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

HUMBLED

HUMBLED

Humbled by the icy stillness of the frozen lake,
Humbled by the rapids of the river's fearless wake.
Humbled by the hand of youth, so steady and so sure,
Humbled by the disease for which there is no cure.

Humbled by the mercy of a God who hears my pleas,
Humbled by the shelter of the towering redwood trees.
Humbled by the power of the righteous hurricane,
Humbled by disaster, and the splitting, piercing pain.
Humbled by the faces of triumph and despair,
Humbled by a lover and his tender hands that care.

In the maddening deafness, in the darkened rooms,
Where sit unfathomable mysteries, the flowers placed on tombs.
In the brilliant light that sweeps across the landscape,
The honor of the coffin with the flag so softly draped.
Humbled by the soldier and his final sacrifice,
Humbled for his widow, who herself has paid a price.
Humbled for the children lost to mines and gunfire,
Humbled by our unsafe schools, the black crow on the fence wire.

Humbled by the timeless miracle of human birth,
Humbled by the graciousness that pours forth from the earth,
Humbled by the breath of life, and when that breath it blows no more,
Humbled by the hand of God, beckoning on that distant shore.

Humbled by the beauty of the body and the mind,
The holy stream of consciousness defying space and time.
Rejoicing in each footprint left upon the sand,
How each precious day of life unique and oh so grand,
Fills us with the glory of the stream and waterfall,
We cross ourselves and marvel at the wonder of it all.

In the startling blindness of the kindnesses of friends,
We find the lonely saving grace upon which life depends.
In the myriad halls of kings, the humble cave of peasants,
Lie untold riches of the soul, we kneel before their mighty presence.
Humbled by the good that's found,
Humbled by the shaking ground,
The volcanoes and the mudslides.
Humbled by the whim of nature,
The swift and raging tides.

Humbled by the tragic, humbled by the nonsense,
Humbled by the pauper, emboldened by the prince.
Humbled by the chance for joy,
When alas the world becomes your toy.
Humbled by the shifting sands,
The glory of these maiden lands.

Humbled by the billowing sails, by the triumphs and travails.
Humbled that I'm still alive, despite the falls, despite it all,
Humbled that I'll be around when at last the savior calls.
Humbled by your love for me, your all too human grace,
Humbled by the beauty of your spirit and your face.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED