Contrasted Syncopations.

Ballet is the perfect art form.
Poetry is a Cats Cradle of
Tangled threads.

When we spoke sweet nothings
While we snuggled
We were lying.

When we danced together
In the quietness of our bedroom
Our movements told the full story.

Each word
Has too many meanings
To be trusted.
What I thought I meant
Is not what you thought I meant.

The tangled knots of careless words
Are not easily unravelled,

But the lyrical mime of pure movement
Can never be falsified.

Ballet is the perfect art form.
Poetry is a Cats Cradle of
Tangled threads,

Cut them if you dare.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 12th. - 14th. 2019. 

The Villa Sazai. (New Ending). Illustration for the Month of May on my Japanese Calendar.

Why are they looking at the mountain,
These shapely girls who do not show their faces?
Nothing unusual appears to be happening on the distant slopes.

Why are they staring intently across the water
At the rugged cone capped with perfect snow?
The fat man is pointing excitedly towards the peak

Like a sailor spinning yarns of far off lands.
Why do their postures suggest a mood of expectation
More suitable to the dance floor than a stroll on a quiet veranda?

Why are they dressed in blue without exception?
A child is dressed in red, and the seated man in a cloak of vivid green,
But the old woman huddled in the corner is also dressed in blue.

She has trudged for miles, a human beast of burden,
Carrying the pack dropped on the floor behind her.
She has passed this way too many times to count;
This place is where she rests. The view does not concern her.

There is nothing ominous about the choice of colour,
The kimonos match the beauty of the sky,
The pristine sky of a sparkling May morning,

But why are they looking so intently at the mountain? -
There is a legend that in a cave deep in Mount Fuji
Has dwelt for aeons the Bodhisattva Asama,

And no petty mortal is allowed to look on him. -
Perhaps they are dressed in blue to show respect
To a holy power beyond their understanding,

A power that breaks the sword and nurtures peace.
But the faces of these girls are hidden from us,
We can only see their backs and fancy hairdos,

Their eyes will never catch a glance from mine.
And I can never know exactly what they knew.
They remain as secret as the Bodhisattva,

But the face of the old woman tells her whole life story.
She is dressed in blue for a very private reason.
She is dressed in blue because she dare not cry.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
April 6th. 7th. 2019. - Rewritten September 3rd. - 4th. 2019.
Completed January 25th. 2020.

The Hokusai illustration for May on my Japanese Calendar.

View of Mount Fuji Seen from the River Minobu. Month of April.

Trapped on their islands
For the whole of their lives
The merchants trudge the narrow pathway
Beneath the ancient cliff tops
That rear high over their tired heads
Like chiselled gods.

Clouds smoke between rough old mountains
But do not rest their cold weight
Upon the smashed rocks of the pink road
That reaches steeply up towards the skies
From under the shadows of trees.
The trees stand sentinel beside the river.

Searching for grass between the roadside stones
Two horses ignore the tumbling, frothing water,
That rushes closely by their stooping shoulders,
And could easily overpower them in a trice.
A merchant tries to tug the horses forward,
But they are stubborn, lacking food, and need their rest.

Mount Fuji in this picture is an icon,
A serene image of quiet and perfect stillness
Standing aloof above the rush and turmoil
Of the everyday struggle for life.
For a moment the famous view overawes the travellers,
Then they turn their backs and continue on the way.


 Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 25th. 2019.
The Hokusai illustration for the month of April from my Japanese Calendar.

The German Girl Met in St. Stephan`s Green.(Revised).

I wish I could photograph my memories
So that I could show to you
The way I loved your face
The moment when we met.

The sun dappled daffodils
Seemed then to laugh and cry
As you skipped among them featly
Chasing your own shadow.

I stood mesmerised and lonely
In the midst of strangers
Who spoke to me of mundane things
I could not understand.

I was blind and deaf to all things
That were not your voice, your face,
And now, three decades later,
I remain a captive to your grace.

Yes, I wish I could photograph my memories
To show you how I always see you,
Not that sad woman you think you find
When you stare into your mirror.

You are still the girl who danced for me
Although you do not think so.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter/
March 30th. - 31st. 2019.The German Girl Met in St. Stephan`s Green.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on th...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on th...: I do not understand this picture. Have two monks flown in on their crimson carpet Over the pale blue sea and wooden roof tops From dist...

Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on the Road of Tokaido. Month of March. (Revised Version).

I do not understand this picture.
Have two monks flown in on their crimson carpet
Over the pale blue sea and wooden roof tops
From distant snow capped Fuji,
Or are they simply taking their ease on the yellow hump of a hill
And are unaware of their extraordinary surroundings?
And who are these people strolling along the coast road
That leads from Goten - yama to Shinagawa,
Those small stockaded towns sketched with simple brush strokes
Under a misty patina of vernal woodlands?
Are they ordinary country folk trudging to the market,
Or is there some joyous festival in an unseen Shinto temple
Lost among the hills?
The women appear to be dressed in their finest attire
Whatever the burdens they carry on aching shoulders,
But the fat bald man leaning clumsily from his veranda
Seems to have staggered straight out of bed,
And the tall young woman he appears to be addressing
Shows only a polite interest in his words.
I do not think the bald man has much love for heavy work,
Or Zen Buddhists or the ancient Shinto religion,
I suspect that a comfortable life is all he has time for,
That and no trouble from the local Daimyo.

I look a little closer into the picture.

Perhaps the fat man`s house is a sleazy inn,
And the two old monks are not really monks at all,
Just a couple of codgers enjoying the springtime weather
While the young folk wander by on their daily errands.
I think the artist must have been in a holiday mood
When he chose his palate to create this delightful picture,
A picture I could keep displayed on my kitchen door
For a year and a day, not just the month of March.
But it is the pink candyfloss blossoms on tall skeletal trees
That first caught my attention,
Dazzling my tired eyes with a scintillating riot of colour
As I lazily turned the page.
Is such frivolity suitable for the treacherous Month of March?
Well yes, now is the time to dream the death of winter.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 9th. - 18th. - 24th. - 25th.2019.
March 7th. 2020.
The Hokusai illustration for March from my Japanese Calendar.

Shrove Tuesday 2019. (Revised)

Shaking invisible sails across the sky
The storm billows over the rooftops
Drenching the heavens into a uniform spread of grey.
Typical Lenten weather. Few brilliant colours
Spiking through the granite desert hues,
The ashen solemnities of sunless days.
I am not, by nature,  a silent eremite
A vision craving solitary locked into a cave,
But this bleakness makes me want to hide away,
Bury myself in books, CDs and Videos,
Until Easter Day is announced upon the radio
And I can once more sup on cakes and ale.
O England, England, a land of mist and mirrors,
I wish I was on the Rialto among the Carnival crowds.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
March 12th. - 13th. 2019.
Venice has also been my favourite city, but it is now far too expensive to live in.