Sword. (Revised).

I raise your Samurai sword.
Unlikely as it seems, I admire the feel of it,
The heft of it,
Weight subtly balanced to your strength,
The dance of intuition
So dominant in your mind.

Only you can master it,
Float it on the air,
Float it like a whisper,
A wordless, wistful sigh.
It is not tarnished with deceit.
It seems a force of nature.

I love the fierceness of it,
The elegance of cold steel
That can slice an infants hair,
Cut a man in two.
The balance is almost perfect,
Allied to your steadfastness,

Just like our bitter sweet love.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 3rd. - 4th. 2017.

(1) Thinking of You. (2) Crows.

                  1.

     Thinking of You.   


Thinking of you.
So sorry.
Just cannot sleep.

Thinking of you
Restless.
Dead leaf. Red bird.

Thinking of you
Sleep walking
Still cannot find you.

Thinking of you.
Heart aching.
Bleak wind. Wet summer.

Thinking of you
By the lake side
Not knowing why.

Thinking of you
Restless.
So sorry.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 29th. - 30th. 2017.
--------------------------------------

                   2

               Crows.


I listen to the cawing of the crows.
The calendar contracts,
The leaves are falling,
November is tomorrow.

I listen to the cawing of the crows.
Time to dim the lights,
Park the car,
Lock all the doors;
At this time of the year I run on empty.

I listen to the cawing of the crows.
They cling like rags
To leafless branches,
Seeing further than I see;
Sounding warnings.

I listen to the cawing of the crows.
My world shrinks to one room.
I close the window.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 31st. - November 3rd. 2017.

Three Meditations.

                     (1)

      Crossing the Stream.


An old man on a broken Bridge.
At dusk he crosses the swollen stream
With long        slow         strides.


                      *

                     (2)

          Chinese Ceramics.


This is where I can meditate,
A room stacked with
Plates, bowls and cups,
Simply decorated,
Reflecting the light.

I sit by myself,
Perfectly happy
Arranging invisible flowers.


                     *

                    (3)

        My Wilderness.


I have allowed a patch of garden to grow wild.
It is now more beautiful than when I mowed it,
Every plant has found its proper place.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 24th. - 27th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Tabula Rasa. (Completed Version).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Tabula Rasa. (Completed Version).: Under the watchful gaze of the philosopher, The weight of his words, She burnt all my letters, My ham fisted hieroglyphs of love On the...

Trevor J Potter's Art: In the Shadows. (Rewritten).

Trevor J Potter's Art: In the Shadows. (Rewritten).: There is a black hole in my consciousness. I do not remember the girl, Only her smile, Her name is a total mystery to me. We spent one...

In the Shadows. (Rewritten).

There is a black hole in my consciousness.
I do not remember the girl,
Only her smile,
Her name is a total mystery to me.

We spent one secret night together:
The Japanese timepiece chimed strict warnings,
A clock work grandpapa on guard in the kitchen.
He was stood by the window to bar intruders.

When I rewind the old clock I remember that night.
The face of a stranger blurred by the shadows,
Her chubby white fingers curled into mine,
Her high leather boots thrown down on the table.

I cannot remember the month, the day or the year.
Did the rain fall? Were boughs thick with blossom?
Did red leaves flutter from skeletal trees?
The silence of snow did not muffle the garden,

This much I can tell you; it was not mid winter.
Blizzards in England always make the headlines,
And folk rarely travel on sharp wintry days.
Black ice stops the buses. Trains block up the sidings.

Perhaps she was Dutch? - French? - Maybe Italian?
Her hair was blonde - mousey blonde - I recal.
I only know she slept in my bed, a real treasure,
But after breakfast she simply walked away.

It was like that a lot in the nineteen sixties.
Sometimes there were phone calls,
Sometimes a batch of well meaning letters,
But more likely a silence, monastic and chill,

The real world had taken its toll.
But this girl seemed different, not like the others.
She would come back on Friday to set things straight,
Before she flew off to wherever she came from.

I cant tell you now if that promise was kept,
The relevant page has been ripped from the diary.
When love becomes rancid a curtain descends,
An iron curtain painted black.

The blank in my forehead is pounding like hell.
All this week her shadow has darkened my dreams.
If I can find out her name I can search on line.
I just cannot find out her name.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 18th. - 23rd. - 24th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Kyoto Temple Garden. (2) A Memory of Kyoto. (3...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Kyoto Temple Garden. (2) A Memory of Kyoto. (3...:                       1 .     Kyoto Temple Garden. Buddha reflected in the water. Two Buddhas in a single moment. One breaks up whe...