1.
Miss Price, Her Ballad.
An alert Eagle face,
Eyes calm, yet feral,
Body straight, yet shapely,
So like a slim renaissance angel
Leaning over a river
As though it were a glass.
Legs, graceful as a heron`s
Wading slowly through the shallows
Of a sparkling Asian river,
The hunted fish darting swiftly
Deep into a maze of shadows
Under a copse of tangled reeds.
Legs slimmer, yet more lovely
Than those observed in neat processions
Of sleepwalking cat walk models
Eyes focused on the stars.
They wanted you to join their ranks
But you loved life more than money.
You loved life in the cold fields,
Fingers raw from picking fruit,
Black mud heavy on your boots.
You loved those fields, the goshawks cry,
The leaping greyhounds snatching rabbits
You knocked to death with a cudgel.
You were born to hunt and barter,
Shoe a horse, herd the cows,
Not strut your stuff at fashion shows.
Your choice was right, Miss Josey Price,
And here you laugh and snuggle to me,
Brown as a berry and wise to the world.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 24th. - 25th. 2016.
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2.
Perhaps or maybe not......
The man sitting opposite me is not smiling at me
or at any of the other passengers.
We are scenary,
something to hang the day on.
Perhaps he is smiling at someone he is traveling to meet
on this early morning train,
or the partner he has left at home in bed
in an apartment I shall not visit
except perhaps by chance.
Perhaps he is smiling at nobody at all,
just a furtive image that flicked across his mind
The instant he switched off his phone.
Whatever his motives, his real life situation,
his cheeky smile has spread so broad and wide
it soon fills the whole subway carriage
with a shy ephemeral light.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
First sketched October 25th. 2015.
Completely rewritten May 7th. - 8th. - 9th. 2016.
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