Two Poems. (1) To Someone Missed This Easter.(2) Jennie Reaching Out.

                               1.

          To Someone Missed This Easter.

I settle a spray of pink blossom into your favourite vase,
Then set it down gently onto the oval table
By the opened window.
Early bees fly in to inspect these delicate flowers
And explore the strangeness of the bright clean room.

I set the vase down like a totem of sorrows
Placed high upon an isolated hill
In a vast American forest.
A totem of flowers crafted to give new hope
To those who grieve and wait.

My hands trembled with joy and simple reverence,
But a deep tunnel of lonesomeness cuts through my heart.
The tranquil bees appear dark and ominous,
Loaded with prominent stings.
The curtains lift on a small discordance of wind.

This solitary act of remembrance I here set down
In a circle of morning sunlight
That seems as still as a mirror.
The pine wood seat you sat in that Good Friday
Now folded against the wall.

That was the first time that you flew overnight to meet me,
Travelling north eastward from your forest home
In the far off Catskill Mountains.
A simple gift of love, quiet expectations
Shown to me by your father.

Your first Atlantic flight, prologue to many, is now a scratched out dreamscape.
Today you are just that photograph, displayed on my computer;
A retrieved newspaper cutting
Conserved with certain letters:
A set of keys misplaced on the mantle shelf.

At half past 5 an unexpected downpour
Washes out the exuberance of the sun,
Turning my small world several shades of grey.
I sit alone and imagine I hear you knocking,
Knocking softly on the locked front door.

And suddenly the house is sunlit with laughing children
Absorbed in collective excitement. We escape your brood
Walking hand in hand, slowly together,
Into the flower packed garden
Ecstatic with wild honey bees.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 13th. - 18th. - 19th. 2013. 

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                           2. 

Jennie Reaching Out..

Taking off
She reaches for the moon
Like a child at play.

Decades later
In her kitchen
Cutting sandwiches for tea
She feels downgraded.
The balloon that she had once stretched out to tamper with
Burst with a kiss of cold air.

Nappies and screaming fits
Came as a complete surprise that nearly floored her,
Two hits straight out of the blue,
But were none the less made welcome.
The small ones at her elbow
Spinning her out of control
With their never ending neediness,
Their frenetic laughter and tears,
The sky high stories and lies. -
Tending their everyday wounds
She imagined a vocation for godliness.

But a man in a distant country
Refusing to come home
Is a different kind of story,
Something to keep mum about.
The cheques that kept bouncing along
Like fragile rubber balls
Barely in touch with the surface
Related the history of his caring
To a perfectly positioned Tee.
He was her man in the Harvest Moon
That Saturday night at the Party
In the grounds of the local Golf Club,
The fate that she should have turned down.

This is her Groundhog Night,
A forever repeating dream
That gnaws coldly into her memory.
She stands alone in the moonlight
In the hope of seeing his face
Looming out of the shadows.
Her arms stretched out to greet him
Becoming set hard with waiting,
Slowly transformed into ice.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter 
April 6th.- 21st. 2013.