1.
September Dusk.
September evening
The sky like
a Chinese painting
black boughs
dropping
paper leaves
The copper sun
washed out
turning ochre
a bruised apple
burst
on the hard earth
tainted
breaking down
I walk alone in the cold air
trying to get used to my loneliness
It is now six weeks
since you died
Passed
like a withered flower
out of my life
yet tonight
I am sensing
the pressure of your soft breath
nudging my cheek
Your hand clutching mine
warm as a midsummer morning
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 7th. - 14th. 2015.
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2
Cabbage Fly. (Revised).
White as my notepad
I am tempted to write on your wings
A miniature monograph
On the history of flight.
But the moment I enter the Hot House
You seem to get wind of my meaning
And flit right up to the ceiling
Where you sit tight until I leave.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 3rd. - 4th. - September. 10th. 2015.
---------------------------------------------
3.
Love.
Birthday gift
Secret
No more
Ribbons undone
Spread over the floor
A glass of wine
Spilt on the table
A torn cushion
A slammed door
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 5th. - 17th. 2015.
-----------------------------------------
4
The Lion.
"It was a legal hunt"
The white man said.
The lion did not think so.
The lion is now dead.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 7th. 2015.
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