Two Poems. (1) Wintry Wunderland. Revised Version. (2) Mid January Evening, North West London.(Revised).

              1.

 Wintry Wunderland.


A light dusting of morning snow.
Icing sugar on the unswept pathways,
The marooned cars,
The privet hedges,
The winter roses,
Untidy piles of wind blown rubbish,
The sombre relics of a line of trees.
If I place a candle on the garden table,
A festal candle, gold and silver,
I can then, without much niggling trouble
Make believe
The world made new as a burnished platter
Piled high with meringues and Christmas cake.
But the cold wind blowing through my hair
whispers, "Winter is here. Despair. Despair"


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 23rd. - 26th. 2019.
              
              2.

Mid January Evening, North West London.


Milk white moon in a
Smoke blue sky.
The cruel White Goddess, both stone and ivory,
Hauling her secrets across the blank page
Of a January evening.
Frost on the fingertips of the wind.

Mid January evening in Willesden Green.
Desire and deceit,
Greed and fantasy
Bleaching the white lights in the shop windows
To blind would be shoppers
With fierce white lies.
Plastic knives and forks laid
On plastic plates and tables,
These items are perfection, they reflect the lights like silver,
And will surely never break in a million years.

Behind drawn curtains
Of mock Tudor houses
The cruel White Goddess haunts the sad bedrooms
Of on line readers of Mills and Boone.
She mocks the transitions
From adolescence to maturity,
From menopause to old age
With the cut and the thrust of impossible dreams.

Bare trees reaching up to the milk white moon
Bone thin fingers
Bent and arthritic
Imploring the Goddess to bring back springtime
When lovers hugged close beneath green branches
And the breeze was soft as a new shorn fleece.
But the Goddess is mute, she is pure stone and ivory,
She moves oblivious through smoke blue shadows,
A cold white Deity, bleached to perfection,
But fading completely in the morning sun.

I look up at the moon as I stand at the kerbside
Waiting half an hour for a two sixty bus.
She may be just a dead rock that spins round a planet
But this evening she seems both malevolent and holy.

Pale White Goddess, alone but imperturbable.

Frost on the fingertips of the wind.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 18th. - 19th. - 20th. - 21st. - 27th. 2019.