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.