall all around,
To the man who sits and listens.

Clearing the mind of its daily clutter
With a poem or meditation,
That God sends down like manna,
A useful recreation.

What is there left to enjoy in life,
When one starts to tumble and fall,
Beyond the help of science,
The darkness of it all.

Clearing the mind of errant thoughts,
A slate wiped clean of fears and faults,
A free pass for a brand new day,
Hustle and bustle all for naught.

Especially sweet on a day for lovers,
When you can curl beside me,
Sex a meditation too,
When you come and gently ride me.

What is there left for the motionless man,
Than to cling so tight to a lover's skin,
And pass the day most lovingly,
In the grip of original sin.

In the early morning hours.
Alone and lifted out of trouble,
The future still a blank check,
i float in this peaceful bubble.

I find it enough to just be alive
Alone in the sunrise, lifted out of time.
I find myself surprisingly, softly wishing,
For another day on this spinning ball,
Prayers to the God I know who's listening,
A million thank you's for it all.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESRVED

THE BODY REMEMBERS

THE BODY REMEMBERS

The body remembers every last insult,
Every little ache and pain,
The body holds tight to its breast,
Every last pouring down of rain.

The body in memory takes great pride,
In remembering its painful circular ride,
Its crazy Tilt-a-Whirl through time,
The body remembers its old mistakes,
Each misdemeanor and each petty crime,
The many false starts and the many bad breaks.

Luckily, the body can be dealt a glancing blow,
When paused in meditation to remember the Soul,
For the Great I am, the great blank slate,
Patiently sits and patiently waits,
For the body to wear out and weep itself to sleep.

The soul remembers it was here before,
Comforts the body in all of its uproar,
Stills each storm clutched still warm.
In the body's stern embrace.
The soul throws cold water in the body's face,
Stuns it into submission,
Forgives its sins of omission.
Lives to be the body's fortress,
Its cool, detached defender,
Holds it close, so sweet and tender,
Until its sorrow and regrets,
The body soon forgets.

Then, alas, when the body's through,
And sheds its skin of woe is me,
The soul reclines on a grassy incline,
Lives on forever content to be,
What the body could not see.

On that hill the soul it thrives,
Looking inward, still alive,
The stone of death rolled away,
Forgotten in the light of day.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

QUIET MOMENTS OF REPOSE

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