The Base of Meguro, Shimo - Meguro. Illustration for October on my Japanese Calendar.

Seen from a distance
Mount Fuji seems tiny,
Smaller than the lone man
Climbing the path
That skirts the wide base of the heights of Meguro
Soaring sheer and absolute in the white morning light.
He carries a straight stick across his shoulders,
The weight of the bundle that hangs from the stick
Seems to unnerve him,
To pull him backwards,
But his gaze is fixed on the climb before him,
He concentrates with the ferocity of an old Zen Master.

Other folk are trudging a different pathway,
Some to - some from the small thatched dwellings
Huddled tightly together
As though they are desperate to keep safe and warm.
This perhaps is a mild day in early October,
But winter storms are now not far away,
And the people walking the pathway near to the village
Wear thicker coats than were usual a month or two back.
But the lone man climbing the steep mountain track
Is dressed in a simple indigo shirt
As though it were still the high days of summer.

The weight of the bundle is pulling him backwards,
But he resists the pull and struggles to climb
The path to the other side of the mountain,
And a clearer view of distant Fuji.
But whether or not he completes his Journey,
And for how many days he trudges the roads,
These things are not for us to decipher
As we carefully study the print in its frame.
The artist has painted one moment in time;
Just a few minutes later then all could be different.
Perhaps the man would be dropping his bundle.
Perhaps he would have walked right out of the scene.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 17th. - 26th. - September 16th. 2019.
Note. When Hokusai made this print Meguro appears to have been very rural, now it is more or less a part of modern day glass and concrete Tokyo. I thought about referring to this in the poem, but it would have disrupted the sense and broken the mood.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems about Time. (1) Butterfly. (2) Through t...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems about Time. (1) Butterfly. (2) Through t...:                            1.                                         Butterfly . Fifty years ago you gave me a butterfly             ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Play. (New Version).

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Play. (New Version).: One moment a Queen, then a prancing pony. A vigilant hound unleashed by a prince forcing a deer from the bosky wood. And then Revenge,...

Monday Afternoon by the Welsh Harp. (Rewritten).

Making love in the park was not a good idea
However romantic the notion may have seemed
Before we put the idea into practice.

The cool October breeze was always going to be a problem,
But the squawking of the Moorhens had never been so loud,
And empty glades mysteriously fill with people
When privacy is looked for.

Our quiet tryst by the local reservoir
Felt like a stop off at a concrete lay by,
And the distant clank of cranes on the new estate
Came nowhere close to rivalling Tchaikovsky
However much you talked about Swan Lake.

That nosey Spaniel with the sodden paws
Cut short our interest in the great out doors,
But when we got home to an empty house
We quickly settled down on the settee
To ginger cake and mugs of Earl Grey Tea.
This proved relaxing, completely free of strife 

So unlike our awkward take on country life.

And the old gas fire hissed out a blast of heat
That frazzled naked stomachs, thighs and feet.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 9th. - 12th. 2019. - December 12th. 2021.

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Villa Sazai. (New Version). Illustration for ...

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Trevor J Potter's Art: Peterloo, August 2019. (Revised Version).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Peterloo, August 2019. (Revised Version).: The blood of the martyrs of Peterloo Wells up anew through tarmac and concrete Pure springs of a river that slowly filters Southwards th...

Peterloo, August 2019. (Revised Version).

The blood of the martyrs of Peterloo
Wells up anew through tarmac and concrete
Pure springs of a river that slowly filters
Southwards through farmlands and city streets,
In crimson capillaries pulsating with anger,
With hope, with despair, with a hatred of tyranny,
With love and respect for both neighbour and stranger,
And an absolute insistence on probity.
The capillaries filter through moorlands and woodlands,
Along the rail tracks and over the airways
Until they seep into the shadowy marshlands,
The suppurating sores of lies and hypocrisy
That weep and bleed deep underneath Westminster,
Defiling our parliament and locking down liberty.
But slowly, slowly, the blood of the martyrs
Will clean these sores, dissolve the gangrene,
Make healthy and strong the Body Politic:
Truth is the backbone that strengthens democracy.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 29th. - 30th. 2019.