Two Poems. (1) A Love Remembered, Forty Years After. First Version. (2) October in The North. (For Emily Jane Bronte).

A Love Remembered, Forty Years After. (First Version).

(Rewritten Version, Published July 2015).        

                    1.

Girl
Slim as a Weeping Willow;
Hair unkempt, an ebony river
Flowing over frost white shoulders:
Eyes intense with sorrow.

How I miss the dance of your words,
The visceral rough edge of your laughter
Cutting me with the savage fierceness
Of unfettered animal emotions.

                     2.

Shortly after our child was born
You returned home to misty Ulster,
Retreating from the hubbub of London.
You mentioned only a short vacation,
But the evening that you boarded ship
A door slammed shut against the future
That we had carefully planned together,
Slammed shut with a raw finality.

                       3.

Girl
I now know that your parents thought us
Too young to wed and raise a family,
Too young to care and love.
                     
                       4.

One weekday, while your parents were out working,
You stayed at home and tried to cut your wrists.
With luck,your mother came back one hour early,
And somehow managed to save you.

All this I learned forty years too late
back home in London. A call on the telephone
from a complete stranger.

                        5.

These days I often visit Belfast City,
A troubled townscape packed with history;
The ghosts of shipyards;
Sectarian Peace Lines;
Armalites smuggled through the lough.
At dawn I have often been awoken
By a distant squabble of famished seagulls
Swarming over the oil black shallows:
The wail of a siren invoking legends:
The departure of ferries from the dock.

None of this now is foreign to me,
But sometimes when I walk alone
Through the modern day city centre
The past breaks through confining shadows
To stun me with a violent shock.
And as though you were trying to force me awake
At such times I have suddenly heard your voice
Clear as a bell, but strangely distant,
Keening softly              whispering sadly
Somewhere                 deep in the crowd.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 6th. - 7th. - 8th. - 9th. - 10th.  2014.
October 8th. 2014.
This poem is written as an organic growth, from seeding to final flowering. Hence the structure.

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October In The North. (For Emily Jane Bronte).


The clouds betwixt the sun and me
Increase my sense of fragility
My fear of winter haunts me

My shadow is swept from off the ground
In a flurry of Autumnal leaves
The fraught wind huffs and heaves

I bury my hands deep into my sleaves
And bow my head to the rain


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 1st. 2008.

Written with ironic affection.