JR Potts

JR Potts Oct 2013

Love is for the poor,
and money for the rich
but wisdom is reserved
for those who caught the itch
of curiosity for the fact that they exist.

Those sparse few who dare
to put their faith into people
but expect not to see the eyes of god
inside of another man’s cathedral.
Knowing well that these lies and laws
could never guide us past the flaws
of good and evil.

Only believe in the dreamer
who refuses the role of a follower
and shuns the idea of a leader.
Be not deceived by status or acclaim
because it only makes you a disciple
of a product and a name.

Hold in high regard the tired hikers
born to the depths of the deepest valleys
and yet they rise before the light of dawn
like a striker to set ablaze the malaise
of these pedestrian days
that mock our souls
with monotonous toil.

This life is but an eternal recurrence
therefore every morn we are born anew
and that potential is a shot at transference
into something more eminent than you.
Become the bridge my friend
because there is no future
in being an end.

JR Potts Oct 2013

Quatrain 003

Why do I care about the world at all?
Nothing I do will really matter
empires rise, empires fall
kings come and mobs follow.

JR Potts Oct 2013

I See Ghosts

I see ghosts
not dead souls but ghosts
who shimmer and shine
they died long ago
still their light lives on
alone
night sky

★ ★ ★

JR Potts Oct 2013

Sing of Me to Future Lovers

So I say to thee, sing of me to future lovers.
Do not hold words behind teeth in fear of grief.
For they must be freed if life is to breathe seeds.
Whom sow and sprout forth,
in this garden true love grow north
toward bluer skies from open wounds,
dark thoughts and even darker moods.
Passion swoon like most fevers do
soon to pass as wellness looms.

This is not forever.

I know this to be true, sing of me to future lovers.
No matter how off beat or out of tune
Sing the way most old lovers do
full of hate, regret and true dismay.
Make mockery of my poetry
the heart felt things I'd say.
Call me a liar, a ******* and a no good cheat
but remember with each word you speak
remember; to remember it was always me.

JR Potts Oct 2013

But Still I Buy

I stand at the convenience store counter
with a smile but conflicted inside
I know I don't need them
yet, there they are.

A rainbow of apathetic death
a mosaic of bad breath
and even worse excuses
waiting to be packed
put into my chest pocket
and held close to my heart.

It makes me sick, hard to breathe
and yet here I am all ready to leave
with twenty more sticks of disease,
the same ones that gave my father
C-O-P-D.

But still I buy.

I swipe that card with little regard
to the fact that I'm reliving history
a son just as dumb as his father before him
scoring the same dope
wearing the same rope
around his collar.

I've thrown whole packs out car windows
sworn them off cause the habit,
the money lost and especially the cough
was getting to be a problem.

I've renounced this addiction
with the conviction of a holy man
yet still I stand smokes in hand
puffing away; swearing this to be my last
every time I can't help but laugh a little
cause I know I'm full of ****.
(Don't we all)

But still I buy.

JR Potts Oct 2013

Lincoln Highway

Lincoln Highway moved
more like a dance than a road
It drifted like the wind
corroded the earth
to guide me home.
The colors of the coming autumn
careened down, painting
the asphalt canvas below.

I had left Latrobe less than an hour ago
but crossed into a distant world
where the overgrown homes of old
remained among the ancient trees
breathing and watching me.

Weathered red paint running down
dilapidated barns like wax
melting from a candle's wick.
So star spangled Americana
it would not do it justice
to refer to it as just the sticks.

There was something profound happening;
the "American Dream" was dying here
and I was to bear witness
as the shinning city on the hill
fell into the metaphorical sea.

Spellbound in this catastrophe,
my ego still finds a way
to make it all about me.
I could not help but wonder
if Andy would remember
our talk about technology;
if Eamon and Bridgette would forget us three
walking hand in hand through the wood
and down the tracks,
battling back the inebriation
in the cold, hard black of a September night.
If these moments meant anything
to anyone but me.

My eyes locked on the horizon line
that rested atop a mountain peak.
I thought about how I left you,
left you three words short
of having me complete.
And I'd be lying if I didn't say
I contemplated running back to you
to speak what went unsaid
because home is not a place
but a thought in one's head.

You were home but I kept on driving
past the bones of a dying dream
letting my dreams die a little too
quietly inside of me.

JR Potts Sep 2013

The Liquor Never Lied

I was twenty-four when I first started working at the bar and it was suppose to be a temporary gig. A way to put a couple bucks in my pocket while I searched for a "real job". I never could decide whether I choose the bar or the bar choose me but something about the place felt like home. A belief that would drive my ex up a wall and eventually out the door. She didn't understand my infatuation with the bar, my obsession with its clientele. I came to love its unique aroma of confused souls who wandered in, looking for the missing parts of their whole like they could find it at the bottom of a bottle. The liquor never lied unlike their boss who promised that raise, their spouse who promised to be faithful or the television who told them they weren't important. The ***** promised intoxication and she never failed to deliver on that promise. Maybe, thats why they kept coming. They were looking for the truth they couldn't find in people.