Raw Colour.

 

If I were a Camera. ( Completely Revised and Re written Poem).

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 dance of snowdrops in the cottage meadow -

Not on hipster life in Kreuzberg Berlin - the snake man

Easing dollars from slobs on Venice beach.  Nor would I 

Grab a hat to snap Soho in the rain, rowdy pubs

Loud as Hell in Borough Market; punters sweating pints

                                                             on the Cam or Isis.

No - but I would rather be in rural Ireland

Far from the crowds at any time of year - snug in the

                                                                         coffee shop -

The Black Lion miracle.-Rock crystals on the counter that

                                                                  glitter in the sun,

A winter sun bright as morning dew. 

And there`s an off white sofa deep enough to sleep in,

Books to buy and cakes of many flavours - colours too

                                         because aesthetics are important.

To make the perfect coffee it must be shown to be an art.  -

Or across the border in Fermanagh buying

Apples and spuds and greens from that farmer up the hill.

His yard is as mucky as the coffee shop is spruce. -

This is the world I could live in, commemorate in black and 

                                                                                       white, 

But recall in perfect colours. Here where I am at home, loved

Respected. Not merely a pale face passed in the Underground.-  

An image that fades in an instant as the travelers rush by.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter, 

27th. 28th. February - March 4th.- 18th. 2025.

Radio Face 1 & 2. /Houses.(A Sketch).

 

Music. 2 Paihngs.

 

Bagatelle. (A Poem).

Perhaps I should write a book of bagatelles,

Scraps and off-cuts from my workshop; for

                                                        instance

If I should admit that all the photos- all the

Fleeting memories-the wayward dreams we

                                                            share

But have rarely talked about. These and all the

Night long phone calls -can-without a single

Clear exception

In no way substitute for months and years apart.

No, we need not write long screeds packed with

                                                                  feeling

To shout out loud our loneliness, our griefs;

A single bagatelle-perhaps a word or two-that

                                                         is enough

To say all we need to say. - To say it true.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 21st. February 2025.

Interior Landscape

 

February 2025 - The end of order, 4 Pictures.