1.
Anticipation.
Through the fence a flash of starlight,
The sun reflected off your watch
As you walk towards my house.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 5th. 2016.
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2.
Legend.
Mount Errigal, a hump backed whale
Beached upon a northern shore
Slowly melting into sky.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 3rd. - July 5th. 2016.
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3.
My Honest Roughcast Heroes.
I notice in these photographs a preponderance of shaggy beards,
Perhaps now obligatory for serious poets,
Those cantankerous prophets unsure of man or God
Who roar outrageous jibes at the deaf and dumb,
Or innocuous folk who warily walk on by.
They like to warn non stop, a la Wilfred Owen,
Bemoaning every catastrophe, small or large,
That goes skidding down the byways they drive on
At any given moment, noon or night,
And puts their guru noses out of joint.
But because their audience tends to be peripheral,
Computer jerks, professors, and the like,
They do not seem to haunt the dreams of many,
That is, until a bard is needed quickly
To churn out in the papers, on the telly,
Sentiments designed to edify the throng
In portentous verses, loud and long and empty.
But because their usefulness is superficial,
These Minotaurs of the verb, the studied phrase,
Soon saunter back to being unsung heroes,
The old time oracles of the hi tec world.
But I, not being of a rhetorical disposition,
Light candles for Robert Graves and Sylvia Plath,
Both vertigo sufferers on the crags of love,
And victims of a world spun into chaos.
They learned from diligent practice of their art
That personal poems would always hit the mark,
Expose the whole damn show with one one smart saying,
The raw tip of the poem, an arrow head,
Refined to slice untruth and waffle dead.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 7th. - 9th. - 12th. - August 8th. 2016.
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