(1) In Memoriam, Jane Avril. - (2) Oh Moira. .

                        1.
In Memoriam Jane Avril.

She died the year that I was born,
La Melinite.
Her last words, "I hate Hitler"
Scrawled on a scrap of paper
Thrown at the dark
as that hungry war time winter,
Cruel as a feral cat,
Ensnared her in its jet black paws.
Sweet Avril, imprisoned by loneliness,
Your Fin de Siecle mind slammed shut
On a room cold with strangers.
All that you had honoured, cherished, admired,
Those remnants of a culture rich in love,
The sparky joie de vivre of Parisian nights,
Hammered under the thud of fascist boots.

She had been the free fall spirit of the dance
Opened herself in fits to the magical fire of the gods
As she deftly glided, wildly kicked and whirled
On slim feet.
An insubstantial wraith that whirling spun
Quixotic tapestries of joy, of grief, of hope,
A chaos of desire,
                 despair,
                 defeat,
Dancing alone, and with eloquent finger tips
Etching filigree ghosts in the musty gas lit air.

And what of her friend,
That self mocking, eloquent aristocrat, with the insights of a surgeon
a stick full of booze
                               and a broken walk?
Yes, what of him, her long dead lover,
                               That laser eyed artist of the night
                               Who portrayed her in taut and candid close up
                                Raw with truth?
Where do his visions fit in this brutal world, this death camp Reich,
                                Her brave Henri,
                                Her co-conspirator,
                                The partner to her soul?
Where are his insights now?              Where the caustic laughter?
Condemned as degenerate art           By the purveyors of murderous lies.

Sweet Avril,
                   (Hitler soon died, despised.
                    His projects, utterly ruined.
                    His enemies honoured). 
Oh how I wish you had leaped high and free,
Way beyond those years of cruel entrapment
To dance just one time more, one joyous night of wild excess, of proud rebellion
                    In the liberated City of Lights.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 4th. - 6th. 2012. - May 4th. 9th. 2013.  June 8th. 2013.
For Jane Avril, Dancer, Actress, Artists Model, Singer,  1868 - 1943.  
We still do not look Lautrec straight in the face.          
-----------------------------------------------------------

                           2.

Oh Moira. (A Soft Rock Number). 

Oh Moira, watch me dream of you,
I want to scheme to lean on you,
But how can I reach through to you?
You hide behind the old and new.
Oh Moira, I believe in you.
Oh Moira.

But how can I reach through to you
When the blinds are down, and so are you?
When your eyes are black, and your mind is blue,
How can I touch the light in you?
Oh Moira, let me turn to you.
Oh Moira.

Now every night I dream of you,
And eat and sleep and love with you,
And touch and type and talk with you,
And write eccentric songs with you
That annotate the old and new,
But yet I cant reach through to you,
Your eyes are black, your mind is blue,
How can I touch the light in you?
Oh Moira, watch me dream of you.
Oh Moira, I believe in you.
Oh Moira.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
February 7th. 1981. - May 21st. 1984.