Alternative Realities. (New Longer Version)

Help

I am a hostage on an island

A Looking Glass island

But someone has covered the mirror

And locked up all the chess pieces

And sunk all the little ships

Help

I am a hostage in a dream world

A world dreamt up by fools who never wake

Fools who hold two Kings and all four Aces

In the Hand of Poker they are always playing

Their dream is not my dream but I am in it

Help

I am a hostage lacking hope

I need a White Knight with a rope and ladder

I want to climb back through the Looking Glass

And touch down in the old world that I knew

Once upon a time

Meanwhile

Every clock here disagrees

About the month the week the day the hour

And every time I try to reach the house

I find the path returns me to the garden

Where all the flowers chit-chat, and few make any

                                                                        sense 

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

December 12th. - 13th. - 2020.

With thanks and apologies to Lewis Carrol. 

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Discarded Photograph.(Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Discarded Photograph.(Revised).: When, by chance, I picked up the photograph, I thought I had picked up a portrait of you Laughing by the seaside, but private, as you       ...

December 1st. Midnight Poem. (Complete).

The year is old - very old,

December - month of the zimmer

                                            frame -

The white stick -

                           the broken shoe -

Earth piled brusquely on a 

                                paupers grave -

The slow depletion of memory.

Snow soft falling - grey - not white.

Snow soft drifting through a broken 

                                            window.

Snow freezing the eyes, the ears,

                                   the tongue -

Snow in the mouths of hungry canines

Snuffling for bones in frosty gutters -

Snow in the cap of the squatting 

                                             beggar.

Snow - slush ochre - in a vandalized

                                                pram.

On the loose in cities -  through deep 

                                concrete canyons -

Dogs scavenge in packs -  restless -

                                          snow blind,

Tundra bred thugs - safe in a gang -

                             piratical in a crowd.

They scatter in terror if a car 

                                             back fires 

Or a child aims a snowball -

Long ears flapping loose - like galleon 

                                                       sails.

I sit in my back room writing this poem

Lost in my dreams while the old year 

                                                         fails.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

December 1st. - 10th. - 11th. 2020.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Harvest, Thanksgiving and Christmas. (Rewritten).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Harvest, Thanksgiving and Christmas. (Rewritten).:  I watched enchanted the pardoning of the turkey, A strange Thanksgiving custom that seems to                                               ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Seventeen 2020.(Rewritten).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Seventeen 2020.(Rewritten).: I notice you are now in high heels. Tall as a flamingo. Frightening the boys. When I was young I dressed in Winkle Pickers, Your tongue ...

A Bright May Morning - Woken by Your Call.

Increasing my sense of isolation

Your voice echoes down the telephone -

A lone flute heard in the distance

Or a far off lark calling for a mate -

Haunting the morning quiet as I struggle

                                                from sleep

Chilled to the bone by your absence.

You told me you loved me when, out of

                            the blue, you called me, 

Words clearing the shadows that webbed

                                               the skylight

Letting the sun break through.

But now truth is spoken the waiting seems

                                                        crueller

                                than it was at Tenebrae,

This house emptied of memory and

                                             lacking its soul.

Good Friday was all things but good, the

                                           loneliness visceral.

I sat at the window and tried to count seagulls

Ripping through plastic bags in the street.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

Poem started May 29th. - June 10th. 2018.

Poem completed November - 29th. - 30th. - December 2nd. - 3rd. 2020.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Advent Memories. (New Poem).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Advent Memories. (New Poem).: Slowly degrading memories. A signature on a testament. A photograph, paper thin and fading, Just like the pages of a discarded book, A ...