Trevor J Potter's Art: Hope on the Verge of Winter, 1969.(Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Hope on the Verge of Winter, 1969.(Revised).:          Through a glass darkly I perceive her Caught in the prism of former times, North London Girl Pale as the Arctic ice floes,    ...

Urban Mona Lisa.

Mona Lisa`s face without the smile,
A remote image reflected through long aeons,
Through smoke and countless tarnished mirrors
Onto the almost blank, unspotted page
Of an up to date young life.

This girl, sitting silent on the opposite side
Of the room to the alcove in which I lounge,
Has hardly learned her A to Zee, her 1 to 10,
And yet is ready to take on the world,
And shake her man with outrageous views.

No teacher could make her a slave to the rules,
No politician could hoodwink her with a lie.
She was born with a million years of knowledge
Stored in the silent depths of her mind,
A library waiting for the words to be formed.

But she knew what to say when she crossed the room
To sit with the man she had watched all night,
Her eyes dark with secrets only he can read
In the candle lit hubbub of the Peanuts Club.
"I too am a rebel", she whispered, then smiled.

The underpaid band bashed out folk songs
The singers raw voiced and well out of time.
"The audience are shadows", I quietly answered,
"But we two are dancers among the dud stars".
"We are the only stars here" she laughed, then kissed me.

"Have we met before? I know your face".
"My friends say I look like a famous painting,
Italian I think - of a pregnant woman".
"Ah yea". Mona Lisa, but a different smile;
A pizza in one hand, a pint in the other.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
13th. - 14th. - May 2020. - December 5th. 2020.
The first line was jotted down 1962 / 63, in the Peanuts Club,
a Folk, Jazz and Poetry Club that I frequented when a teenager.
The club was demolished when Liverpool Street Station was
modernised and extended.

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.