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JR Potts Mar 2015
I hate everything I write
I hate every word
every rhyme
I hate all of it
and secretly I want you
to hate me too
JR Potts Feb 2015
The wind swept across sheering dunes of white sand
the way certain kinds of dancers sway
like flames
The way young children often play
free of their father’s shame

It filled his lungs with the fire of his innocence
and the longer he inhaled the larger he grew
no sooner had he rivaled mountains
did he hear the cries of his former self
this being bound in chains spoke thus

Be wary Apricus,
many great men have had their heads over hills
and their fates delivered them to the stake.
Are you willing to burn, to crumble into ash
and return to the dirt of mother earth
for all that you believe?


Broken by doubt,
the mountain becomes a man again
but the heart of a giant still swelled inside of him
It raged against his fragile frame like a violent slave
until it grew weary of its own restless thunder
and there it sunk into the deep,
the deep frore of a wintry slumber

Sleep for now my lively child
for the hearts of giants reside inside of all men
but first they must learn to love themselves
before the giants can walk the earth again
I originally wrote this work in 2012. I envisioned it as a piece of a larger body of work surrounding my original protagonist, Apricus a Gypsy Poet who wanders and talks with people of life and philosophy. Think Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet" or Friedrich Nietzsche's "Thus Spoke Zarathustra". This poem was submitted to several poetry contests with no accolades being bestowed upon it but I still consider it one of my best works. Thank you for reading.
JR Potts Feb 2015
I will wait outside
because you've locked the doors,
battened down the hatches,
and prepared for a storm
but the day will come
when you’re not afraid anymore
and I’ll be where you left me
because I've always been yours.
JR Potts Jan 2015
the fever of the evening comes upon us
and again we find ourselves into the cups
half drunk, half in love, but never full enough
and the words we discuss

cut

revealing fresh blood, warm to the touch
the taste of salt and iron on the tongue
speaking what we whisper in our waking lives
with a certainty that would make sober hands

tremble

as I listen I can feel your potential
in subtle pauses and hope soaked syllables
I do not want this night to weigh upon us
I do not want your words to mean nothing

tomorrow

the morning sun will rise, whitewashing drunk lies
do not allow these dreams of other lives to die
for every second you wait is but another grain
escaping your grasp into the abyss of time

live
I love you and I'll forgive you for leaving
JR Potts Jan 2015
I told her there was very little of me left to love,
and with glassy blue-green eyes she replied
*There is enough
JR Potts Jan 2015
The other day
I happened to see a friend
who had passed away.
It was not until I saw him
had I realized,
I no longer cared for him.
I had been busy living
and after all these years
he was still the same.
How does one explain
to a dead friend
that people change?
JR Potts Jan 2015
I went for a stroll in the wood
felt the earth bend beneath my feet
heard the chorus of cracking ice
out on the old stump pond.
watched as waves of fog
rolled off its melting sheets.

I found a small bit of peace
in the clatter of my footsteps
on my brownian walk
and felt seduced
by the eerie absence
of my thoughts.

no plotting and scheming
or unreasonable wanting
and dreaming of more.
finally an escape
from the neoteric noise
the technicolor screens,
and the scripted realities
we call life.
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