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

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dante and Beatrice in Florence. Poem No.2..:       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: Dante and Beatrice in Florence. Poem No.1

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dante and Beatrice in Florence. Poem No.1:               Distilled fear terrorises this vision of perfection, A tumult of lonely confusion snagged on the townscape Like a fraught d...

Delayed Spring. (Revised).

A week of snow prophesied.
Sirius scratching a chill clear sky
Confirms the weatherman,
His crystal ball proved accurate.

You say you want to move in with me?
Your camper not fit for purpose,
The motor defunct.
Parked under a grove of icicles,
The makeshift roof half off.

Yes, you had better move in with me;
Your presence on the sofa in the front room
Would make my house seem cosy,
Would bring the glitz of Eden that much closer.
And besides, you are not really a country girl,
Although you were born in a wagon,
The moon glinting through old lace.
Out in all weathers is not your style,
And we both hate living like hermits.

Yes, you had better move in quickly,
The heirloom that your grandmother gave me
Would easily fit your finger,
And you wont run off with my cash
The moment the weather turns fine.
Your honesty is not overrated,
You would rather starve than steal.

So burn that old camper, sell your dogs and chickens
To the lady who lives down the lane,
She will give you the price of your ticket.
Even if the snow should last a full year
Your smile will awaken my garden.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 26th. - 27th. - April 30th. - May 1st. - 4th. 2018.

Birthday Blues.

This is the birthday my mother never reached,
The birthday that she most looked forward to.

This morning I study my face in the steamed up mirror.
Not too young. Not too old.
But perhaps my features are just a mask after all,
An actors mask designed to show a calm
That I have rarely felt, or rarely looked for.
For seventy five years I have been marooned on this planet,
The raging storm my natural environment.

My attempts at humour are usually oafish,
But no thing is permanent, no thing can stay the same.
These hands that once danced easily upon the cello strings
Are now twisted out of shape,
And music is something I can only dream about.
I listen to unaccompanied Bach on the radio
And mock my inability to play one coherent note.

Tomorrow I shall go and study the paintings of Monet,
Perhaps his painterly eye for the natural world
Will fill me with wonder, calm my anger at time,
But more likely not.
I shall be in a part of London I lived in when very young
And all the people I knew then are just photographs in my album.
I have long ago given up looking for friendly faces
In the hectic squall of the throng.

This is the birthday my mother never reached,
The birthday that she most looked forward to.
This morning I study my face in the bathroom mirror
And wonder if she would recognise me now.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 26th. 2018.
My mother died just three weeks short of her seventy fifth birthday in 1991.

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

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

Trevor J Potter's Art: Chinese Box.(Two Poems).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Chinese Box.(Two Poems).:       Chinese Box. No.1. No sun. No moon. A temple carved from soft wood. Two white herons on the water. Black sky. Black stream.  ...

Caliban. (Companion poem to "Miranda" and to "Prospero").

Hi Miranda,
I Caliban am not your servant,
That is Ferdinand,
That frail wimp of a log carrier
Lodged in my mother`s cave,
The shackles cutting his ankles.

He is just a pawn in your father`s game,
Another victim of White Man politics
Who must marry you
Just to keep the peace
Between two ageing brothers.

Meanwhile I shall continue to play the fool
In his snotty nosed presence,
That Ferdinand,
Bowing before him as he tends the dung fire
Before I sneak off to your bedroom.

We have been together for quite some years,
Miranda,
And I don`t see why we have to break up
Just because of an arranged marriage
Brokered by Prospero, your irate father,
That Boss Man with the straggling grey beard.

Mother Nature is far stronger than Politics,
She has never carried a health warning,
A codex of rules, Miranda,
And besides,
Your father is merely a Book Bound Magician,
He has to read up every spell before he castes it,
Wasting a boat load of candles.
My Egyptian mama could not read nor write
But she taught me the secrets of our magical island.

So remember Miranda, when you set out for Milan
I shall be sailing along under cover,
Stowed away with the luggage and cattle,
The books I will save from the library.
I shall teach you how to keep secrets,
How to climb out of windows at midnight
To meet up with me, and my messenger Ariel.
That brave new world you will enter
Cannot now be complete without me.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 13th. 2018.