I Don`t Want. (A Fun Poem).

I don`t want a television.
I don`t want a mobile phone.
I only want a friend to sit with
So that I am not alone.

My cat was very nice to me.
My cat was very fat.
But now my cat has gone away
Leaving a vacant mat.

I don`t want a radio.
I don`t want a DVD.
I only want a black eyed lass
To snuggle up to me.

Meantime I sit here all alone
Staring at the floor,
Too out of sorts to read a book,
Or step outside the door.

My dog was very nice to me.
My dog chewed up the post.
But now my dog has gone away
Leaving me to learn the worst.

I don`t want a television.
I don`t want a mobile phone.
I only want a live in friend
Whom I could call my own.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 2nd. - 23rd. 2017.

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

Trevor J Potter's Art: Tussy. (Revised).: Tussy was not buried, Not swaddled by black earth Evolving into hillocks and                         dark hollows Gradually, season by ...

The Grave of Anne Bronte.

They have given Anne a new memorial.
The epitaph I could read when a child
Is now crumbling back to sand,
Just like the nearby castle
And the very cliff it rests its weight upon.
The lead words chipped and broken,
Pulled away by the wind and rain
That slants across the steep brow of this hill
Like a cold veil between now and the eternal,
Between today and yesterday,
And the ghostly shadow that we name "Tomorrow".

The new memorial is a plain and simple stone
Set in concrete atop the little mound
That hides mortality from the always grieving,
From the eyes of pilgrims seeking solace,
From the boot prints of the casual tourists.
Rubbed out by the weather, the new words will also
                                                                      vanish,
Though probably not as quickly as the original.
Words cut into stone rarely last as long
As printers ink impressed upon cheap paper.

Anne was the Bronte we often underrate,
Although she was the fiercest of the clan,
Speaking truth with words that really hurt
Folk who hate it when the truth is spoken.
Her honesty has brought me to this grave yard
To sit and mourn her youth, but also to imagine
That I can be as honest as she was,
And not to hold my tongue when times get tough.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 26th. -28th. 2017.
Scarborough. 

Grenfell Tower.

The taste of smoke in the wind

Burnt plastic
Burnt wood
Burnt people

The taste of ashes deep in the mouth

The embers of terror
Of total annihilation

The blackened tower above the rooftops

A scorched carcase
The bones of perdition



Heralded by sirens
By ten thousand alarm bells

Police cars
Fire engines
Wheels screeching on tarmac

By helicopter blades

By distraught mothers shouting down cellphones
HELP
HELP
HELP
HELP

Their children pushed through wrenched out windows
From burning ledges
The molten rooftop
Into the outstretched arms of strangers

Heralded by sirens
By speeding ambulances
By flashing lights
By falling debris
The midsummer sun cuts through the smoke haze

With the implacable indifference of nature


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 20th. - 21st. 2017.

Once or twice I visited a beautiful Sufi woman who lived on the 17th. floor.
This was twenty or more years ago. She was a close friend and Sufi guide to
a friend of mine. I have had no news. I do hope she is safe.

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Sterile Area. (New Long Version).

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Sterile Area. (New Long Version).: Between truth and lies, Fantasy and Reality, The Sterile Area X Rays all things With the white light Of the void. Here I spend my tim...

Late Night Impressions.

You in the night.
Your anger never leaves me.

              *

One Tulip in a vase.
Death made elegant.

             *

Asleep in your wagon.
Your guard dog between us.

              *

Your face in the moonlight.
The scent of damp leaves.

              *

The vase is made of pewter.
The Tulip is fading.

              *

Our bodies almost touch.
Our minds so far apart.

             *

On the brink of the dawn
The silence seems to deepen,

Fill up with darker shadows.

             *

Oh how I miss your voice.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 17th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Tussy. (New Revised Version)

Trevor J Potter's Art: Tussy. (New Revised Version): Tussy was not buried, Not swaddled by black earth Evolving into hillocks and                         dark hollows Gradually, season by ...