Soul mates. (Revised).

By the lakes edge
the flash of electricity in the air,
cracking the night sky apart,
breaking my window.

Your face, caught in the mirror
just before our first kiss
as we crashed out of our loneliness, landing softly together,
free falling through a hail storm of dazzling reflections
that perhaps, were our previous lives;
the Bodhisattvas that came aeons before
the sceptics we now are.
Your face, caught in the fractured mirror;
pale moon between dark clouds.

For years my nights were troubled by inchoate dreams
of a young woman that I had never met,
or at least I do not think so.
                                        Her perceptions were forensic.
She seemed to know every detail of my life style,
the ins and outs of my daily drudge,
and she spoke to me like a wife with many a bone to pick.
This was long before I bumped into you at the Casareccia,
when I nearly dropped my coffee in your lap.

Pseudo Romantics call this Loving at First Sight,
but I might suggest, second sight would be more appropriate,
a thousand aeons of deep knowledge pre dating the kiss
that smashed to smithereens our preconceptions,
and broke every mirror that reflected former times.

Tonight we curl up close, like children out of the rain,
safe home at last after a lousy journey.
But how long has this journey taken? A thousand aeons?
Two thousand?                      
                      Or just a year or two?
                                                  And what does it matter?
Old theories of life and death do not concern us
                     now that we can spend some time together.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 4th. - 5th. - 7th. 2016. February 26th. - 27th. - May 5th. 2017.

At the Breakfast Table.

For a moment
a lovely pattern
inside my sugar bowl
caught my attention.

And then it had gone,
had shifted.

The dark sugar grains
slid
into something far more
ordinary,
more everyday,
simply utilitarian.

Something to make use of.
To dissolve without thought.

Quietly I sip my coffee
and wonder what strange
rare beauty
died to make this moment.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 1st. 2017.

Beyond Love.

Like small mirrors
Your eyes reflecting mine -
My eyes reflecting yours -
We became one person
At that very moment.


Walking side by side
Although ten miles apart -
Although without a phone -
I shiver when you think of me -
Touched by your distant mind.


Does distance improve love?
No - because when we first met
We then became each other -
Not even twins are closer.


The moment that you kissed me
Your heart drowned me in thunder.
And all the bluebells in my tiny garden
Rang out like chapel bells.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 28th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Violette. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Violette. (Revised).: My beautiful friend, The very first person I struggled to walk to When I was an infant. So little remains. Books littered with snapshot...

Violette. (Revised).

My beautiful friend,
The very first person I struggled to walk to
When I was an infant.

So little remains. Books littered with snapshots,
Blurred shadows printed on glossy paper;
Two girls standing in a doorway.

No where can I find your authentic smile,
The waves of laughter that shook the house
When you came to tea,

The vibrancy of your hug.

But these are the things that haunt me always,
Not the print of your name in a slab of marble,
Not the honours heaped on you after death.

In my mind I still see the girl with dark hair
Who swung me up high onto her shoulder
To kiss my forehead.

I could not imagine that you were a soldier,
That in less than eight months the Nazis would shoot you,
Crush your ashes into the rubble

Under the road into Ravensbruk.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 10th. - 11th. 2015. Original, very different version, titled 70 years After VE Day. 
April 25th. - 26th. 2017. Rewritten with new title and new ending.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Maundy Thursday Night 2017. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Maundy Thursday Night 2017. (Revised).: Kneeling in the silent chapel I study the blank walls where my favourite icons should be and sense the infinite shadowing me in a cold ...

This Maundy Thursday Night. (Revised).

Kneeling in the silent chapel
I study the blank walls where
my favourite icons should be
and sense the infinite shadowing me
in a cold wind of absence.

I fear that God is truly dead,
lost in the flickering shadows
where mournful candles burn,
but accentuate the darkness.
I face the vacant spaces
that haunt my inner life,
but I can sense no secret voice,
no echo deep within me,
no sign that I exist.

Faith is all I have to go on living;
Faith is all I have to outface death.
I am not the person I used to think I was,
all vain pretense has been thrown out,
                                            discarded;
chucked out like last years winter fashions.
I am that silent space locked deep within me,
the silent space that is all things and nothing.
Faith is all I have to help me now.

I look forward to this coming Easter morning
when fragile light will swathe the church in
                                                            colours
more varied than the threads in Joseph`s coat.
Such beauty can illuminate deep sorrow,
light up the void within the empty tomb.

The icons will once more be back in place,
shimmering among the ranks of votive candles
like gilded prayers, the gates to paradise
opened for all who seek their truth in art.
And for an hour or two  I may throw off
                                               the heartache,
these bleak corrosive whisperings of doubt.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 24th. - 25th. 2016. - April 16th. - 21st. - 23rd. 2017.
August 4th. 2017. - March 28th. 2018.