Trevor J Potter's Art: Music is the Heart of Sorrow.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Music is the Heart of Sorrow.: No my friend, Your guitar is just too raucous for                                such moments, Cutting through the silence of the      ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Four Poems (1) Californian Buddhist Wedding. (2) ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Four Poems (1) Californian Buddhist Wedding. (2) ...:                         1. Californian Buddhist Wedding. (Revised Version). The cicadas in the distant gardens presaged heat. In thos...

Lock down Lyrics.

No more are people flesh and blood,

Skin and bone,

They are a shout through the letter box,

A whisper down the telephone.

A friend is a face on the lap top screen.

My love is a phantom in my bed when

                                                  I dream.

Masked strangers pass my window by

But seldom look me in the eye,

They concentrate long empty stares

At the gutter or the sky,

And so like bandits in a film

They silently pass by;

A silent film I witnessed, in the flea pit, long

                                                                   ago,

My lover nestled in my arms as we snogged

                                                in the back row.

But now, because of covid,

We are those spectres on the screen

Projected through a camera lens,

The cameraman unseen.

No more are people flesh and blood,

Skin and bone,

Afraid of life we skulk indoors,

And haunt the telephone.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

August 5th. 2020.

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Raw Coffee Bean.(Revised)

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Raw Coffee Bean.(Revised): Last night I chewed on a coffee bean, Crunching it between my front teeth Until the flavours oozed out                                  ...

The Raw Coffee Bean.(Revised Ending)

Last night I chewed on a coffee bean,
Crunching it between my front teeth
Until the flavours oozed out
                                   Dark and bitter
Blood of Brazilian berries.

A raw sub tropical coffee bean
                   Crushed into fine powder
Sharp as an uncooked lemon,
              A bee sting on my tongue tip
Hot with pain and pleasure.

The coffee bean was fragile,
                       But a bee is also fragile
When she fires her single sting
                      Into the eloquent tongue

Of her betrayer.
The sting cuts deep a sore that cannot heal.

And so again last night,
          The bitter tang that burnt my lips,
                                       my taste buds,
Scorched right through a scar that sealed
                                            a memory
From the caustic light.

And suddenly her face is not in shadow,
And suddenly
        That girl in the Mexican courtyard
Looks back at me from half my life ago.

An astonishing girl I betrayed because I

                                                feared her.

I did not believe her when she talked of
                                                 marriage.
I did not want her kiss upon my mouth.
She tasted of Russian cigarettes and coffee,
And secret Mayan dreams I could not fathom.

I did not believe her when she stroked my
                                                  forehead
With fingers long and supple, soft with
                                                          care;
And so I betrayed her curtly with a laugh,
                     A jaunty, off hand English laugh.
I cannot now recall her name.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 29th. - 30th.- August. 3rd. 2020. - August 28th. 2021.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Fernweh. (New Revision).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Fernweh. (New Revision).: I have never yet found my true home, I have always only been                                        "on Location", A displaced...

Fox Cut. (Revised).

A cat rubbing her back seductively
Against the pliant - plaintive music -
The slow - dead beat - tear choked - heart stopped -
love warped music
Of an old time saxophone played on a cold street corner
In an old time town by a lacrimose rain drenched loner
Wearing a blue - black raincoat and a grey fedora,
A cigarette butt in his ear.

This is the Fox Cut.

This is the moment of unseen truth
for the on screen lovers
in the back of a Buick
or way upstairs in a curtained bedroom
with the lights turned low
and the latch pressed down on the apartment door.

This is the moment I could kill that cat
And drown the saxophonist in an oil drum of whiskey
And trample his saxophone on the cinema floor
Before walking out in a hurry.

I don`t care if the film is eighty years old.
I don`t care if the film is a Hollywood classic.
I hate to be cheated of the moment of truth.
I want a lay - not a lie - for my money.

The cat rubs her back with seductive slyness
Against the waft and the weft of the wintry music;
A Freudian dream swap that blocks us from spying
The flagrant anarchy of new love.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 24th. - 25th. 2020.