CRASHING THROUGH THE WALLS OF JERICHO

CRASHING THROUGH THE WALLS OF JERICHO

Each day closer, tumbling I go,
Crashing through the walls of Jericho.

Each day closer to the Savior,
To my everlasting joy,
My one last chance to curry favor,
This lost and lonely boy.

Each day closer my footsteps they falter,
And I lay myself at the foot of the altar.
To the great kingdom of the Great I Am,
Each day closer to a sacrificial lamb.
Led from my tears to the last looming slaughter,
Into the vacuum of earthly sons and daughters.

All of God's children, so flawed and yet so free,
That have fallen asleep and bravely gone before me.
Down that great tunnel and into the Light.
Past the realm of earthly sight.
Down that ancient road, the stairs and the landing,
The valley of peace that passes understanding.

Each day closer, I can hear the distant rumbling.
This earthly frame collapsing and all its pillars crumbling.
Crumbling back to the elements, water and its remnant dust,
Each day inching closer to that final walk of trust.

Each day closer to the meantime,
To life the absurd and life the sublime.
The bittersweet muted pleasures of the flesh,
With its warmth and its cuddling and its pulsating sex.
Each day closer to the Puritan,
Each day closer to Walt Whitman,
Each day closer to the Everyman,
Whose freedom he once championed.

Each day closer to each fellow traveler,
In a space past politics, past the hatred of religion,
Each day closer to ending the race,
With the faltering of this wayward engine.

Each day closer to the Carpenter, to the Buddha and the Saints,
Each day closer to the innocence of a childhood finger paint.
Each day closer to the quest and the answers,
The fight of the spirit, the flight of the dancers.
Each day closer I arise and go,
Crashing through the walls of Jericho.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

EPITAPH

EPITAPH

Even in the din of youth when the bustle heaved around me,
There lived within an ancient gnome whose counsel sought and found me.

He heralded the days to come, when time sly as a bandit,
Would beckon me to slip these bonds and gently leave the planet.

He said you'll glide on atmosphere, and whisper in a loved one's ear,
The words of soft surrender dear, to ease the pain of going.

Even in the whirl of days that once seemed so unending,
There lived within a prophet wise, who to my ear came bending.

He trumpeted the final bars of life's perplexing mystery,
And told the story of my life in all its tainted history.

You'll ski down slopes of white, he said, and scale the epic heights
Or flounder in the river Styx, in all its flaming might.

Even in the siren song of childhood everlasting,
When pleasure would not let me broach the mysteries of my passing.

There lived within a wizened gnome who brought me to my senses,
"Prepare to loose your hold and soar, arise and mend your fences".

He said you'll join the vapors vast, all the spirits come and gone,
And drink the nectar, taste the prize, that waits beyond the sun.

For even in these days of awe, the mad onslaught of science,
The life span ever lengthening in the face of man's defiance.

He said somewhere it's written, if you only do the math,
Your sojourn on this earth is brief, compose your epitaph.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I SHOULD LIKE TO COME BACK AS A FISH

I SHOULD LIKE TO COME BACK AS A FISH

(FOR MY FRIENDS THE KARENS, WHO NAMED THEIR FISH BRUCE)

When at last my time on earth is done,
And death has beat its final drum,
My worldly affairs left torn and tattered,
My heart so beaten and so battered.

It's then I'll have some thinkin' to do,
Should I stay or should I go.
Stay in heaven as my fate,
Or start all over with a brand new slate.
To play it safe just makes me chafe,
I think I'd rather reincarnate.
And were I granted my fondest wish,
i should like to come back as a fish.

I do not say this lightly, we are speaking of my soul.
I have conditions yet that must be met,
I'm picky I suppose.
And if I am to be truly whole,
I want to come back as a happy fish,
And swim in my friend Karen's bowl.
I do not want an ocean home,
To be torn and tattered on a hook.
I want to be free to swim and roam,
Not to live like a common crook.
To be gutted by a fisherman's knife,
Why, that's no kind of amphibious life.
He would brag and boast so cavalierly
And I love my friends the Karens dearly.
I do not want to be a feckless fish,
An aquarium would be my wish.
Nothing but store bought food for me,
Not to be fed on by predators
And die ignominiously. 

I do not want to be a salmon nor a rainbow trout.
And sharks are far too menacing, to be a shark is out.
I'd rather be a goldfish, not at all fancy and not at all stylish.
And since I know enough of lungs, and since I know pollution kills,
I'd rather take my chances on a snazzy set of gills.
I am not much on maintenance, the Karens need not know I'm there,
Except of course to feed me and to fill my gills with air.
And since I'd be no longer than perhaps about an inch,
I'd need some sweet protection from the likes of Baxter Kinch.
There's something in my DNA that distrusts a basset hound,
Why, he'd mistake me for a chicken and promptly gulp me down.
Not to mention the other doggies, Sadie, Piper and Buddy,
Should they side with Baxter, that would turn the waters muddy.

And what to think of Karen's cats?
Why, I had not even thought of that,
Perhaps if I sleep and do not snore,
I will not bother Montecore.
Yet I could and would all day obsess,
On the evil eye of Princess.
Were I not afraid of the awful orgy,
Should I fall prey to the new one Georgie.

Perhaps Karen would make me smile,
And bring me home a friend named Kyle.
A friend with which to dance and swim,
I promise to share my food with him.
And my gayness it should not offend,
The Karens, such two faithful friends.
But I may sway a bit and I may swish,
If I should come back as a harmless fish.

If Kyle and I should hit it off and really get on great,
I promise to be a gentleman and quietly copulate.
Not like an unmannerly dog or a snooty, snorty hog.
A little privacy's all i ask and I'll be a model pet.
When i get sick, they needn't even bother with the vet.
They can flush me down the loo, when my days come to an end,
And know how very grateful I was to the likes of them.
Karen W and Karen K, for the rest of their livelong days,
Will know how much it meant to me to be part of their menagerie.

By that time this fish thing will be out of my head,
I'll either stay in heaven, pretending to be dead.
Or perhaps I'll ask God in his infinite grace,
To return me to the human race.
I only know that i'd be ready for a change of pace.
And even though I may end up with a slab of egg on my face.
It still would be my fondest wish, to reincarnate as a fish.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I SO DON'T MATTER

I SO DON'T MATTER 

I so don't matter to this world,

Except perhaps as backdrop

Or some subtle form of subtext.

I so don't matter to this world,

Perhaps I'll matter to the next.

I'll even be so blunt and brave,

To surmise there's life beyond the grave,

That if I'll matter anywhere,

For sure it will be there.

I so don't matter to this world,

Except as a sort of footnote,

A white surrender flag unfurled,

A piece of prose you know by rote.

And not to under estimate,

My loving friends and my handsome mate,

I'm afraid I must reiterate,

What I feel in my heart must be true.

I so don't matter to this world,

Perhaps I'll matter to the heavens blue.

Like a toy designed to be poorly tossed,

My joints are stiff as a ball and chain,

Despite the meds and the surgery costs,

Despite my tears that pour like rain.

This body answers to a different power,

A power much higher than me,

And I so don't matter to this world,

Just a lesson in what not to be,

A poor and frail cautionary tale,

A source of mediocrity.

My spirit it falters but the trail it leads me on,

Struggling quite gallantly,

To follow my own sun.

I so don't matter to the world at large,

It's tote that bale and lift that barge.

Nowhere is sometimes where I feel  

Most loved and most at home,

I so don't matter to this world,

Just some quiet souls alone.

And they will gather near me when it's time to go,

To shed this earthly specter free,

Like roses thrown upon the snow,

Discarded oh so carelessly.

I so don't matter to this world,

A sailor upon tempestuous seas.

Nor is this a sad, cheap plea for a chorus of yes, you do,

Just the idle thoughts of idle hands,

That hang as stiff as drying glue.

Perhaps I mattered when announcing songs,
With a voice assured and oh so strong,
Or perhaps when proofreading courtroom drama.
Back when my nickname was Mr. Comma.
Or perhaps when I could write a rhyme.
Oh so perfect and sublime,
That it would leave tears in the strength of its wake,
Back when there was a lot more at stake.

I am in no hurry to say goodbye,

But in case I someday do,

I'll reiterate and make my case,

An ape could easily take my place,

In this frightful human zoo.

I'm filled to the brim with rusted tin,

What else can I possibly do?

To prove I'm more than detritus

Backdrop or a subtext.

I so don't matter to this world,

Perhaps I'll matter to the next.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: Sometimes having a bad day can be a blessing. This poem came out of one, and i am thankful for my bad days and my good. BUT….if your bad days are getting out of hand, please seek help. We need you around!

CATAPULT ME INTO THE UNIVERSE

CATAPULT ME INTO THE UNIVERSE

Mount my coffin high on the horses.

Send away the procession and the stone coal black hearse.

Lay down the violin with its golden strings.

I'm ready to fly and spreading my wings,

Fire off the cannons, catapult me into the universe.

Years ago when I walked the earth,

Tasted its nectar and felt its deep worth.

I breathed in all the flowers,

Spent many sweet hours,

Rolling in the grasses,

Drinking red wine from rose colored glasses.

Traversing the sands of many fine lands,

Had me a companion and a house in the sticks,

Had a guitar, played mediocre licks,

Had an old black dog who bathed my face each day,

The joy with which he greeted me infectious in its way.

But now that I'm gone, to that land beyond the dawn,

I hope to make my presence felt beyond the veil of tears.

I'm ancient as the sea and as a poignant as the atmosphere.

Now are days where I scale the clouds,

Counsel troubled spirits, teach their hearts to sing,

Now are quiet hours with a peace that passes understanding.

Now the sweet taste of nectar and ambrosia is my feast,

No more the sailor on the sea of salty brine, no more tango with the beast.

Now are precious moments of bloodless forms, vague outlines.

Now are times when I recognize God's higher purpose and design.

My doubting days are over, like Thomas I have felt the wounds,

The bloody holes in hands and feet.

Nothing there to deny or impugn,

The glory of redemption sweet.

Send me away in the firelight, into the caverns of the spirit's night.
Send away the mourners with their blazing torches.
Liberate me from the body and its chill that sweats and scorches.
Liberate me from disease that leaves me pleading on my knees.
Recite a few comforting rhymes, to lift me slowly out of time. 
Say one long lasting fond farewell, toast me with your holy wine
Then fire the cannons as rehearsed, catapult me into the universe.

Mount my coffin high on the horses,

Send away the mourners, ripping garments at the seams.

I will mount the white stallion,

Ride the fiery chariot to the realm of heaven's dream.

Wait 'til the tears subside, until the last church bell has sounded.

Spread the word until all have heard,

Death is only a brittle word,

A word twisting ghoulishly in the land of the grounded.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2013

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

OCTOBER BREEZE

OCTOBER BREEZE

Not a fan of global warming,
But I love these Indian summer days.
When the air blows bright with promise,
And the trees, a panoply of color sway.

A couple months before the winter snows,
Autumn in full bloom she blows,
Before smoke curls from neighbors' chimneys,
I rejoice in the October breeze.

And grateful breathe in life so sweet,
A hopeful never ceasing treat.
If you are as wise as me,
Believe in God’s eternity,
And other lives that pass unseen,
That flicker grand across the screen,
My radar tuned and piercing,
As the clear crisp autumn sky.
Give me a few more days like these,
And a happy man I’ll die.

Once in dreams I sailed the ocean,
Once in dreams I sailed the deep,
And my dream turned into a nightmare,
Bruised and broken was my sleep.

When I woke the heat index had peaked
And at great long last my fever broke.
My mother, she appeared beside me,
In the puffy clouds she rose and spoke.
On a mythic hillside, in the hallowed air,
I could see her clear as day and feel her spirit everywhere.
She said welcome sweet son, to life everlasting,
To the land of rest and sacred song.
It was the moment I’d been waiting for,
My wretched whole life long.

Yet something still was out of place,
As I beheld my mother's face,
The clouds they parted and I could see,
The world below was calling me.
Once more I regained composure,
Forced back tears, began to smile,
Saw it was not yet time for closure
For me to walk that long last mile.
  
Still I managed one more time to forestall paradise,
My mother said, my son go back.
I heeded well her sage advice,
Fell back to earth through heaven’s crack.
Landed back in that womb of sleep,
Found the vision that I lacked,
There upon that hillside steep.

The wisdom from that dream hard won,
I woke beneath a welcoming sun,
To find a Fate I thought so cruel,
Yielded me to autumn’s cool.
The bright of gold and crimson leaves,
The beauty of the season blazed,
A time for bringing in the sheaves,
Here in my star-kissed dwindling days.

Not a fan of what we’ve done to our sweet Mother Earth.
But I love these Indian summer days that echo with rebirth.
A panoply of colors sweet that thrill me to the core,
The first time in a long time I have felt my spirit soar.

This fine and princely kingdom, this bright and bitter place,
The colors all of the blessed fall, this brief respite of grace.
A couple months before the winter snows,
The autumn in full bloom she blows.
Before smoke curls from neighbors' chimneys,
I rejoice in the October breeze.

--Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED