Spring Fire. (Additional Pictures).

 

Trevor J Potter's Art: Twelfth Night 2023. (Revised and Completed).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Twelfth Night 2023. (Revised and Completed).: No chance of a party I chuck paint at the board With a chaotic precision So like throwing streamers high in the air Over the heads of dancer...

Winter Fever Poem - Ceaseless Dreams and Nightmares.(Revised).

Living in a stained glass house,

All the windows smokey

With litter of cobwebs,

The shadows of people walking

Outside in drear February light,

Their minds eyes locked on unique dream worlds,

Strange personalized realities.

Built of painted glass,

No bricks - no steel - no concrete cladding,

My private dream is this weird brittle house,

My coop on hens legs - my star burst chapel -

My hermitage - my happy space - my winter sanctuary -

My Amiens Cathedral in perfect miniature,

My mendicants cave.

This is my fear free zone - my Tent of Dreaming, 

My sphere of hope - of care - of loving,

Where tax demands are burnt and shredded,

Where Rent Collectors, who are really spies,

Their interest rates as tall as steeples,

Are left to soak in the rain outside,

Outside on that offshore Isle of spectres

Once known as holy Albion,

I do not live there anymore;

I have not moved house but have bolted the door.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

February 6th.- 7th. - 8th. 2023.   

 During the passed week I have been suffering from a bout of influenza. The fever wonderfully ratchets up my insecurities. 

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Magic Prisoner. (Completed).

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Magic Prisoner. (Completed).:  Outside her apartment the city awakes. Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone - Walls and columns -                                    Yel...

The Magic Prisoner. (Completed).

 Outside her apartment the city awakes.

Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone -

Walls and columns -

                                   Yellow stone -

Floors and doorways carved from stone -

Ice smooth yellow stone.

"And I am so lonely", she cries to the wind

As the traffic coughs awake in the streets below

And the traders set out their stalls.

Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone -

The broken parapet -

                                   Yellow stone -

The tables - beds and chairs - all stone -

Ice smooth yellow stone.

"He has been gone all year", she cries to the wind

That tears at the trees in the streets below

So they shudder like frightened dreamers.

Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone -

Young hearts and hands and lips of stone -

Adamantine stone.

"He has the key, but I know he will not return

To magic this prison back into our home

Of bright coloured walls warm to the touch -

His children have forgotten his name"

Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone -

The lock in the door has turned to stone -

The carpets and cushions are changed to stone -

To ice smooth yellow stone.

"He has the key, but now it rusts on a chain

In a place I cannot reach - In a place I cannot know".

Cold stone cold stone cold yellow stone -

Rust colours of sunset filtered through snow.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

18th. - 19th.  January 2023.

From an idea first sketched in 1962, before I fully understood the magic and power of folk tales.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Twelfth Night 2023. Poem with Painting. (New Versi...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Twelfth Night 2023. Poem with Painting. (New Versi...: No chance of a party I chuck paint at the board With a chaotic precision So like throwing streamers high in the air Over the heads of dancer...

Twelfth Night 2023. (Revised and Completed).

No chance of a party

I chuck paint at the board

With a chaotic precision

So like throwing streamers high in the air

Over the heads of dancers.

Tonight is the night of misrule,

But I take my chances alone, not in a 

                                                 crowd

of revelers 

                   waltzing the world upside

                                                   down

Until the chimes at midnight.

Then they will holla for their mice drawn carriages,

Glass slippers stashed in gold handbags.

No, tonight I am certainly not one of them,

I have other priorities.

Fingers caked in oil paint - time becomes irrelevant

As I scrape and daub and draw,

Burnt Sack sizzling over on the gas stove -

An ageing mister Cinders 

Sat down among the ashes

With no invite to the Ball;

My window lit by a single candles glow.

I wildly mash the colours as I try to articulate

An anger that keeps my hopes alive 

Far from where the ticket holders Tango.

Tonight is the night of misrule.

Will I ever ride a pumpkin to the Ball?

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 5th.- 6th.- 7th.  January. - 8th. - 10th.  February. 2023.