September 1st. 2018. (Completed Poem).

                  1.

Scholars drawing arbitrary graphs
Have decreed the onset of autumn
Although the autumnal equinox
Is more than three weeks away.

I sit in my sun warmed garden
Listening to the hum of bees
Still collecting valuable pollen
From an abundance of summer flowers.

Male spiders criss crossing the patio
Have abandoned their secretive hideaways
To search for available females
Before the cold rains start to fall.

I value the raw beauty of nature,
The uneven flow of the seasons,
Not the politicized systems of men
Designed to make life neat and tidy,

And today, as I sit in my garden
I think of my long ago school days;
I was trained to abide by convention
And not to take note of my feelings,

Or to pack up my books and my pencils
When my heart beat to a different music
Than the monotone patter of teachers
Intoning the approved syllabus:

You must get an A grade in mathematics
Whatever the cost to your health.
You must learn to be a prudent citizen
And uphold the commonwealth. 

Enlightenment was locked up in the library;
Philosophy and ethics expunged;
History lessons were fixated on Hitler;
Einstein equated with nuclear bombs.

                  2.

Listening to the slow breath of late summer
Gently fading as evening approaches
I relax in my sun warmed garden
At ease with myself and the world.

I am no nihilist, but I do mistrust logic
When used in the workplace and schoolroom
To implement a regulated environment
Out of kilter with the natural world.

Half asleep, I now study the spiders
Behaving as arachnids must,
Colonizing my concrete patio
As they seek to increase their species.

This morning I found deep in the garage
A litter of broken webs.
Old homes deserted at daybreak,
Their secrets torn to shreds.

                   3.

September is the saddest of months,
A dying fall pressaging cruel beginnings.
The female spider eats the luckless male
At the very moment they achieve coitus.

The crimson roses in my patio garden
Attain their richest beauty in September.
Soon the buds will turn black overnight
When early frosts cut deeply into them.

But today I sit outside and read my book,
My straw hat tilted to block out the sun.
I study data compiled by erudite scholars
To explain the complexities of global warming,

A nightmare partly caused by urbanisation,
The will to power expressed in concrete towers,
Like those built on the fields I used to play in
When out of school and free to be myself,

A country boy who loved to sleep at nights
In makeshift tents under the spinning stars.-

I put down my book then take a long cool breath.
I sometimes think we should abandon cities,
Live off the land, dwell in mud brick houses,
Accept the fact that we are not so wise.

Compelled by instinct the spiders hunt for mates.
The shadow that I caste does not concern them.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 8th. - 10th. - 13th. - 14th. - October 19th. 2018.

I have only added four more lines, but they complete the poem to my satisfaction.
                               

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Christine.(New Version). (2) On Beachy Head.

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Christine.(New Version). (2) On Beachy Head.:                 1 .          Christine. (New Version). I remember the daisy chain I made for you; You laughing like the small child t...

The End of a Family Holiday.

This morning, Friday, we stood beneath the lakeside willows
Watching two voles wiggle and squirm and slither
Adroitly through the lakeside grasses.
Juveniles on the loose far from the mouthings of mother,
They darted down a slope of mud and twisted vine shoots,
A slope minute to us but of wondrous height to them,
A giant slalom in their world of geese and fishes.-
This is the last day of our family get together;
The suitcases packed, the sandwiches in the freezer:
Tomorrow, at dawn, the day long drive begins,
From Camden Town to the shadows of Ben Bulben.

Last Monday I watched four straw hats bob like coracles
Dipping through shafts of light in the Chelsea Physic Garden,
The compasses lost or stowed.
The zigzag journeys seemed to have no purpose
Except, perhaps, to meander down the pathways
That stretch and curve between contrasted borders.
Sprinklers were scudding rain drops over beds
Of medicinal and malignant crops of herbs
That, when in bloom and sickly rich with pollen,
Become the in vogue hot spots for half of London`s bees.
I once dreamt the Physic Garden was a maze
With the weather beaten statue of Hans Sloane
A tetchy phantom scowling in the centre.

Those artificial rain drops looping through the heat haze
Drench deceitful Belladonnas, the simple Grapefruit Tree,
A mix of Echinacea, Orchids, Borage, the spindly Lavandula,
The unregarded Ice Plant that cures both cuts and coughs.-
Observed by the stern gaze of the stone physician,
I sat and pecked at crisps and crumb flecked apples
While watching the straw hats tack and dip and turn
According to the wisdom of the wearers.
My family look quite raffish in their hats,
Straw boats tilted awkwardly on tides
That ride unruly currents.

This is the last day of our family get together,
Tomorrow the car burns up the road to Ireland,
And I, who will be left behind, at home in North West London,
May walk, from time to time, alone across the Heath,
The chatter of passing strangers            confirming my solitude.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
 August 11th. - 23rd. - 27th. - September 7th. 2018.

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Sad Farewell to Daniel Coffey. (Revised Ending)....

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Sad Farewell to Daniel Coffey. (Revised Ending)....: Farewell old rebel dancer, Dear Breathless Dan, King of the soft shoe shuffle, At last you have broken loose From the iron chains of gr...

Veiled.

Soft, delicate colours.

Summer rain drifting through greenery.

Water glistening on your skin
Reflects the bright face of the moon
Glimpsed through the bedroom window.
Faults in the glass distort the image.

I am sure of few things, sometimes your smile,

The touch of your hand in the dark.

                     *

I wake up with a start,
You are not here beside me.

I walk from room to room in a daze.
The coats are all dusty. You are nowhere to be found.

I was sure you were with me all through the night:
Five years gone by           but you have not altered.

I can still feel the warmth of your hair on my fingers;
Read the depths in your eyes for hours.

                    *

Soft, delicate colours.

Summer rain drifting through greenery.

In a month or two you shall be back here with me,
But the waiting chokes      like a mouthful of sand.
The morning rain cold on my skin,
The wind is stinging my cheek bone.

I turn to the north and whisper your name.

This garden is dappled with memories.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 14th. - 21st. - 29th. 2018.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Three Short Poems For Aunt May.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Three Short Poems For Aunt May.:                           1 .                   Endgame . There are no poems in the eyes of the dead Only the shadow of a sun gone out...

Out of the Ark.

Woodworm,
Deathwatch Beetles,
Carnivorous Ants
All snuggled down discretely
In Noah`s timber Ark,
But never offered Noah
A single word of thanks.

Thus it is
With politicians,
With casual friends,
With Dogs and Cats,
They take what is on offer
Then smartly turn their backs,
Needy eyes fixed on a new horizon.

Naamah,
Lamech`s feisty daughter,
Don`t count my worth in cash,
Don`t pack your shoulder bag
Once my turn is done,
My credit in the wheely bin,
My reputation trashed.
Please don`t make tracks.
I etched a dove upon your wedding ring,
Please take note of that.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 13th. - August 8th. 2018.
Naamah was Noah`s wife. She refused to get into the Ark until the very last moment.