Bruce Morse

Bruce Morse Poems

Bruce Morse Biography

I was born in New York City in 1943. I began writing poetry in the fourth grade and eventually attended the poetry workshop at the University of Iowa. I graduated from New York University. I did a year of graduate school in English Literature before working in journalism at the New York Times and Bergen Record. In the mid sixties I learned to play the guitar and started writing songs. I also began to become interested in photography. To support myself I worked as a carpenter, cook, teacher, healthcare worker, glass blower etc. I had three sons in my first marriage which ended after we lost our eldest in a car accident. I found painting as a way of coping with my grief and coming to terms with my loss. I have explored many mediums and the art making has been a transformational journey that has put me in touch with my soul in a new and deeper way. I remarried and my wife and I have two daughters. When my father died a wrote a book to help me come to terms with a long difficult relationship and put the past behind me. The book is called Forgive Myself.)

The Best Poem Of Bruce Morse

Your Heart Will Mend

The day we brought you home
There was a storm.
The sky grew black as night, thunder shook,
Like pages in a ghostly horror book.
You and your mother slept upstairs, safe and warm.

The branches on the tree beat up and down,
Like some mad clumsy bird to leave the ground.
It’s leaves like feathers fluttered in the air,
Or gypsy curses in some long nightmare.

The world has its pain.
The world has its grief.
The dark light inside the rain.
A solitary leaf.
The moment when you feel
Completely lost.
Not remembering what you love
Or what it cost.

What you wanted from another,
What you expected to find,
What you couldn’t take with you,
Or let go and leave behind.

Sometimes we’re prisoners,
Other times we’re free.
We feel like tiny islands
In an empty endless sea,
Or we feel like mountains
Shining in the sun,
Down us silver rivers,
Wet rainbows run.

We feel disconnected, isolated, dead,
Like a baby screaming hopelessly
That never will be fed,
Until it gives up trying,
Thinks what’s the use of crying,
I died the moment I was born,
I starved on loneliness and scorn,
I lost the will to trust another,
I lost my father and my mother.

But then somebody takes your hand,
and leads you to a peaceful land,
And loves you like no other,
Like a sister or a brother,
Like a lover or a friend.
Then all your scars will heal
And your heart will mend.

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