(1) A Dream of Deep Midwinter. (Revised) (2) Note to Poem.

Butter coloured moon,
Midnight December,
A single light in the coldest of skies
Shining above the Christmas rooftops,
The bare boned trees,
The frosted windscreens,
The silent houses.


Children sleeping on pins and needles,
Bedazzled by Santa,
The thrill of his secrets,
The glint of his spells.
The houses snuggled deep into shadow,
Festive lights behind closed windows
Blinking through the smoke of dreams.


Flimsy curtains of broken promises
Keep at bay the frozen night time,
The implacable solitudes of infinite spaces,
The invisible stars.
We hang up stockings and bolt the doors
This dark and haunted Christmas Eve,
Fearing what we cannot imagine,
Loving what we make believe.


My window ajar, I study the heavens,
Butter yellow moon in a cloudless sky.
A fox slinks by, urbane and crafty,
Avoiding street lamps, moving fast.
Two cats, on guard upon a wall
Scratch the air as he passes;
While in the houses, fast asleep,
Children dream of knights and castles.


I quietly latch the bedroom window,
Then draw the curtains tight.


Trevor John. Karsavin Potter.
December 28th. - 29th. - 30th. December 2017.

Note to Poem.

Our streets and houses are dreams we have created to shut out the real world, the impersonal bleakness of the Universe. We have blotted out the night sky with bright urban lights, only the moon now clearly visible, and our houses have become extensions of our composite personalities, dream worlds purchased with hard cash. When we mourn, the whole house mourns with us. At Christmas time, the house becomes the Spirit of Christmas, or Santa Claus if you so wish. The festivities last until at least Twelfth Night, when we ask the Magi to bless our homes. In truth, Christmas is not finally over until Candlemas. A Happy Fifth Day of Christmas and a Good New Year to everyone.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 29th. 2017.