1.
Sufi Meditation.
Muted colours of a Pastoral Symphony;
The language of simplicity.
Fingers touching the hem of a sleeve.
A glance that does not need explaining.
All things straight forward,
Stone walls defining territory.
But that is in a far off country;
A distant time zone.
Here we only know the desert,
Contours splintered in the heat haze;
All things roughly covered over,
Nothing straight forward.
I draw the face of Rumi in the sand;
A gust of wind scatters the fine grains.
Trevor John karsavin Potter.
June 20th. - 21st. - 24th. - 25th.- 27th. - 30th. 2014.
========================
2.
June Night.
Last night
Midsummer rain awoke us
Black petals
Softer than eiderdown.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 23rd. 2014.
============================
3.
Post Modern Beauty.
(Duchess." I am the Duchess of Malfi still".
Bosola. "That makes thy sleep so broken".
John Webster, The Duchess of Malfi: Act 4.)
=====
Mona Lisa`s face without the smile, yet flawless,
never to be scarred by age or exposure to the sun.
Groomed for the cat walk, the camera`s prying eye.
A fashion plate image refracted through amber glass
as the doors swing open wide, spilling the wintry air
deep into the pub. She was not seen to enter then, but
for a moment her face flickered in the alcove mirror
like a faded video image.
Candle light obscured her finest features,
Giovanna moved among the deepest shadows.
Unsure for a moment where dreams
begin or vanish, or when reality transmutes into an impromptu
theatrical performance, I put down my glass and left the sanctuary,
hoping to spy her in the milling throng.
Was that her
there, dancing among the shadows? Dancing alone in the ribald
crowd?
The Barflies jostled each other like madmen in a Tragedy.
I reached out to touch her shoulder;
but only the air seemed tangible, seemed real. I turned back into the alcove,
lonesome and defeated.
Something within me had died.
That delicate hint of perfume was perhaps the trace of a memory,
and yet I am certain that someone did mention her name. But then
again, my hearing is somewhat decayed, I could have been mistaken.
Her face had quit the mirror. The door slammed shut in the wind.
A shrill laugh echoed in the porch outside.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 5th. - 6th. 2012.
June 28th. - 29th. 2014.
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Thursday, 19 June 2014
The One Tun, Part Eight. New Rewritten Version.
Devon blue. The sunlight frisking flecks of dazzle across the waves. Torbay placid, the yachts gently bobbing, Moses Cradles resting on the waters.I am sitting on the harbour wall waiting for the sleeping town to wake up. Barely one hour after dawn in June, the sun already hot and brilliant. I had traveled overnight by train from London, the rail carriage stinking of stale smoke and damp. In 1965 British trains were, to my knowledge, the dirtiest in Europe. It was good now to be out in the fresh air sipping Orange Squash and eating the last of the sandwiches. The food had been packed for me the evening before by Mrs. Harris. I was trying to locate her runaway daughter. A rumour of a possible sighting had hastened me down to the West Country. I sat on the harbour wall trying to focus on my next move, but I was almost too tired to think. A crowd of seagulls were clamouring overhead, keen to steal some remnants of my banquet.
I was no stranger to Torquay. I had family living in the centre of the town, but today I did not want to be seen by them; I could not be diverted from my mission. Zoe had run away from home once before; my task was to try and locate her before the police were informed by her father. Her family and friends did not want her to be locked away as a young offender. She was a feisty, articulate and highly intelligent fifteen year old, not a feral street kid bereft of hope and ambition. The law enforcers did not always recognize the difference. Unfortunately the boy she ran away with was rumoured to have a heroin habit, so we had to act quickly. I could see the keys turning in the locks and the iron doors slamming tight, the guard dogs barking.
She had left London holding a small travel bag and a kitten. We had all been together in the Classic Cinema Tottenham Court Road. Her artist brother paid for the tickets. The kitten behaved remarkably well. From time to time he would wiggle and take a peek at the giant screen, but made no attempt to break free and scarper. This fur ball was not my friend however, I received a small scratch when I tried to hold him while ice cream was purchased. Suddenly Zoe announced that she needed the toilet. Apparently both the kitten and the bag had to accompany her. She did not return.
I became uneasy after just a few minutes, but her brother was so deeply engrossed in the film that he hardly noticed the time passing. Once out of the cinema however he rushed straight to the nearest phone box and started to ring as many relevant numbers he could think of. No one could tell him where Zoe was. We enquired at The One Tun, but the early evening crowd were clueless, a state of affairs that we should have expected. Some did know the truth however, but were sworn to secrecy. She was at number 12 Tottenham Street, a five minute walk from the pub and her obvious destination. So obvious in fact that we did not think to search there. That tenement block was the bolt hole of Fitzrovia`s remaining Beatniks and illiterati, probably the most bohemian address in London. Zoe and her companions remained there for only one night. They were soon on the road to Devon. At some point on the journey the kitten decided enough was enough and took his own route to liberation. Cats and hitch hikers are not good companions. The boy friend did not last much longer either, which was probably all to the good.
Rufus and I returned to his parent`s home to break the bad news. and within a few hours we had both commenced our travels, separately searching for his sister at opposite ends of the country. I did not find her in Torquay, but just a few miles along the coast in Plymouth I caught sight of a note she had penciled on the wall of a pub. "I am the only sane person in this place," a typical Zoe observation. She was probably right about that sweaty hole in the wall.
After nearly three weeks of travel and living off her wits she returned home to Hyde Park Mansions, tired and unrepentant. Within hours the police were informed, and she found herself locked away in the Young Offenders Institution a sort of naughty school kids zoo in a quiet part of Paddington. Fortunately she did not have to stay there long, A relative she greatly loved became her official guardian. She moved into his home in Kingston Upon Thames. He took her on camping trips to Istanbul and Afghanistan. He was a Hippy before the concept had been invented. Zoe had won the freedom to be the person that she wanted to be, a gift that she prized above all others. She remained an extraordinary person for the rest of her unconventional life.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 19th. 2014. - August 9th. 2020.
.
I was no stranger to Torquay. I had family living in the centre of the town, but today I did not want to be seen by them; I could not be diverted from my mission. Zoe had run away from home once before; my task was to try and locate her before the police were informed by her father. Her family and friends did not want her to be locked away as a young offender. She was a feisty, articulate and highly intelligent fifteen year old, not a feral street kid bereft of hope and ambition. The law enforcers did not always recognize the difference. Unfortunately the boy she ran away with was rumoured to have a heroin habit, so we had to act quickly. I could see the keys turning in the locks and the iron doors slamming tight, the guard dogs barking.
She had left London holding a small travel bag and a kitten. We had all been together in the Classic Cinema Tottenham Court Road. Her artist brother paid for the tickets. The kitten behaved remarkably well. From time to time he would wiggle and take a peek at the giant screen, but made no attempt to break free and scarper. This fur ball was not my friend however, I received a small scratch when I tried to hold him while ice cream was purchased. Suddenly Zoe announced that she needed the toilet. Apparently both the kitten and the bag had to accompany her. She did not return.
I became uneasy after just a few minutes, but her brother was so deeply engrossed in the film that he hardly noticed the time passing. Once out of the cinema however he rushed straight to the nearest phone box and started to ring as many relevant numbers he could think of. No one could tell him where Zoe was. We enquired at The One Tun, but the early evening crowd were clueless, a state of affairs that we should have expected. Some did know the truth however, but were sworn to secrecy. She was at number 12 Tottenham Street, a five minute walk from the pub and her obvious destination. So obvious in fact that we did not think to search there. That tenement block was the bolt hole of Fitzrovia`s remaining Beatniks and illiterati, probably the most bohemian address in London. Zoe and her companions remained there for only one night. They were soon on the road to Devon. At some point on the journey the kitten decided enough was enough and took his own route to liberation. Cats and hitch hikers are not good companions. The boy friend did not last much longer either, which was probably all to the good.
Rufus and I returned to his parent`s home to break the bad news. and within a few hours we had both commenced our travels, separately searching for his sister at opposite ends of the country. I did not find her in Torquay, but just a few miles along the coast in Plymouth I caught sight of a note she had penciled on the wall of a pub. "I am the only sane person in this place," a typical Zoe observation. She was probably right about that sweaty hole in the wall.
After nearly three weeks of travel and living off her wits she returned home to Hyde Park Mansions, tired and unrepentant. Within hours the police were informed, and she found herself locked away in the Young Offenders Institution a sort of naughty school kids zoo in a quiet part of Paddington. Fortunately she did not have to stay there long, A relative she greatly loved became her official guardian. She moved into his home in Kingston Upon Thames. He took her on camping trips to Istanbul and Afghanistan. He was a Hippy before the concept had been invented. Zoe had won the freedom to be the person that she wanted to be, a gift that she prized above all others. She remained an extraordinary person for the rest of her unconventional life.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 19th. 2014. - August 9th. 2020.
.
Thursday, 12 June 2014
Two Poems (1) West Country Woman. A Song. (2) The Painting.
1
West Country Woman.
West Country Woman,
Hair wilder than moorland bracken,
Face redder than solstice fire;
I will not forget your peppery laughter,
Your sealskin hands,
Your restless eyes.
You touched me to the quick
With your snide and insolent words
That Sunday last November.
You had lit a flame in the heather,
A raw, storm frenzied beacon,
To draw my barque to the shallows
Where the jagged rocks lay waiting,
Stone dragons concealing their claws.
I had once dreamed you were my lover,
But I now know you are merely a robber,
A snatcher of hearts and of chattels,
A wrecker of ship loads of lives.
I once dreamed that we two should marry,
But your tongue is a thorn bush of lies.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 10th. - 11th. - 12th. - 13th. 2014.
Torquay, Devon.
Amended January 11th. 2020. =============================
2
The Painting.
black on black on black on black
black dissolving into grey
black on black on black on black
white
grey
blue evolving into grey
white
black on black on black on black
grey
blue
no semblance of a human face
no trace of me or you
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
June 16th. 2014.
Recalling a visit to an art gallery with Layla.
West Country Woman.
West Country Woman,
Hair wilder than moorland bracken,
Face redder than solstice fire;
I will not forget your peppery laughter,
Your sealskin hands,
Your restless eyes.
You touched me to the quick
With your snide and insolent words
That Sunday last November.
You had lit a flame in the heather,
A raw, storm frenzied beacon,
To draw my barque to the shallows
Where the jagged rocks lay waiting,
Stone dragons concealing their claws.
I had once dreamed you were my lover,
But I now know you are merely a robber,
A snatcher of hearts and of chattels,
A wrecker of ship loads of lives.
I once dreamed that we two should marry,
But your tongue is a thorn bush of lies.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 10th. - 11th. - 12th. - 13th. 2014.
Torquay, Devon.
Amended January 11th. 2020. =============================
2
The Painting.
black on black on black on black
black dissolving into grey
black on black on black on black
white
grey
blue evolving into grey
white
black on black on black on black
grey
blue
no semblance of a human face
no trace of me or you
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
June 16th. 2014.
Recalling a visit to an art gallery with Layla.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
Four Poems (1) Californian Buddhist Wedding. (2) A Fragment. (3) Dreaming in October. (4) Human Traffic.(Revised)
1.
Californian Buddhist Wedding. (Revised Version).
The cicadas in the distant gardens presaged heat.
In those moments the world seemed transfigured by hope
As we stood side by side on the tranquil beach
Hands barely touching;
The silent stars spun a glittering web beyond our niche in time.
Speaking few words
We watched the moonlight shimmering a fragile path
Upon the surface of the waters,
A magical path that few have dared to follow.
Like discarded fragments of our former lives
The stones that we collected on the shore
Were flicked across the tops of breaking waves.
Bad memories should not linger to deceive us.
Suddenly you kissed me,
A tentative kiss, like those that children give.-
Slowly we climbed back up the concrete stairway
And entered the quiet house.
That morning when we whispered our solemn vows
In that Buddhist Temple high on the green hill,
We had been changed forever by simple words.
No secular laws were needed then to bind us,
Only our fearless honesty.
But now grey walled Manhattan claims your time;
And here I sit and watch the London rain
Darkening the cold window.
December nights are long and strangely empty.
The pallid moonlight seldom splits the clouds.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
17th. - 30th November 2012.
5th. - 6th. June 2014.
==========================.
2.
A Fragment.
The fragility of moonlight frosting your face
Reminds me of swans drifting through mist
Upon still waters
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
May 10th. 1984. - September 28th. 2012.
==================================
3.
Dreaming in October.
Dust motes drifting in sunlight
A soft veil of quietude.
Will I hear your footsteps on the garden footpath
Before the leaves have fallen?
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 1st. 2012. - June 4th 2014.
===========================
4..
Human Traffic.
Tinned meat
Pressed into cars and buses
Fly blown in the sun
Travelling can be fun
Free born Human Beings
Trained to taste defeat
Victims of our produce
We are what we eat
Trapped in mobile boxes
We eye a copper sun
And sizzle in the heat
Travelling cant be beat
Reduced to scarecrow fillets
Spit roasted
Overdone
We await the quick denouement
Neatly packaged
Trussed and hung
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 6th. - 7th. 2012. - June 5th. 2014
June 7th. 2015. - January 7th. 2016.
Californian Buddhist Wedding. (Revised Version).
The cicadas in the distant gardens presaged heat.
In those moments the world seemed transfigured by hope
As we stood side by side on the tranquil beach
Hands barely touching;
The silent stars spun a glittering web beyond our niche in time.
Speaking few words
We watched the moonlight shimmering a fragile path
Upon the surface of the waters,
A magical path that few have dared to follow.
Like discarded fragments of our former lives
The stones that we collected on the shore
Were flicked across the tops of breaking waves.
Bad memories should not linger to deceive us.
Suddenly you kissed me,
A tentative kiss, like those that children give.-
Slowly we climbed back up the concrete stairway
And entered the quiet house.
That morning when we whispered our solemn vows
In that Buddhist Temple high on the green hill,
We had been changed forever by simple words.
No secular laws were needed then to bind us,
Only our fearless honesty.
But now grey walled Manhattan claims your time;
And here I sit and watch the London rain
Darkening the cold window.
December nights are long and strangely empty.
The pallid moonlight seldom splits the clouds.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
17th. - 30th November 2012.
5th. - 6th. June 2014.
==========================.
2.
A Fragment.
The fragility of moonlight frosting your face
Reminds me of swans drifting through mist
Upon still waters
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
May 10th. 1984. - September 28th. 2012.
==================================
3.
Dreaming in October.
Dust motes drifting in sunlight
A soft veil of quietude.
Will I hear your footsteps on the garden footpath
Before the leaves have fallen?
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 1st. 2012. - June 4th 2014.
===========================
4..
Human Traffic.
Tinned meat
Pressed into cars and buses
Fly blown in the sun
Travelling can be fun
Free born Human Beings
Trained to taste defeat
Victims of our produce
We are what we eat
Trapped in mobile boxes
We eye a copper sun
And sizzle in the heat
Travelling cant be beat
Reduced to scarecrow fillets
Spit roasted
Overdone
We await the quick denouement
Neatly packaged
Trussed and hung
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 6th. - 7th. 2012. - June 5th. 2014
June 7th. 2015. - January 7th. 2016.
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