England in Extremis.

I have no true home now,
My country has become a laughing stock in Europe,
So I hide my head in shame,
Not wishing to be seen as part of the farce performed
By clownish politicians
In my name.

I do not applaud the antics of red nosed old Etonians
Who would pay half a million
To hear a clock go BONG,
While thousands die unnoticed of malnutrition
And integrity is sold down the river
For a song.

Leaving Europe is not Dunkirk, it is the retreat from Kabul
When there was only one survivor, a starving man astride a mule.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 15th. - 16th. 2019.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems (1) West Country Woman. A Song. (2) The ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems (1) West Country Woman. A Song. (2) The ...:                 1 West Country Woman. West Country Woman, Hair wilder than moorland bracken, Face redder than solstice fire; I will ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Chinese New Year. (Revised Longer Version). (2...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Chinese New Year. (Revised Longer Version). (2...:                Chinese New Year. Plum blossom fragrant with hope. A Swift darts upward into the silk grey sky, A flurry of movements f...

(1) Chinese New Year. (Completed Poem). (2) The Hoarder.

               Chinese New Year.


Plum blossom fragrant with hope.
A Swift darts upward into the silk grey sky,

A flurry of movements frozen in time
No quicker than the skipping of one heart beat.

The skill of the artist has tricked my eyes
To perceive in stillness the essence of speed,

And beyond this moment nothing more is visible,
I assume that tomorrow is not just a dream.


How strange that an artist can create such stillness
With the dancing movements of pencil or brush,

A stillness so vibrant with living vitality
That the painting has become the event it depicts.

The family photos packed into my album
Are smoked glass shadows compared to this.


Trevor  John Karsavin Potter.
January 1st. - 4th. - 9th. 2020.
Derived From the illustration for January on my Chinese Wall Calendar.


                  The Hoarder.


I bought this incense forty years ago;
When I light the sticks they are gone in
                                      five minutes
Leaving a pile of ash.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 1st. 2019.

A Pattern of Veils. (Revised).

Soft delicate colours.

December rain drifting through greenery.

Droplets glistening on your skin
Reflect the bright face of the moon
Observed floating above a sheen of clouds.
Faults in the glass distort the imagery,
Trees and houses outside our bedroom window
Could be the fleeting shadows of an underwater city.

I am sure of few things, sometimes only your smile,

The touch of your hand in the silvery dark.

                                *

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

I walk from room to room in a somnambulist daze.
The coats are all dusty. The hats have turned grey on the hangers.

You are nowhere to be found.

I was sure you were with me all through the frosty night:

I can still feel the warmth of you hair on my face and my fingers;
Remember the light in your eyes when we made love.

                                 *

Soft, delicate colours.

December rain drifting through greenery.

I walk out into the garden to look for the last of the roses.

In a month or two you should be back here with me,
(Your aunt has informed me you have a date on your calendar.
Your passport in order. Your freedom to travel permitted).
But this endless waiting distorts time. The kitchen clock ticks slowly.
It is only five years, but it feels more like one hundred.

The morning rain cold on my bare skin.
The wind is stinging my cheek bone.

I turn to the north and shout out loud your name.

This garden is dappled with a patina of memories.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
Sketched 14th. - 29th. August 2018.
Reimagined and completed 30th. December 2019.
For Ivy, dreaming of a happy and settled New Year

Trevor J Potter's Art: September 1st. 2018. (Completed Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: September 1st. 2018. (Completed Poem).:                   1 . Scholars drawing arbitrary graphs Have decreed the onset of autumn Although the autumnal equinox Is more than thr...

Three Poems Written on Christmas Day.

The Complete Poems of Li Ch`ing - chao.


   This little book of poems in my pocket,
A whole way of life sheltered from the rain;
             Black lines on white pages.



                        Missing You.


Last night when I opened the window to touch the rain,
        Your tears ran down my cheeks, cold and salty,
      As though your face was pressed up close to mine.
        And yet our home was emptied of your laughter
      So long ago                        I cannot count the days.

         Christmas without you is no longer Christmas.
            This little book of poems that you gave me
              Is now a mute reminder of your absence.

                Black lines printed onto fragile pages.

        Streaks of winter rain course down the window.



                           The Simple Gift.


          This little book of poems that you gave me.
                Petals falling like a shower of snow.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
25th. December 2019.