Words are worth a whole world more than money. (Revised)

This book cost me only 80 pence.

It cost Li Po a whole wild life to

                                            write,

Cheap wine staining every folded

                                             page,

The glimmer of moonlight also hinted

                                                  at.

It seems the rarest art, the finest poems

Are seldom worth the price of ink and

                                            paper,

Unless a tycoon buys the manuscripts

And locks them deep inside a concrete

                                             vault.

The fact the poet died while reaching for

                                      the moon,

Or heaving up inside a New York Bar,

Seems to magnify the monetary value

Of words rich in love - in hope - in

                                             grief.

It is the joy of ownership that makes the

                                   tycoon tick,

Not the beauty of the poems, the fine calligraphy,

         the deft strokes of the brush.

Li Po drowned a thousand years before I bought 

                                       this book.

Drunk - he tried to hug the moon reflected in the

                                        Yangtze.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

October 20th. - 21st. 2020.

Renewal NW2.

They are building tower blocks

where we used to plant

vegetables for the family table. -

Dragonflies vacate the tiny stream.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

October 18th. 2020. 

Big is not beautiful. The smallest things are the most precious.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dream Laden Spring. (Completed).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Dream Laden Spring. (Completed).: The morning after we celebrated your birthday the wind turned mild; pale daffodils rocked like dreaming children beside the quiet river;...

Fragile Portrait.

 My life pictured in a stained glass window

All the pieces in the wrong places

But still making sense.

I live a thousand lives in just one day -

Yesterday - tomorrow - all at once

In just one place - in one small drop of time -

A raindrop made up of a thousand rainbows -

A raindrop about to hit a pond

And merge into the slow flow of the water -

The pond reflects my face until a leaf falls -

My face shattered into a thousand fragments

Rippled on the dazzle of the surface.

Ripples of stained glass - bright pieces of a puzzle

Scattered out of sequence - but somehow making sense.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

October 8th. 2020.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Listening to You Read. (New Ending to the poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Listening to You Read. (New Ending to the poem).:                Listening to You Read (In Memoriam Anne Sexton and John Lennon). Listening to you read I become American, A citizen of ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Listening to Scriabin.(New Version) (2) The Wr...

Trevor J Potter's Art: (1) Listening to Scriabin.(New Version) (2) The Wr...: Listening to Scriabin. (New Version). Burdened with sound The air becomes dark, like the depths of the ocean; Slow waves moving overhea...

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Note for my Diary. (Completed Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: A Note for my Diary. (Completed Poem).: A book of Chinese poems on my lap I sit in the church waiting for the clock to strike; Reciting is not easy as it could be With a mask t...