Thursday, 15 February 2024
Saturday, 10 February 2024
Wednesday, 31 January 2024
An Old Artist Hopes His Life Has Meaning.
Crossed from January into February,
And soon it shall be March.
Now that I have passed eighty
I seldom go out in winter,
I have always hated the cold
And now I fear the dark.
Since lockdown I have spent the long hours painting,
Or writing poems more intimate and honest
Than I dared attempt when young.
Now I am old, like Buddha, I live in the moment,
And yet I still dream daily about the future.
I hope that when I no longer can paint or write,
Friends and family will save my poems and pictures.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
1st. February 2024.
Written after watching a TV programme about Du Fu.
Trevor J Potter's Art: The Brown Paper Bag. (Revised).
Trevor J Potter's Art: The Brown Paper Bag. (Revised).: This envelope is so beautiful I do not want to open it, Brown paper the colour of fallen leaves. This envelope is ...
The Brown Paper Envelope. (Revised).
This envelope is so beautiful
I do not want to open it,
Brown paper the colour of fallen leaves.
This envelope is perhaps a flower,
An autumn bloom pierced with shards of light ;
An unread book,
The poems of Thich Nhat Hahn.
This envelope is not a leaf,
And yet one day it may become one;
A single page danced upon by words.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
31st. January 2024.
Tuesday, 30 January 2024
Saturday, 27 January 2024
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If I were a camera I would zoom in directly On winter trees loud with anthracite crows, The ice white ripples on a cold shallow lake; The da...
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Buying incense by moonlight - The swiftly jostling crowds are all strangers. I walk slowly through the mob Eyes tracking my footsteps becaus...
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With you not here beside me Life seems a near blank page With only a comma on it. A solitary smudge of ink Where words should build cathedr...