Goodge Street Finches.

The pub was my safe space.

I drank very little but read lots of books

As I sat quietly in the smoky forum,

Those early evenings before the music started.

I read Persian poetry - not just Omar Khayyam,

I was in love with the east, especially Azerbaijan,

The fire temples, mosques blue as the sea.

I read Anna Karenina and War and Peace,

And therefore was considered a devotee of Tolstoy

By friends who were beginning to dig into Trotsky,

Revolution being their cup of tea.

I read Alan Watts, his Way of Zen

Severely slowed down my intake of Guinness

As I puzzled and puzzled over one hand clapping.

I found out I did not have to seek beyond Europe

When I settled down to The Cloud of Unknowing,

A home grown book that opened my mind

To vistas that Buddha had yet to show me.

I have no idea how I read all these books

In the spaces between devouring rumours,

Chatting up girls and bantering with friends

Who thought I was weird because I loved books.

But I was the one at the heart of that scene

Who helped to write songs we all loved singing

When the crowds packed in after 8 pm.

When the chatting stopped and the music started.

And that is how I made sense of the nineteen sixties

Believing I could integrate fun and learning.

Believing that peace could conquer the world

With songs and books, not squaddies in trenches.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

March 8th. - 9th. 2022.

I am too angry to write about Ukraine,

Too angry and full of tears,

So until I am ready I shall write about other things,

That is when I can put clear thoughts down onto paper.,

When I know I can do good with what I write.#

God Bless Ukraine. God Bless the lovely people of Ukraine.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Slava Ukraini. (New Longer Version).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Slava Ukraini. (New Longer Version).: Memories of rural days In Soviet Ukraine Keep bubbling to the surface Of deep dark waters, The lake of slow forgetting. My sister and I work...

Slava Ukraini. (Completed Poem).

Memories of rural days

In Soviet Ukraine

Keep bubbling to the surface

Of deep dark waters,

The lake of slow forgetting.

My sister and I labouring in the fields,

Struggling to keep to quotas,

Our backs red raw from the summer sun,

Our fingers ripped and blistered.

We slept in a hut no bigger than the shed

Where father stored his seeds and garden tools

Back home in North West London.

My home - not hers. / Separated as infants,

Raised apart for some unexplained reasons.

I lived as an only child in post war England, -

Marina far away, close to the Black Sea coast.

She spoke to the farmers

In day to day Ukrainian.

I made do with hand signs,

Plus one or two plain words.

That was long ago, in the days of Comrade Krushchev,

Six months - maybe less, before the Cuban Crises.

Tonight, six decades on, the tanks of Putin`s army

Have been sent in to annihilate Ukraine,

Force this beauteous land to become a Russian fiefdom,

A project only Putin understands.

And tonight, in rain drenched London, I remember Mariupol,

The white apartment blocks close to the city centre

That we drove by in a lorry stacked with grain,

Sweat pouring from our faces in the rag packed oily cab.

We dared not think that Moscow would one day blitz those streets;

Young mothers of lost children screaming out their pain.

Slava Ukraini. Slava Ukraini.

Your golden domes out dazzle 

The early morning sun

With the light of the new fire

That proclaims the resurrection,

Such glory cannot now be overcome.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

February 27th. 28th. - March 5th. - 6th. 2022.

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: Sophie. ( Born a century ago today, May 9th. 1921)

Trevor J Potter's Art: Sophie. ( Born a century ago today, May 9th. 1921): I press the key. A face I do not recognise lights up the screen. A girl with candid eyes, High chubby cheeks,                          ...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Sunday February 20th. Squalls and Showers. (New Lo...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Sunday February 20th. Squalls and Showers. (New Lo...: Debris from trashed houses flies high above London, Chip board and cheap tiles buckle like bats wings Under the heft of the wind. Early Spri...

Sunday February 20th. Squalls and Showers. (New Longer Version).

Debris from trashed houses flies high above London,

Chip board and cheap tiles buckle like bats wings

Under the heft of the wind.

Early Spring weather, squalls and showers 

Wrecking swathes of streets and quiet cul de sacs

Easily as a Russian Tank rips through fields of wheat.

Hail stones clattering against my backroom window

Zing their automatic rifle fire,

But not one fragment penetrates the glass.

If I were in the street I would scurry to a doorway

Hood pulled over my head. A refugee in flight

From forces I could never overcome.

But life can be light hearted. Caught in this storm

Our Kerry Blue crouched underneath a hedgerow

When my daughter tried to walk her in the park.

She did not want to imitate a canine cosmonaut

Lifting off through clouds into the roaring dark,

Or to be tossed like a stick into the dogs` Nirvana.

Close to where she crouched, early daffodils flourish,

Tall and straight, laughing silently.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

20th. - 22nd.  February 2022.

 

Feeling Nostalgic for the Twentieth Century. (New longer Version)

 

Feeling Nostalgic for the Twentieth Century.

I am feeling nostalgic for the other century I`ve lived in,

The colourful clothes,

The lack of mobile phones.

I am feeling nostalgic for rent of just a few shillings,

For ten bob notes,

For threepenny bits weighing down my jeans,

For cash in hand,

Not virtual pounds the Bank devours each night,

Filching my wealth when I am safely sleeping.

I am feeling nostalgic for hitch hiking for laughs,

For getting a lift from Apex Corner to Leeds

Just because I fancy a trip along the A One.

The last time I stopped a car was in Baden Baden,

But that was because the bus broke down that day.

I am feeling nostalgic

For making love at first sight,

Not waiting - waiting - waiting until the time seems right

Close to the hundred and thirty third dinner date.

I am feeling nostalgic for the freedoms I once had,

The freedom to roam across international borders

Without buying a visa or having my passport stamped.

I am feeling nostalgic for setting up home with a partner

Who is not a native of the country I happen to live in. 

I want back those days before carnivore Banks and Brexit

Hemmed in my well earned time and hard won spaces

For illicit commercial reasons.

I am feeling the need for taking some random chances,

Before there are no choices left to make.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter, 

17th. - 18th. - 21st.- 24th. February 2022.