WALKING EARLY MORNING

WALKING EARLY MORNING

Walking early morning,
The path still wet with dew,
Tank top, shorts and sandals on,
The next best thing to naked,
And the skies still late night blue.

Walking early morning, with waking visions clear,
Traipsing cross these thoroughfares,
These touchstones held so dear.

My restlessness has hurled me out,
Into open arms of dawn.
And cool air sweet a welcome treat,
As birds make merry on the lawn.

Walking early morning, senses toe the line
And drink in all the blessings like intoxicating wine.
The ghosts of souls departed,
Come clamoring to my side.
Light as air, ethereal friends,
Visions sweet to doubting eyes.

The town hall clock chimes 5 a.m.,
I forge ahead, a gentle gait,
The morning sweet and somnolent,
A velvet nectar of escape.

Walking early morning,
A shortcut barefoot through the park,
Keeping counsel with the moon,
And sweet communion with the dark.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
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