Two Poems (1) A Country Wedding. (2) The Guest. (1st. Version).

              1.

When you were born
                          An aviary
Of exotic
                Tropical singing
                          Birds
Flew into your heart
                & set it beating
To the radiant songs of hot summer nights
Sung beneath a garden of stars


A garden of multi faceted blossoms
Reflected in your violet eyes
As we danced
               In the glow
               Of midsummer fires
To the music that only we could hear


Our bare feet kicking through smouldering embers
That for once seemed as cool as autumnal showers


But tonight
                    As I sit alone in the kitchen
Drinking green tea
                    Sharp and bitter
To keep myself awake to write -
I listen to the strange December stillness
Clinging like frost to the window panes
That reveal a landscape denuded of birds -
And I wonder if my memories are simply
                    a story
Imagined to keep the cold at bay
As I sit alone and look back through the
                                                         years
Waiting for someone who may never call


Trevor John Karsavin Potter
November 28th. 2018.

              2.


Curled up in my arms
like a cat
You refused to be moved
                  from my bed
Until you were ready for
breakfast -
A slow walk in the park.

The shoes you left under the sofa
Will you collect them sometime next Fall?


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 30th. 2018.

A Lesson in Seeing.

Sumi-e
That is what my poems are,
A flick of strong colour
On off white paper
Hinting at delicate cherry blossom
Or a mountain sketched in black and white
But seeming more real
Than the actual mountain.

These paintings have soul,
They pulsate with life,
The careful music of Monk, or Bach,
Visualised with the swish of an ink laden brush
By a solitary master
In a quiet house.
Even this robin, frozen in time,
Seems about to chirrup and hop.

I put away my book of instructions,
It would take me decades to paint like this.
Things that seem effortless, as easy as breathing,
Take half a lifetime to achieve.
But at least I have my palette of words,
Thin lines sketched on off white paper,
And with these I can perhaps begin
To tell a meaningful story.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 26th. 2018.

White Porcelain Plate.

The beauty
In a simple plain white plate
Eluded me
Until I watched the moon rise
Above a frozen lake
One still night in November.

A lotus flower unfolding
Did not remind me
Of rebirth and extinction,
Of Buddha or of Christ,
But of a hollow in a beggar`s hand
Held up to me for alms,

Held up to me in greeting.
Held up to me in grief.

A single paper cup
That once held holy water,
But now lies empty
Where the beggar squatted
Is beautiful to me,
More lovely than a curved Champagne glass
Filled to the brim with Blanc de noirs.

Simple things are honest things
I reckon,
We know at once exactly what they are.
Complexity disorientates,
Dazzles the onlooker
Just like a searchlight shone in tired eyes
To shock rough sleepers from their hideaways.

The beauty
Of a simple small white plate
Placed upon my table
Adds a touch of homeliness
To a crowded space
Dominated by my work computer.

I don`t need complexities anymore,
They don`t ring true to life or to nature.
A simple plate may last a thousand years,
A computer is outmoded in six months.
All I need is a clear view of the stars,
Home grown meals, a supply of pens and paper.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
November 15th. - 16th. - 17th. - 19th. 2018.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Street Scene, 9th. Lunar Month 1856.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Street Scene, 9th. Lunar Month 1856.: Studying a print by Utagawa Hiroshige I fall asleep in my rocking chair And find myself quietly strolling through The back streets of Ed...

Street Scene, 9th. Lunar Month 1856.

Studying a print by Utagawa Hiroshige
I fall asleep in my rocking chair
And find myself quietly strolling through
The back streets of Edo.

The people that I meet
Nod politely as I pass;
Their faces, deep in shadow,
Their voices muffled whispers.

Almost invisible beneath the yellow umbrellas
That shield their heads from the evening rain
Gently sloping down from purple clouds,
I sense their eyes are shrewdly watching me
With a delicate precision.

To find a sleep walker in their midst,
A stranger unperturbed by the rawness
Of the autumn evening,
Is an event that breaks all the complex rules
By which they live their lives.
They pass me by as they would pass a beggar,
Or an official they do not care to meet.

The opening chorus of Brahms Requiem
Jolts me awake. I have dropped the book
On the kitchen carpet. I observe it is not damaged
And has remained open at the page
That I was carefully studying
Before I suddenly drifted into sleep.

I pick up the book and re-acquaint myself
With the brightly lit shops and wooden houses,
The neat umbrellas tilted in the wind.
And for a moment I am almost back in Edo,
Strolling quietly through the evening crowds,
An outsider trying to make myself at home.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 12th. 2018.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Schooled by Cinema.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Schooled by Cinema.:                       1 You teach us with machines Wars imagery, Projecting through dark halls transparent dead, Their days of terror r...

(1) Love Story. Revised.(2) A Fragment.

                  1.

          Love Story.


My personal B Class Movie
Flickers through my brain,
Preventing me from sleeping.

A girl who no longer lives
Walks down a street that has ceased to exist,
I stumble and fall at her side.
If we had married would she still be alive?

I remember the dogs barking,
The moon the colour of marigolds
Huge in an autumn sky.

The silence between us was brittle
With a thousand unspoken regrets.

Love tore us to tiny shreds
As though we were paper dolls,

Dolls thrown out by a child
In a sudden selfish fit.

The girl succumbed to opioids.
I rarely leave my home.
We could not have lived together.
We could never have lived apart.

My personal B Class Movie
Flickers through my brain,
Preventing me from sleeping,

Casting shadows on the moon.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 7th. - 8th. - 10th. 2018.

                  2.

       A Fragment.

I cried out my heart,
Only the wind heard me,
And a bird with a broken wing.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 6th. 2018.

(1) Hiroshima Remembered. (2) September 30th. 2018. (3) Phone Call.

Hiroshima Remembered.


Houses of wood and paper,
How beautiful.
How fleeting.

           *

September 30th. 2018.


Not your voice,
Not your heartbeat,
Just your breathe upon my face.

           *

The patio rose
I sent you last summer,
Is it still blooming?

            *

Another autumn,
The sheets are cold,
Faded lipstick on my pillow.

            *

I sat meditating.
When you sang in the kitchen
I laughed like a child.

            *
   
    Phone Call.

You call me.
I pick up the receiver.
You are too shy to speak.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 30th. - November 4th. 2018.