A Miracle on the Northern Line.
The woman with the red hair
Laughing on the tube train,
I do not know her story,
I only know her laugh.
However,
The walking stick held tightly
By the old man sat next to me
Burst into May blossom
When her fingers touched it,
Yet
The old man, being blind,
Could only smell the perfume
Of the yellow May blossom,
That faded when he cried,
So
I tried to save the blossom,
Could only feel the cold air
Sifting gently through my fingers
As I stretched out my hand.
The hot brakes slammed.
Bank for Monument Station.
Familiar faces vanish
In the crowd.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 26th. - 28th. - 29th. 2016.
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Water Lily.
Girl, hair kept long,
Flowing like a river
Over the landscape of her body
Down to the narrow ankles
Tensed, just like a dancer`s
Pirouetting en pointe.
Eyes, equatorial blue with longing,
Peering sadly at the grey shore
Of our northern island.
Eyes, sad oceans, deep with thwarted love.
I watch her sleeping in her narrow bed.
Perhaps she sails that ship she often talks of
To a dark, uncharted land of broken vows,
Far darker than the loneliness that breaks me.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 29th. 2016.
February 25th. - March 3rd. 2017.
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