The Apple Tree.( Completely Re-Written Poem).

The scent of Buddha in the morning mist.

Drops of Christ`s Blood spilt on tarmac.

When the traffic stops the dawn chorus has a say.

This Apple tree beside the Watford Way

Has lost most of its blossom;

Piles of wedding confetti has filled the gutter

Fading fast.

I walk up the hill on cracked paving slabs,

Carefully avoiding the worst of the pitfulls

In case I should trip and tumble.

The once neat semis on either side of the road

Stand cold and dank, occupied irredeemably by ghosts,

Place memories stained into wood and plaster

By domestic events long scrubbed from human memory.

This Apple tree is not dying, it is young and healthy,

Its branches spread wide to net the sunlight

Now breaking through clouds that hint of rain.

The perfect apple tastes of rain and sunlight.

The dawn chorus becomes vivid for a moment,

And I recall it is Good Friday morning, 

The sole reason I am climbing this derelict hill.

The fallen blossom retains a trace of red. 

Trevor John Karsavin Potter

7th. - 8th. - 15th. - 16th. April 2023.

May 16th. 2023.- Completely rewritten April 23rd. 2024.

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree.

Love Story 2.

Our love - a collage of inexplicable events -

Hands touching,

                  without warning,

                                      in a shower of rain.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

April 2nd. 2023.

Mixed Media Artworks.

Love Story.(Completed Poem).

Love seemed so real that night -

The stars above us -

Your tent stowed away -

Your single sleeping bag

Big enough for two.

Even the foxes 

Seemed our friends that night

As they sauntered deftly by,

The gentle horses shuffling;

The moon a frozen tear.

Back here at home, under the old slate roof,

Although six miles distant from city lights

And the clamour of subway stations,

Truth is so much harder to know.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

31st. March 2023. 

May 4th. 2023.

My Windblown Age. Poem and Painting.(Revised).

Crossing the path between March and 

                                                    April

An unexpected gust of turbulent wind

Lifts the wreckage of my smoke white hair

Raggedly into a halo,

Backlit by the sun.

I take a selfie - then wince at the result -

No scarecrow could ever look as wild as I do

This blustery morning - the dawn birds 

                             disallowing the quiet

I had lately learned to cherish

In the wintry months

When I sat nose deep in books.

I laugh at my preposterous appearance

Recorded far too candidly by my camera, then 

                                   swipe it quick to trash.

When I was young I was often neater and sprucer 

                    than any Pre- Raphaelite Angel.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

30th. March 2023.

The Urban Prisoner.- Red Political / Red Mystical 1 & 2 Four Paintings.

 

Three Images and a Poem.