Media Magic Blues.

Mozart on the radio.

The Abduction from the Seraglio.

"Too many notes?" - Perhaps?

I sit in a very different country,

A very different time zone -

A lamp - a chair - a worktop -

A pile of A4 paper. -

A computer too big for my kitchen table.

Too many hours to scuff my shoes and doodle?

Too many hours? - Perhaps?

This room must be my whole world until April;

No Sultan - no eunuch guard - no volatile soprano -

To share my space,

To keep me company.

Their voices coming at me from the radio

Sing of exotic dreams that are not mine.

Deep January 2021, the night wind bitter,

Almost as cold as eighteenth century Vienna,

The courts ice black, - the gutters dripping snow,

Dogs barking somewhere for some wintry reason. -

Mode a la Turka popular this season,

A singspiel, put on in a freezing theatre,

Tells of sultry nights where east meets west,

Of kisses dipped in cyanide - and honey.

Now I am old such stories make no sense,

My dreams are simpler - all private to myself. -

I dream of friends I knew when I was twenty,

But the threshold is not cleared, and so we

                                                    cannot meet. 

Mozart on the radio.

The Abduction from the Seraglio.

"Too many notes? - Perhaps - perhaps - perhaps.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

January 9th. - 10th. 2021.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Epiphany. (Completed Version)

Trevor J Potter's Art: Epiphany. (Completed Version): We don`t know how many wise men came. Three, six, twelve? Twelve would make sense, The same number as Christ`s apostles, And this the A...

Sospiri. Completed Version)

Listening to rain 

after the lotus has withered.

Tears falling onto the broad 

                                     lake

I place my phone on top of this book of Zen poems -

Impermanence is what counts in the world today

If the rain is beating time

Upon your bedroom window

Please scratch our names

in the glass

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

January 4th. - February 4th. 2021.

 

Fujikawa in Winter.

The artist observed that snow is not white,

That colours evolve from minute to minute,

Dissolve then reappear muted, washed out,

As midday clarity drifts into afternoon paleness,

The faded textures of midwinter daylight.

The chill cuts deep, stiletto edged, cruel;

Snow soaking long cloaks and seeping through

                                                       boots.

Villagers trudge warily into the mountains,

Hats pressed over eyes, hands hidden in sleeves.

The one tall tree, the houses, the people,

Sparingly sketched by the artists quick hand.

Silence is tangible, chill heavy, weary,

A hidden presence saturating the depths

Of this view of Fujikawa locked hard into winter. -

If Hiroshige had sketched a single bird on the tree

Then the whole scene would have been glittering

                                                              with music.

As it is, silence is key to the truth of this picture;

A silence I can see, I can hear, I can touch.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

3rd. January 2021.

 From a print by Hiroshige. Poem Number One. The month of January.

My Home Is Europe. (ReWritten Poem)

Once upon a time I had a dream. 

I dreamed Europe was a single country, 

No borders to cross, 

No passports needed, 

Every European an equal citizen,

Whatever their ethnicity or religion.

Now my little England has smashed this dream,

Broken it to bits as if it had no worth,

Trashed family ties, embraced exceptionalism,

The vain belief that this small island nation 

Is extra smart and can out class the rest.

A racist scam that rips my guts with shame. 

Last night I chucked my Passport in the bin 

Because I felt just like a stateless child,

A refugee washed up on Dover Beach 

Confronted by a mob of hostile faces,

A barbed wire fence,

Huge guard dogs straining at their leashes.

Their handlers screamed out incoherent orders,

Torches flashing; handcuffs clipped to belts.

In spite of this I have not ditched my dream.

I must be patient, yet ready to speak true.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

December 30th. 2020. - January 1st. 2021

This complete Re-Write, October 6th. - 7th. 2021.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Impressions on a Winters Night.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Impressions on a Winters Night.: Sat and watched The Silence As though it were truly silent; Not a word heard, Lips moving on a ventriloquist`s face, Masks etched deep...

Sleeping Beauty in Barnet. - A Story for Twelfth Night. (Newly Completed, Twelfth Night 2022.).

The Edwardian villa across from my semi

Slowly decays behind a hedge of thorns.

Perhaps a sad princess has pricked her finger

And awaits Prince Mojo  - armed with a 

                                                  rock star kiss -

To wake her from long years of solitude.

Or perhaps the house high hedge is make-believe,

A taffeta curtain - a trick of the evening light,

Protecting secret rooms from prying eyes,

From infection and the local thought police.

A smashed computer, a toilet, a broken spindle

Lie on the pavement outside the silent house.

When a light is on in a room assumed to be empty

An intricate web of folk tales wakes up phones

Vibrating on armchairs - in bags - in jacket pockets -

On the tumbled sheets of many a post party bed.

When the light goes out the web shivers and snaps,

Littering gossip columns with spectral spiders.

"These are weird times", my neighbour wryly remarks,

Her old face wizened behind a surgical mask.

Muttering words deep into her fur trimmed sleeve

Cinders in blue jeans pushing an empty pram

Occasionally enters the house behind the hedge,

Locking the door behind her with a slam.

Perhaps she serves the sleeping Princess Aurora.

She also awaits Prince Mojo - his rock star kiss -

His six foot broad sword - his electricians manual -

His tracts on plumbing - woodwork - natal care -

Prized gifts to turn on every light in the house -

          to sweep the dust out of the nursery window. -

Like Snow White at the wishing well, Cinders believes in 

                                                                 handsome heroes,

Prince Mojo  - on his Yamaha - changing thorns to flowers.

When he comes the hedge will shrink down to his height,

And a midwife will lodge for years upon the sofa. -

No more impounded by cops - sawn up and burned -

Spinning Wheels will recommence spinning, just by 

                                                                    themselves.

Dogs will cease their barking at priests and postmen.

Cats will stare yearning into the face of the moon.

Then I may sleep soundly, calm and snug in my bed,

That Edwardian villa no longer spooking my dreams.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

December 26th. - 27th. - 28th. 2020. - January 1st. - July 8th. 2021.

Completed January 5th. 2022, Twelfth Night.

In one version of Sleeping Beauty the Princess Aurora has several babies.