1.
April 23rd. & All That.
Theatre people do not wait for death,
They strive and play until the final curtain,
Then step aside when the spot lights dim.
Anne Shakespeare did not phone the press,
She simply laid her husband in the dust
Then moved on with her besom and her bed.
When my time comes, play the fife and drum,
Then lay me down among my fellow gypsies,
A dash of greasepaint tarting up my looks,
And at my head place thirty seven books.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 16th. 2016.
---------------------------------------------------------
2.
The Lost Refugee.
Freed from the security of the
torture chamber
Street life frightened him
And he walked alone among the shadows.
Later, on reflection, he thought
It had been so much easier to fall
among cruel thieves
Than to attempt this second birth.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 2nd. - May 1st. 1988.
April 3rd. - 16th. 2016.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
If I were a camera I would zoom in directly On winter trees loud with anthracite crows, The ice white ripples on a cold shallow lake; The da...
-
With you not here beside me Life seems a near blank page With only a comma on it. A solitary smudge of ink Where words should build cathedr...
-
Yesterday I went back home To the land of the White Rabbit, The Griffin, and the Sheep who both Rows and knits, parting the autumn reeds Wit...
No comments:
Post a Comment