(1) Stockhausen on the Radio, A fly in the Room. (New Version). (2) Bus Stop.

              1.

Stockhausen on the Radio, A fly in the Room.


The small black dot
Whizzing about this room
Is not a mote in my eye,
It is a single insect, a
speck of ash
Left over from last summer
That thinks now is spring
Not winter,
Not the season of rest,
Of forgetfulness,
And that the kitchen window,
Steamed up and  frosty,
Is the icy face of the sun.

This insect is displaced,
A refugee from distant times,
A hot house country
Beyond recovery,
Beyond imagining.
This buzzing feral dot,
An ink blot on the greyness,
The smoke stained ceiling paper,
Reminding me
That when I chucked my school pen
In extremis
One nerve wracked day in class,
Only that day of many
In the packed and rowdy classroom
Could not be forgotten.

Fly, instinct nags hard at me
That I should swat you dead,
Splat your little head,
Change you into garbage;
And yet we should be friends,
We are both outmoded here;
(Me, four decades passed my prime,
You, a snap shot of September);
So let us keep the peace
Come hard nights and icy weather.
The clocks are ticking fast,
We can squat down in this fusty pad together.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 4th. - 12th. 2016.

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               2.

        Bus Stop.


Girl with a thousand futures,
Why do you look on me so kindly
As I wait here at the bus stop?

I am not exactly God`s Gift,
An old guy wrapped in a rain coat
Who even the whores hurry by.

But I am grateful for your kind looks,
They remind me of that moment
When the whole world was my oyster,
Believing myself young and gifted

Until I prised open the oyster shell
And dared to look inside.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 5th. - 6th. 2016.