Multi Cloured Leaves: In Memoriam Vivienne Westwood. (Revised).

Multi coloured leaves are falling - falling,

Floating down stream, the water calling them

With wistful songs, known to every flower and tree,

To horses, birds and foxes.

Children too are sensitive to these sounds,

That is until we adults shout them deaf.

Perhaps Ophelia, so sensitive to plant lore, 

Heard this wistful music and chased its thread

Almost to the depths of the Atlantic.

Vivienne heard it too, but sang it out raucously

While weaving brilliant colours, more stunning than 

                                                             plum blossom

Seen from a window after mist has faded.

Multi coloured leaves are falling - falling:

Truth is beauty, but is not always the loser.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

December 30th. - 31st. 2022.

Lost from the Lights of Christmas: December 1965. (Revised Ending).

 Her remembered voice seems to haunt these streets,

The stucco terraces and tree lined pavements

Transfigured into white light by the chill

Of frosty winter mornings.

Was it New Year, or the short days after Christmas,

When we last cuddled up beneath old bedding,

Her pregnant belly warm as a summer evening,

The child within fidgeting like a kitten,

Or a sleeping lioness longing for the sun?

Was it then, or just a few weeks earlier?

After sixty years recollections become less vivid.

We felt as though there was no room at the Inn,

Outsiders watching the stars dissolve in snow clouds. 

Her husband permitted these secret trysts, for some reason;

Perhaps he understood the depths of love,

Or was it that he guessed how short the time we had 

And needed this reconciliation.

Meanwhile, in the streets outside, daily life went on,

So like a mindless clock measuring the hours

But not able to calculate the reason.

The following summer she died, but not before shaking

The somnolent wards awake with one last laugh.

She had spied her baby giggling 

At radiant pools of sunlight floating on the walls.

"If I dared be as innocent as my wee bairn,

Then surely death would not be such a problem".

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

28th. - 29th. December 2022.

The Fourth Wise King Explains his Motives.

Speaking soft words to the quiet dark

I attempt to meditate upon tomorrow

But find only a loneliness

Bleaker than the arctic wastes. 

If I were a wise king searching for enlightenment

I do not think that I would trust

A weirdly dazzling eastern star

That illuminates a small cave in war torn Bethlehem.

But I would listen to my inner voice

As I hovered on the edge of sleep

And therefore imagine it said in dreams

That miracles always lead to trouble.

But when curiosity has forced me awake

It seems that I might outface my loneliness,

Pack my bags in the freezing dark

And set out to study that star,

But understand this, this would be for science,

Certainly not to discover a Saviour;

I can never guess answers before I set out,

And always doubt what I see.

Yes, I admit, the others were right,

They trusted their instincts and did not look back:

I am still on that journey, so it now seems,

But its not in my power to confirm this in speech.

Yet when I sit silent in the quiet dark,

What I dare not understand begins to make sense.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter,

December 21st. 2022.

According to some ancient legends twelve Wise Kings set out to follow the star, but only three made it to the Bethlehem stable to offer their gifts to Jesus. I identify here with King No. 4 because he had many doubts and yet had a modicum of faith.

Far West Dreaming.(Completed Poem).

This sympathy for The Outlaw -

Where does it come from?

I would have hated to have been Sundance -

Holding up mail trains and robbing banks -

Rampaging through bordellos with Pinkerton

                                                  on my tail,

I am too much of a hermit for that sort of thing,

A Zen Buddhist with a liking for old Jesus,

(I love Tenebrae but don`t fetishize the theology).

But to ride a half wild pony across the prairie,

That is my perfect heaven;

The dawn wind hitting my bare face -

The raw sun burning my cheek bones:

And every bird and tree and cloud so wondrous

I would never crave to enter a city again. 

Trevor John Karsavin Potter,

16th. - 17th. December 2022.

A Cold Awakening. (Now Revised and Rewritten).

A flash of white light stings me awake.

I throw off the sheets and break the ice,

Peel back the curtains away from the glass

And stare into the garden.

Such dazzle of snow is a shock that stuns,

Knocks me out like ice in the eyes

Whipped up by a speeding sleigh.

The sky is a fierce miracle this morning, 

A concave mirror, diamond bright,

Brilliantly blue, but chill as the arctic.

Perhaps I can lob a stone to shatter it,

Skidding the stone across the surface,

Crazing clear space. A broken window

Somehow staying in place.

 

 Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

15th, - 16th. December 2022.

Pictures for December Nights.

 

Aztec Fish.

Retrieved from a block of clay

An unknown fish,

Extinct, or simply unobserved

By Mexican scientists who search 

The blacked out depths

Of the deepest pits in the Atlantic.

Perhaps it was born the colour of the red earth

And was promoted to godhood by the Aztecs

Because of this weirdness,

Or perhaps not.

All that can be said for certain

Is that this is a very odd fish.

And will not be found laid out with the salmon in Harrods

Anytime soon.

Trevor Jon Karsavin Potter.  

1st. December 2022.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Chinese Porcelain. (New Version). (2) On The D...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Chinese Porcelain. (New Version). (2) On The D...:                   1 .     Chinese Porcelain. Reflected in the mirror behind us As we set up another selfie, The collection of earthe...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Red Bird. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Red Bird. (Revised).: My poems are pictures  painted with words, and not true poems. For example - Aware of the intensity of sunlight as July approaches I rejoice...

Adapted Surfaces.

When I was a child and adolescent in England in the nineteen fifties and early sixties, abstract art was taboo. So called modern artists were mocked by cartoonists in the tabloids, especially Picasso who had had the temerity of discovering cubism three decades before I was born. Unbelievable as it may now seem I read a news magazine article attacking Cezanne when I was in my late teens or early twenties. I felt an outsider at that time because I loved progressive art. I had met a number of progressive artists , including Picasso, before I was twenty, and knew that I was with them and not the tabloid fuddy duddies. But the old prejudice against modern art has scarred me, and when I rub and scrape raw paint into a rough wooden surface I sometimes suffer a pang of guilt because I am not painting a sweet landscape or making a detailed sketch. Sorry conscience, I paint what I paint because I love doing it my way; and the same rules apply to how I write my poems. Get over it.

 

A Mid Winters Night`s Dream. (Revised).

Melancholy conifers command the ridge,

Four weeping queens crying out to Theseus,

"Our husbands lie unburied.

Ravens crowd out the sun".

Four hooded queens, bruise black their dresses

Torn and bloody, trailing in the mire

As they shriek and holla for justice to proud Theseus

When he rides out to his wedding.

Then after the first act the queens depart,

Their wrongs righted,

Their wealth restored,

Their husbands buried deep in homeland clay,

Their enemies routed,

And Theseus, having fought the good fight for them,

Can once more ride out to wed Hippolyta.

And for the next two hours the honest jailers daughter

Goes mad with love for Palamon,

An escaped prisoner in love with Emilea.

He had fought for Creon against the wily Theseus

In the war of the unburied kings.

And the audience is all agog at the jailers daughter,

Forgetting the weeping queens, who started the story

That led to her imagined romance.

I have forgotten to mention Arcite`

And his fall from the bucking horse.

Its the jailers daughter whose candle we tend to carry.

We picture her in our local spilling pints of sadness,

Her voice so loud it blocks all conversation,

But tonight, for some reason, these ageing conifers,

Bent double by the push and pull of the weather,

Remind me that the queens requests for justice

Created yet another pile of corpses.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

28th. November 2022.

A brief synopsis of The Two Noble Kinsmen - plus the conifers.

Riposte. Song in my Old Style. (Completed Version)

Oh my Josey Blue

You just don`t get being true

So how can I settle with you?

Oh my Josey Blue.

Oh my Lady Blue

You know that one and one make two

But think that six from two will do,

Oh my Lady Blue.

Oh my Josey Blue

What I hear aint what you do

So how can I be square with you?

Just what`s the deal? I thought you knew.

Oh my Josey Blue,

Just can`t say, "I cherish you".

Trevor John Kaesavin Potter. 

24th. November 2022.

My New Wooden Buddha.(Revised and Completed).

Images shape a truth in space

                                          and time

With such strict clarity and power

That words fall silent - lose all purpose -

                                    rhyme  or reason 

Become tongue tied like children caught

                                          red handed,

Their pockets crammed with sweets and 

                                                 cigarettes.

Wood is a coarse grained medium to work

                                                             with,

And few plying chisel, lathe or plane

Can reveal the mystery of life distilled in

                                                  stillness,

Or a moment of music seemingly withheld,

Even though the secret songs the tree once

                                                     whispered

To wildwood friends and parkland neighbours

Remain embedded deep in root and branch. 

Perhaps it is these ancient forest songs

That this hand carved Buddha seems to be in touch with

As he sits - an icon of quietude -

In the room where I display my paintings and my books.

But he is not simply a work of art - he is too alive in his 

                                                                    stillness,

His absolute powers of concentration

Made visible by the raw skill of the artist

Who shaped him from the rough wood - revealed his quiet

                                                                                    heart

Still beating deep beneath the polished surface.

And the smile on the face of this Buddha seems so ancient

I am almost sure it was formed before time existed,

Poem by. Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

16th. - 18th. - 24th. November 2022.

Lingers deep within the carvings core.   

Red Nude.

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mill Hill Ridgeway. (Newly Completed Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mill Hill Ridgeway. (Newly Completed Poem).: (The greenest of suburbs are haunted by ghosts) I love to walk in these fields at midnight, Feel the earth breathing beneath my feet, A...

(1) Graphite on Wood. (2) Kitchen Conversation. (3) Red Swan in a Blue Sea.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Three Pictures, (2) Poem of The Dis...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Three Pictures, (2) Poem of The Dis...: How my life felt to me aged 10 How my life feels to me now. Poem of The Dispossessed. I reside where chaos and order collide In an abstract ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dream Houses . (Poem and Pictures).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dream Houses . (Poem and Pictures).:   Sleeping alone these autumn nights I snuggle up in my box of dreams, My private alternative universe Smaller than a nanosecond - Larger th...

Dream Time. (2nd. Revision). Poem and Pictures.

 

Dream Time.

Sleeping alone these autumn nights

I snuggle up in my house of dreams,

My private alternative universe

Smaller than a mausoleum -

Larger than a womb of stars

Drifting deep in Andromeda,

This is where I am truly free,

Out of sight and out of mind.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter,

October 19th. - 23rd. 2022.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mill Hill Ridgeway. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mill Hill Ridgeway. (Revised).: (The greenest of suburbs are haunted by ghosts) I love to walk in these fields at midnight, Feel the earth breathing beneath my feet, A...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dante and Beatrice in Florence. Poem No.2./ Dante ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dante and Beatrice in Florence. Poem No.2./ Dante ...:       Distilled fear terrorises this vision of perfection, A tumult of lonely confusion snagged on the townscape Like a fraught dream that...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems for Children. (1) The Wodwo. (2) For voi...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems for Children. (1) The Wodwo. (2) For voi...:               1 .      The Wodwo. I am the Wodwo. I am neither a tree nor a man, Sand nor water. I am neither spirit nor corporeal, ...

Zen Lake / Zen Swan. 1 Poem & 2 Paintings. (Revised and Completed).

Painting without planning every detail, 

Just letting the brush move over surfaces

Of untreated wood or clean white paper:

Following the grain of the rough cut wood,

Gliding over the smoothness of the paper

Until images form of their own accord,

Shaped by a sensitivity to the moment

And materials that come to hand.

Without planning I know when the work is finished,

Like the chord in a symphony that resolves all tensions, 

Or the shadow of a frayed leaf caught in a stream

That is slowly ebbing away.                            

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

14th. October 2022.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Seventeen 2020.(Illustrated Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Seventeen 2020.(Illustrated Poem).: I notice you are now in high heels. Tall as a flamingo. Frightening the boys. You zap their self confidence with a laugh. When I was youn...

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Note for my Diary. (Newly Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Note for my Diary. (Newly Revised).: A book of Chinese poems on my lap I sit in the church waiting for the clock to strike. Today is a day for reading. Yesterday, a day for...

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Discarded Photograph.(Completed Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Discarded Photograph.(Completed Poem).: When, by chance, I picked up the photograph, I thought I had picked up a portrait of you Laughing by the seaside, but private, as you       ...

Coal Jug. (Painting).

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: First Hint of Autumn, Spring Recalled. (Completed ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: First Hint of Autumn, Spring Recalled. (Completed ...: Autumn. Old folk remember their schooldays, Chasing a ball in the street, Kicking their shoes through the leaves. Like bulbs pressed down in...

Red Returns More Powerful than Blue.

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: First Hint of Autumn.(New Revision).

Trevor J Potter's Art: First Hint of Autumn.(New Revision).: Autumn. Old folk remember their schooldays, Chasing a ball in the street, Kicking their shoes through the leaves. Like bulbs pressed down in...

First Hint of Autumn, Spring Recalled. (Completed Poem).

Autumn.

Old folk remember their schooldays,

Chasing a ball in the street,

Kicking their shoes through the leaves.

Like bulbs pressed down into leaf mould

It was time to mature and flourish,

A chill sun burnishing cheek bones,

A cold wind blurring the view.

Cool but savvy, Spring sloped in when the light changed,

Bringing warmth to our streets, now swept clean,

Not by brooms, but by snow-melt and showers

Transforming pavements into streams,

Sometimes as deep as our ankles;

Sometimes barely damping our heels.

Autumn.

Old folk remember their schooldays

With a symbolic shrug of the shoulders;

Sometimes with nostalgic lies. -

Next February Snowdrops will tear through the frost lace,

But before then a whole world dies.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

September 26th.- 27th. - 28th. 2022.

October 6th. 2022.

Two Abstracts.

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Two Pictures, (2) Poem of The Dispo...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Two Pictures, (2) Poem of The Dispo...: How my life felt to me aged 10 at the time of the Queen`s Coronation. How my life feels to me now at the time of her Funeral. Poem of The Di...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Two Pictures, (2) Poem of A Terrifi...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1).My Life in Two Pictures, (2) Poem of A Terrifi...: How my life felt to me aged 10 at the time of the Queen`s Coronation. How my life feels to me now at the time of her Funeral. Poem of A Terr...

(1).My Life in Three Pictures, (2) Poem of The Dispossessed.(Poem Now Revised).

How my life felt to me aged 10

How my life feels to me now.

Poem of The Dispossessed.

I reside where chaos and order collide

In an abstract city of concrete and steel, 

The alleyways littered with junk and glass.

I balance on a knife edge of joy and fear,

Balance on the hardened point of the knife

That can dissect a man,

Skin a shark. 

This is my life from hour to hour

Poised like an acrobat on a wire

Slung between two concrete spires.

The fields I romped in when a child

Too soon ploughed up to build this city.

Tonight I watch a coffin pass,

Driven in silence through wintry rain,

A plain wooden box filled with echoes

Of what a life could have been.

Echoes of days when Larks soared and sang.

Echoes of a trapped man screaming out loud.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. September 14th. - 15th. 2022. October 23rd. 2022.

Trevor J Potter's Art: After The War, A Child`s View of Events..( Complet...

Trevor J Potter's Art: After The War, A Child`s View of VE Day..( Complet...: The morning after hostilities ceased Our home could no longer contain The memories we had made there, Even the wind moved on tip toe Through...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Driving at Speed Through a German Wood.( Newly Com...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Driving at Speed Through a German Wood.( Newly Com...: Driving at speed through a German wood. Sunlight flashing between tall trees Sudden glints of white steel That hurt my eyes as I stare throu...

Unsettled Weather. (Revised).

Ink blue sky.

Houses reflecting the afternoon light

Are whiter than paper.

The late summer heat, solid as marble

Without a single flaw,

Holds me back.

I cannot think - or write - or paint in

                                      this weather,

Clarity of sunlight does not sharpen 

                                   the imagination

Like the onset of summer rain.

Moist grey shadows drift across 

                                            landscapes

Darkened by low cloud.

Mud clogs my shoes, 

But I can walk for miles in such weather,

Observing a revitalized world;

The wind ransacking through tree tops;

Wild water tumultuous in gullies.

This is the world as I love it,

Heartland of the northern gods.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

4th. - 6th. - 7th. September 2022.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Thinking of Nina Hamnett. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Thinking of Nina Hamnett. (Revised).: Your body draped across the spiked railings, A sleeping bag heavy with broken dreams Dropped from a bedroom window. - Drama was always your ...

Not in MY Name.

Protesting against the career of Boris Johnson,

First as London Mayor then as the British Prime 

Minister responsible for wrecking the economy

and moral standing of his country through Brexit

and the attacks on human rights, merely to foster

his own personal interest. This is a graffiti style

panel slowly created over twelve years of outrage,

anger and growing despair. I do not like this as

a piece of art, but it relates how I feel about the

degradation of my once vibrant country. Sadly it

seems that ugly events create an ugly response. Oh

bring back Atlee  and Bevan. Oh bring back the

creative vigour of the 1960`s and the early 2000`s. 

This pastel shows the despair I have felt during these dark soulless years.