Japanese Weeping Plum Trees. (Revised).

Weeping plum trees;
Rain of blossom and fragrant wood
Sweeping out the grit of winter.

We walk beneath the swaying trees;
Small birds feeding in the branches
Scatter blossom on our heads.

We need not plan an Easter wedding;
The falling blossom, the budding leaves
Are all the blessings that we need.

Last time we saw Kameido Tenjin
The fruit was soft and ready to eat.

Bitter sweet these fragrant trees,
Burdened with the weight of flowers
That bloom and fall within one week.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
7th. - 8th. March 2020.
Kameido Tenjin Shrine in Tokyo has a wonderful garden, the high arched bridge is famous.  My mother was in love with Japanese culture, and taught me much about costumes, flower arranging, the wonderful wood block prints. When my school friends only knew about jungle warfare I was learning about Zen Buddhism, Shinto and the Spring festivals. My mother kept her kimono through the war years. I now think I had the better education.

The Unexpected Gift. (New Poem).

Until then we had lodged in small bedsits,
Loners who steered clear of strangers.
We hated fairgrounds and parties;
Dance halls and pubs.
We preferred to stay in to watch game shows,
Holed up and alone at weekends,
Reality ditched at the back door.

But to me you are an open book,
(As I hope I am open with you).
Two people - two books - one story;
One script only we can decipher. -
When we met, just by chance, in the stairwell,
We stood and just looked at each other,
Looked for an hour without speaking,
In a semi hypnotic trance. -
In that silence I learned your whole story,
And it seems that you also learned mine.

"I too need some truth", you whispered,
And I knew, without asking your meaning,
That from then we could not live apart.


Trevor John Karsarvin Potter.
7th. - 10th. March 2020.
22nd. March 2021.

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...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Shrove Tuesday, February 2020. (Re Written)

Trevor J Potter's Art: Shrove Tuesday, February 2020. (Re Written): The cherry blossoms are already out in Tokyo. Here in London I have daffodils and crocuses, The swift shadows of inland gulls in flight, ...

Shrove Tuesday, February 2020. (Re Written)

The cherry blossoms are already out in Tokyo.
Here in London I have daffodils and crocuses,
The swift shadows of inland gulls in flight,
Darting across my driveway;
The uproar of children echoing through the school yard
As they rabble rouse home - kicking - laughing.
If this is winter then spring is just a rumour.

I love all nature, but often shut the window
On all that happens outside my run down semi.
I turn on the radio to feed my addiction to news bites.
Even if politics makes me as poor as a dormouse,
Curtails my civil rights, traps me in one country,
Steals my I D, shreds my pension with taxes,
I have found a kind of solace in everyday things.
Yes I love all nature however tiny or cosmic;
The clouds of bright stars shimmering over the rooftops;
The elemental crying of urban foxes;
The unlikely regeneration of half dead rose trees
That in summer host a crowd of butterflies.
The world is a kaleidoscope of delicate miracles,
My neighbourhood and garden are no exception.

It is half a century since I was in Kyoto,
Strolling beneath the blossoming plums and cherries,
My eyes dazzled by the dance of micro colours,
The returning power of the sun. -
While there I was taught that song birds, flowers, foxes,
Are my intimate friends on this our magical planet,
Friends to be cherished with love and true compassion.

I watch the infants skedaddle out of the school yard,
So like young monkeys escaping out of the pen.
I hope that politicians will not blight their new lives
With post code stereotyping and retro - nationalism;
Our world is too precious to be carved up into fiefdoms,
Grim technocratic islands of corporate - feudalism. -
I turn off the radio. I wish to hear myself think;
To sit by my opened window before the sun sets. -
Close to my garden walls a hyacinth is blooming.
The cherry blossoms are already out in Tokyo.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 22nd. - 23rd. - 26th. - 27th. 2020.
I want to try and put the whole of life into my poems. I have tried to put magic, politics, human relations with the planet into this poem. My love of the Tao and Zen are also in here somewhere.

Beyond Words, Beyond Saying.

One intimate listening
One intimate seeing

Yin and Yang balanced
In perfect harmony

You touch my hand in the darkened room
The hour and day have no other meaning


While I am with you
I cease to be I

While you are with me
You are all that I know

We become one person
Two bodies one mind

One intimate listening
One intimate seeing

One sea of feeling
In the ocean of time


While I am with you
I cease to be I

While you are with me
Crowds become shadows

We do not need words
Language is selfish

We have laughter and smiles
The sharing of dreams


You kiss my face in the perfect dark
I kiss your lips  - We are lost in each other

We become one person
Two bodies one mind

One intimate listening
One intimate seeing

Yin and Yang balanced
In perfect harmony


Trevor John Karsavin Potter
18th. - 19th. - 20th. February 2020.

The Myth of Life and Love Returning.

Last month I watched you walk across the still water
In the dark cavern
Underneath the concrete city.

You could have been a Sufi Saint,
Gliding out of this dimension
With consummate ease into another.
A rich mosaic of lights and laughter
Greeted you as a long lost soul.

Now I sit and wait on the opposite shore
Watching the shadows deepen the silence
With the ghostly chill of ancient visions,
The visions you talked of in your sleep,
Your troubled head pressed close to mine.

I sit and tremble in the lonely dark.
Sit and wait for your safe return.
Perhaps you will bring the light of new life
Across the vast and sacred lake.

The light that opened the flowers of Eden
In the clear dawn of the first Spring day,
When all the creatures lived at peace,
Fed from the hands of Eve and Adam.

And then, my love, we could plant anew,
Plant anew, without fear of destruction,
The sacred grove that once flourished here
Before this world was buried alive,
Buried beneath the concrete city.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 16th. - 17th. 2020.
Developed from a very different poem
written March 30th. 2015. - May 12th. 2017.
The image of the under city lake based on The Rose Playhouse site in Southwark.