Cathedral. A Poem.

When I was young I built a cathedral 

In our back garden.

The dome was a rock,

The walls were piles of broken bricks

Stacked on uneven ground.

My father broke down my poor cathedral

With hoe and shovel.

"Children should not live in their dreams"

He said. "They must learn their limitations,

Hard work and common sense".

His church was the cricket club.

Saint Francis was not even a name.

Today I dream cathedrals while I sleep.

Their altars are the smiles of all the saints.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter 

30th. May 2025.

Rough Cuts. I still like Pop Art, British not American.

 

Prisoner.

 

May Day Blues. A Poem (Revised & Completed).

Pink snow in drifts

Blown across the city pavements

Litter of failed marriages.

Recollections of your hollow laugh

Rancid as the cigarette smoke

You coughed into my face when angry.

The night you walked out of my life

Was May the First - late blossom falling

Over your hair like wet confetti.

I forgave you for stealing my child and my home,

For mocking my parents who openly loved you

But for blighting the Spring only God can forgive you.

Pink snow in drifts - the May bells ringing   -

The cash in your hand is the cash that i earned

To build a haven you swore you believed in,

I feel like a robin shut tight in a trap,

Trevor John Karsavin Potter,

May 22nd. - 27th.  2025.

Green Knights Castle,

 

Informal Garden.

 

1 Golgotha. 2 Calvary Redeemed. Two linked paintings.