Trevor J Potter's Art: Crescent Moon in March. (Newly Completed Poem)

Trevor J Potter's Art: Crescent Moon in March. (Newly Completed Poem): Weeping into the hollow shell of my violin I remember the last time we were together And try to fill my lonely hours with music. The he...

One Moment in May. (Newly Completed Poem).

The heft of your love made me be still,
The light in your eyes stung me with praise,
Pierced me with sorrow, cut me to the heart
Of all I believe, of all that I know,
Or think that I know,
When I look deep in the glass in the hall,
Or far in your eyes when you kiss me to sleep.

The heft of your love is weighted with voices,
Your history and mine extolled in unison
To make a new song, completely different
From the simple lyrics we sang in the loneliness
Of our single lives        before we had met.
A new song that lacks words, plain words cannot fathom
The depths of this love that is all that we are.

The heft of your love made me be still,
Made me take stock of the life I had led
Aimlessly searching for facile diversions
In strobe lit fairgrounds and West London flats.
This laughing boy ceased to riot and fool
From pub to pub, from party to party.
The light in your eyes stung me with praise.

The light of your love out dazzles the stars.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
8th. - 29th. May 2020.

I am using the word heft in all its meanings.

Tragic Song and Chorus. The World is my Sustainer. (Revised).

                     1.

The world is my sustainer,
My true mother,
But I am not so kind,
I do not love her
And could, without due care,
Annihilate her
As easily as my goshawk snatches rodents
From between the broken branches.
                 
                    2.

This night is free of cloud,
I scan the sky
With my binoculars
To watch the dance of stars
But cannot find them.
The raw lights on the distant motorway
Dazzle my aching eyes,
They are all that I can see.

                Chorus.

Perhaps we should abandon mega cities,
Relocate to villages and hamlets
Where neighbour cares for neighbour,
And folk are not confined to tower blocks.
Perhaps we should prohibit factory farming,
Sow meadows with wild flowers, ban pesticides,
Perhaps we should close banks and supermarkets,
Let bracken overgrow the petrol stations.

                        3.

The world is my sustainer,
My sacred mother,
But I am not so kind.
I have not loved her.
I have wrecked the ozone layer, poisoned oceans,
Torn down ancient woodlands, melted glaciers.
I have clogged the mountain streams with shreds of plastic,
Turned wheatfields into deserts, incubated new diseases.

I have disrespected Mother Earth,
I have endeavoured to enslave her.
I have created a new dark age, a time of dislocation,
I cannot see the dance of stars through the city lights.
The world is my sustainer,
My tragic mother.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 19th. - 23rd. 2014. - April 30th. - May 1st. - 3rd. 2020.

April Roses. (Revised)

April roses in my garden!
The golden tulips have lost their glory,
Their delicate chalices torn to shreds,
Threads of silk scattered, decaying,
Dissolving into sodden earth.

But three small roses were born this morning,
Breaking out from tight green buds.
Lazarus butterflies bursting their shrouds.
White blossoms on the crown of thorns.
Three white doves resting their wings.

Sheltering at home from Corona virus
My garden has become my sacred space,
My fenced in refuge, my Ark of safety,
My window on the world of nature.

A small square window drenched in colours.
A stained glass window shimmering light.

My rose tree blooming on Saint Mark`s day?
White blossoms on the crown of thorns.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
April 25th. - 26th. 2020.
I do not expect to see a rose tree blooming in my garden until late May or early June.

Neighbours. (Revised)

Love thy neighbour as thyself. 
Who is my Neighbour?
My neighbour is the fox prowling through the streets.
My neighbour is the badger buried in his set.
My neighbour is the skylark soaring in the clouds.
My neighbour is the astronaut soaring to the stars.
Brother Sun - Sister Moon - Comets swathed in Brother Fire.
Brother Sleep - Sister Dreams.

My neighbour is the sheep dog crouching in the fields.
My neighbour is the baby screaming out for supper.
My neighbour is the old man hobbling on white sticks.
My neighbour is the grey horse slaughtered for his meat.
Brother Lion - Sister Tigress.
Sister Zebra - Brother Wolf.
My neighbour is Saint Francis preaching to the song birds,
The sun dancing rainbows in his falling tears.

My neighbour is the junkie shooting up cocaine.
My neighbour is the sex worker hustling on the streets.
My neighbour is Saint Clare praying in her sanctuary.
My neighbour is the doctor dying with her patients.
Brother Death - Sister Sorrow.
Brother Hope - Sister Fear.
My neighbour is the scientist working night and morning
While patients gasp for air in Hospitals and Bedsits.
My neighbour is the nurse
Breaking down when exhausted.

Saint Catherine of Sienna saw Jesus in the sunrise.
Saint Francis of Assisi saw God in summer flowers.
Both saints felt the spear and nails pierce their hearts and hands.
Both saints understood that all that lives is sacred.
Wild bees collected pollen from their gentle voices
When they talked with the lepers, the poor, the dispossessed.
Their neighbour was the beggar branded on the forehead.
Their neighbour was the small child who stole a loaf of bread.

My neighbour is the gypsy excluded from the Food Bank.
My neighbour is the refugee drifting in mid ocean.
Every outcaste is my neighbour. The stateless and the terrorised.
Friends I have yet to meet.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
April 21st. 2020. - February 28th. 2021.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Willow Pattern.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Willow Pattern.: I am this shadow You cannot hold me Only observe the outline Transformed into birds We soar high above the arched bridge Into the w...

Not a Willow Pattern.

This plate is cheap, in fact a blatant fake,
A willow pattern plate without the willow,
Just four loose branches waving in mid air,
And not a trunk in sight.
Other trees appear complete, but more like lollipops
Than any plant that ever graced a coppice.
The temples are skew - whiff, perhaps about to tumble,
Their spires twisted into awkward angles,
And far too lofty for the lower floors.

Its the lack of people I find so distressing.
The bridge is here, exactly as expected,
But where are the three wise men crossing over,
Unlit lanterns held like fishing rods?
A distant boat drifts by on milky waters,
The crew are either absent or asleep;
The sails top heavy, the canvas stiff as wood;
And displacing swallows swooping in the heavens,
Four dead leaves spin upwards on the thermals.

I find the lack of people weird and eerie.
The two blue swallows, representing love,
Seem to have cut their loses, fled the painting,
Sped to seek a more congenial setting
Where trees are carefully drawn,
And space exists to build a homely nest.
This plate was never meant to be displayed,
Its just a simple day to day utensil,
Something to grab a meal off in a hurry,
Then stack away beneath the kitchen sink.

Yet I wish the artist had been a bit less slapdash,
I would then have used this plate with some respect.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
April 16th. - 17th. - 18th. 2020.