(1) Two Love Poems, Perhaps.. (2) Weekdays on the Northern Line.

                     1.

Two Love Poems, Perhaps..


My little white yacht,
Beached on the shore of my heart.
Please do not sink little boat.
Please please please do not sink.


                     *


My little white bird
Perched high up in a window.
Your wings are clipped, little bird.
If you flap them hard you may fall.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 20th. 2016.
Written while listening to Erik Satie.

---------------------------------------

                    2.

Weekdays on the Northern Line. (Random notes scribbled on a journey).


The red blue and silver anaconda
Slid out of the tunnel,
A nightmare inflicted on the poor of London
Slicing through a deep moist wound.

How can I write love poems on the Underground
When such conceits come readily to mind?
The stations rattling by in the permanent darkness,
Linked by an unravelled loom of wires.

Perhaps the pulsing membranes deep beneath our skins
Are the best metaphors we can have for love?
A shadow clouding a face can mean many things,
But a look of pain is more loving than a smile.

I crouch low in my seat, trying hard not to be there,
My book left opened at "rode down to Camelot".
This subterraneum universe of whey faced people
Only comes to life when the lights go out.

I dream of gothic towers edged with beaten gold
Glinting under pale enamelled skies,
The world on the surface is made of steel and glass,
No chance that Elaine could encounter Lancelot.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 17th. - 18th. 2016.