Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems. (1) The Old Fox. (2) Russian Summer Hol...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Two Poems. (1) The Old Fox. (2) Russian Summer Hol...:                     1 .           The Old Fox. The chiming of the chapel bells sounds like the music of Caliban to the ears of the Sun...

Two Poems. 1. The Old Fox.(Revised). 2. Russian Summer Holiday. (Revised).

                    1.

          The Old Fox.

The chiming of the chapel bells
sounds like the music of Caliban
to the ears of the Sunday fox.


He sniffs the air for tang of hounds
shouldering their litheness through
bracken and hedgerows
under the hefty shadows of the horses;
the men the colour of blood.


But this morning the air is as fresh
                                     as it can be,
only the scent of willow and herb,
the distant odour of grazing cows;
and from the village, so calm and settled,
the Sunday morning sting of incense
that sometimes accompanies the morning
                                                           bells.


High over the steeple, an indistinct cloud
is perhaps a veiled threat of incoming rain,
a reminder that spring, the most volatile
                                                      season,
is marked with the tears that drenched Golgotha.


Now feeling a little less uneasy
the fox turns away up a track hedged
                                         with thorns.
For a few more hours he can stalk his
                                                     prey
safe in the itch of his skin.



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 8th. - 28th. - March 1st. - 2nd. 2017.
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                    2.

Russian Summer Holiday,

The grey bearded man is very fat,
His paunch the size of a whiskey barrel.

A quartet of girls sway in a circle,
The steps of the dance their prime concern.

If his feelings get hurt they wont give a damn;
Their somnambulant grace weaves a delicate pattern.

Sand smothers their legs in tobacco yellow
As they sail on the drift of self hypnoses.

Down by the farm beside the seashore
A fox lies in wait for the farmhands to sleep,

And the sun turns the ocean to molten iron
As it sets behind the jet black hill.

The quartet of girls wander home together.
The grey bearded man glares up at the moon.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 24th. - February 8th. 2016.
February 28th. 2017.   

Trevor J Potter's Art: Random Thoughts in the Herb Garden, Southwark Cath...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Random Thoughts in the Herb Garden, Southwark Cath...: I sat and dreamed in the remnants of the chapel, sat and studied the herbs that now grow there to create a metaphor of the resurrection, ...

Random Thoughts in the Herb Garden, Southwark Cathedral. (Revised)

I sat and dreamed in the remnants of the chapel,
sat and studied the herbs that now grow there
to create a metaphor of the resurrection,
vivid new growth between the weathered stones.

"My head is like a sieve", the old woman cried.
"Pour words in my ears they fall straight off my lips
then evaporate into the empty air".

"But nothing is really lost", I thought as I sat there
amongst the herbs and heaps of broken stones.
"I can see the shape of the chapel outlined in the raw earth
just like the carcase of a stranded ship.

I would like to haul that ship out of the soil,
set up the mast, a spire of polished wood,
swing on the ropes and climb".

Pre reformation England haunts this place,
but the rush hour traffic pounding London Bridge
shakes the earth more violently than the bells,
Cathedral bells that call the crowds to Mass.

Here in this urban sprawl of steel and glass
small memories of a rural past remain,
this herb garden is one such tiny space.

 Time present and time past here intersect,
create a sombre stillness in the heart
of the vibrant city. Even the solemn nave of the Cathedral
seems not so holy as this fragrant spot.

What sort of resurrection is implied
by these herbs that pack the broken ground
that was once the stone floor of the Bishop`s Chapel?

Perhaps the interface of spring and winter
when flowers explode with life, greening the fissures
that fracture the city sidewalks. Earth bound spinnakers of green
transforming yesterday into tomorrow.

"The garden is now closed", the old woman called.
It seems that even she still keeps the hours
that drive this city like a clockwork motor,
grinding all quiet thoughts out of our minds.

Oh I wish that the Ship of Faith,
that I have built in my imagination,
could sail me away to a calmer civilisation.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
Original short version.August 28th. 2016.
New long version. February 22nd. - 23rd. - 24th. 2017.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Pas de Deux. (Revised).

Trevor J Potter's Art: Pas de Deux. (Revised).: Gentle - soft - voice. Swans on the wing under the moon. I put down the receiver, turn off the light, set the alarm for 7am. Waitin...

Trevor J Potter's Art: September 1666. (Revised).

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Trevor J Potter's Art: The Holy Feast, Launcelot Andrewes, Southwark Cath...

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Holy Feast, Launcelot Andrewes, Southwark Cath...: Our saint`s tomb is buried in autumn flowers cut down at dawn, the dew still fresh on them, but soon to lose their colour, shape and scen...