Coppelia. (Un Revised Original Version)

Walking at last
A child again
Learning how to stiffly move
From A to B
From chair to table
From bed to door

Walking at last
On wooden legs
On rubber ankles
In shoes of lead
The floor unstable
The walls dissolving

Walking at last
Nothing to hold to
Except a memory
Of times now lost
The door keeps banging
Into your face

Six months stone still
Locked in a coma
Eyes clamped tight
Neck in a cast
Have sapped strong muscle
Curtailed most movement
Stunted the mind -
Sporadic fits and violent seizures
Have broken down your wistful dance

Walking at last
You struggle towards me
Across the Ward
Wide as the world
Frail arms outstretched
A high wire dreamer
Resisting assistance
Fighting the air
A smile in your eyes

I must promise myself not to mention the tears
I cried every night last summer


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 7th. - 8th. - 9th. 2018.

For Ivy, six months in a coma, now returned home.
She is struggling to walk and talks with her eyes.

Trevor J Potter's Art: January Moon, Stormy Night. (Revised)

Trevor J Potter's Art: January Moon, Stormy Night. (Revised): On this windy night The moon, a ghost ship Tossed among clouds. Love Without you                        I am nothing, A counterfeit...

January Moon, Stormy Night.

On this windy night
The moon, a ghost ship
Tossed among clouds.


Love
Without you
                       I am nothing,
A counterfeit persona
Frailer than memory.


The moon, a pale mirror
That reflects your face
Onto my pillow

Shining your mischievous features
As though through a cine projector,


A mirror of tears
Reflecting our lost history,
Our solitudes,
Through miniature rainbows.


Love
When the night sky is pure black
I can sleep soundly
Safe in the sanctum of darkness,


Safe from your laughing eyes
While old age slowly takes me
From the path that we once travelled.


The path I cannot now tread
Except in private dream time,
Memory filtered through shadows;


Our long ago kiss by the lakeside
That moonlit Maundy Thursday
Transfigured into myth.
I, forever lonely. You, forever young.

Love
Without you
                      I am nothing.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 2nd. - 3rd. - 4th. 2018.
July 24th. 2018.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) A Dream of Deep Midwinter. (Revised) (2) Note...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) A Dream of Deep Midwinter. (Revised) (2) Note...: Butter coloured moon, Midnight December, A single light in the coldest of skies Shining above the Christmas rooftops, The bare boned tr...

(1) A Dream of Deep Midwinter. (Revised) (2) Note to Poem.

Butter coloured moon,
Midnight December,
A single light in the coldest of skies
Shining above the Christmas rooftops,
The bare boned trees,
The frosted windscreens,
The silent houses.


Children sleeping on pins and needles,
Bedazzled by Santa,
The thrill of his secrets,
The glint of his spells.
The houses snuggled deep into shadow,
Festive lights behind closed windows
Blinking through the smoke of dreams.


Flimsy curtains of broken promises
Keep at bay the frozen night time,
The implacable solitudes of infinite spaces,
The invisible stars.
We hang up stockings and bolt the doors
This dark and haunted Christmas Eve,
Fearing what we cannot imagine,
Loving what we make believe.


My window ajar, I study the heavens,
Butter yellow moon in a cloudless sky.
A fox slinks by, urbane and crafty,
Avoiding street lamps, moving fast.
Two cats, on guard upon a wall
Scratch the air as he passes;
While in the houses, fast asleep,
Children dream of knights and castles.


I quietly latch the bedroom window,
Then draw the curtains tight.


Trevor John. Karsavin Potter.
December 28th. - 29th. - 30th. December 2017.

Note to Poem.

Our streets and houses are dreams we have created to shut out the real world, the impersonal bleakness of the Universe. We have blotted out the night sky with bright urban lights, only the moon now clearly visible, and our houses have become extensions of our composite personalities, dream worlds purchased with hard cash. When we mourn, the whole house mourns with us. At Christmas time, the house becomes the Spirit of Christmas, or Santa Claus if you so wish. The festivities last until at least Twelfth Night, when we ask the Magi to bless our homes. In truth, Christmas is not finally over until Candlemas. A Happy Fifth Day of Christmas and a Good New Year to everyone.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 29th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1)The Still Hours. (Revised). (2) Today is the S...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1)The Still Hours. (Revised). (2) Today is the S...:               The Still Hours. Two Chinese girls studying porcelain, Their fingers dance with delicate precision. Fragile sprigs of Win...

(1)The Still Hours. (Revised). (2) Today is the Shortest Day.

              The Still Hours.


Two Chinese girls studying porcelain,
Their fingers dance with delicate precision.
Fragile sprigs of Winter Jasmine
Troubled by December wind.

Monochrome porcelain does not change
While century folds deep into century.
Slow wave folding into wave
Then breaking on the shore.

These girls seem wiser than their years,
They almost fear to lift the bowls,
Simplicity loaned to their safe keeping.

Jasmine fades in April sunlight,
Windblown blossom on wet snow
Unnoticed falls.

The porcelain bowl I dropped at school
Chimed like a bell, but did not break.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 19th. - 26th. 2017. 

                    *

 Today is the Shortest Day.


Today is the shortest day;
An ink stain on pristine paper
No razor can erase.

I snuggle tight into my dream
Waiting for a hint of light
To glow between the curtains.

Ice shimmering on a distant lake,
A single streak of winter dawn
Glinting low on the horizon.

A ripe bruising of dark cloud
Dissipates from off the surface
Of a sky chill with silence,
The flocks have long since arrowed south.

Today is the shortest day,
A comma on an empty page,
The story not yet written.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 21st. 2017.