Three Poems. (1) Dangerous knowledge. (2) Zen Love. (3) Grace Notes.

                 1.

Dangerous Knowledge.



My friend has posted me a virus.

It is very dangerous
and could perhaps kill.

It is a poem.
Short and vibrant.
Just a line or two.

Maybe it will infect the whole echo system,
Bouncing off ideas along the way
As it infests ancient mindsets,
Destroys cultures,
Evolving infestations in every nook and cranny.

This poem is a love poem.
It is about boy meeting girl.

No guns are mentioned.
Bombs.
No hate filled propaganda.
It is about one small event one quiet Friday
Behind the locked doors of a burnt out library.

This poem must be cut down in its tracks.
Shot like a rabid dog.
Shunted to the morgue.
We just cant have a poet who spins a story
About the real life making of a baby
Cavorting his cantos all over the internet.
Such candour just wont do.

Thus another virus flops.
One more germ is pasteurized.
The latest plague put to flight

Before it shuts down all the valid systems,
Crosses all the wires

Leaving just one amber light.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 5th. - 6th. - 8th. 2015.

Written in response to Facebook not allowing me to read my friends innocent poems.
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                 2.

           Zen Love.


Before the pen touches the paper
The poem is written.

Before the clock strikes the hour
The hour has passed.

Before I met you for the first time
We had loved.

Before the moment you were born
We knew each other.

Your face observed behind smoked glass.

Your voice a distant murmur.

Before you kissed me in the park
Your shadow veiled the sunlit path.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 2nd. - 4th. 2015.
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                      3.

             Grace Notes.        (A Meditation).


I was not aware that night how you dance,
sway like a reed restless in the wind,
sway to the rhythm of my heart.



Perhaps my heart skipped the occasional beat.

Perhaps my heart was not as steadfast as yours.

Perhaps my heart resonates to the thrum of the wind.



I was not aware that night how you dance
although we stepped lightly from sunset to dawn,

I was only aware of your face pressed to mine,

the pulse of your breath on my cheek.



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 4th. - 5th. 2015.
December 12th. 2015.