Night Vision. (21st. Century Medea}.
1.
Every night I dream how sad you are
Crying into your pillow
But afraid to pick up the phone
2.
Tawny hair shielding downcast eyes
like a curtain
When you kissed me
But now the mask is in place
And nowt that I do can shift it
3.
I am reminded of that portrait of Germaine Tailleferre
Wearing a small French beret
But the style does not suit you
You seem to be hiding from life
Seem to be always in mourning
4.
Once you were not so shy
Once you were full of laughter
Your dress bunched up for a pillow
The damp hay in your hair
Dark eyes shining brightly
5.
Do you still write home to the children?
Do you still mention my name?
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
15th. April 2015.
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Christmas Eve - Fermanagh. (New Version).
There are no bright colours here -
The sky - pale as a shroud
Soaked in tears -
The sun - a dim white eye
Half closed among vast clouds.
The bone thin winter trees
Reach up like gnarled hands
Pleading -
Old saints desperate in prayer
Their faith undying -
Their epoch slowly fading.-
The blank horizon pressing down
Onto an ancient landscape
Haunted by a thin pale moon.
The hills are full of ghosts -
Dumb echoes of time past -
Dark tales of abject poverty.-
Clouds spread wide like canvas sails
That once drove famine ships.
Awaiting their congregations
The grey stone village churches
Stand like border forts -
Gaunt symbols of partition. -
I was not born here -
But I might as well have been.-
I am at home in a frontier landscape
Where nothing is fixed or certain.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 24th. - 25th. - 30th. December 2014.
January 2nd. - April 16th. 2015.
Edited and revised May 21st. 2015. - March 19th. 2016.
Impressions noted down in Enniskillen and Belcoo.
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