The German Girl Met in St. Stephan`s Green.(Revised).

I wish I could photograph my memories
So that I could show to you
The way I loved your face
The moment when we met.

The sun dappled daffodils
Seemed then to laugh and cry
As you skipped among them featly
Chasing your own shadow.

I stood mesmerised and lonely
In the midst of strangers
Who spoke to me of mundane things
I could not understand.

I was blind and deaf to all things
That were not your voice, your face,
And now, three decades later,
I remain a captive to your grace.

Yes, I wish I could photograph my memories
To show you how I always see you,
Not that sad woman you think you find
When you stare into your mirror.

You are still the girl who danced for me
Although you do not think so.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter/
March 30th. - 31st. 2019.The German Girl Met in St. Stephan`s Green.

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on th...

Trevor J Potter's Art: Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on th...: I do not understand this picture. Have two monks flown in on their crimson carpet Over the pale blue sea and wooden roof tops From dist...

Mount Fuji seen from Goten-yama to Shinagawa on the Road of Tokaido. Month of March. (Revised Version).

I do not understand this picture.
Have two monks flown in on their crimson carpet
Over the pale blue sea and wooden roof tops
From distant snow capped Fuji,
Or are they simply taking their ease on the yellow hump of a hill
And are unaware of their extraordinary surroundings?
And who are these people strolling along the coast road
That leads from Goten - yama to Shinagawa,
Those small stockaded towns sketched with simple brush strokes
Under a misty patina of vernal woodlands?
Are they ordinary country folk trudging to the market,
Or is there some joyous festival in an unseen Shinto temple
Lost among the hills?
The women appear to be dressed in their finest attire
Whatever the burdens they carry on aching shoulders,
But the fat bald man leaning clumsily from his veranda
Seems to have staggered straight out of bed,
And the tall young woman he appears to be addressing
Shows only a polite interest in his words.
I do not think the bald man has much love for heavy work,
Or Zen Buddhists or the ancient Shinto religion,
I suspect that a comfortable life is all he has time for,
That and no trouble from the local Daimyo.

I look a little closer into the picture.

Perhaps the fat man`s house is a sleazy inn,
And the two old monks are not really monks at all,
Just a couple of codgers enjoying the springtime weather
While the young folk wander by on their daily errands.
I think the artist must have been in a holiday mood
When he chose his palate to create this delightful picture,
A picture I could keep displayed on my kitchen door
For a year and a day, not just the month of March.
But it is the pink candyfloss blossoms on tall skeletal trees
That first caught my attention,
Dazzling my tired eyes with a scintillating riot of colour
As I lazily turned the page.
Is such frivolity suitable for the treacherous Month of March?
Well yes, now is the time to dream the death of winter.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 9th. - 18th. - 24th. - 25th.2019.
March 7th. 2020.
The Hokusai illustration for March from my Japanese Calendar.

Shrove Tuesday 2019. (Revised)

Shaking invisible sails across the sky
The storm billows over the rooftops
Drenching the heavens into a uniform spread of grey.
Typical Lenten weather. Few brilliant colours
Spiking through the granite desert hues,
The ashen solemnities of sunless days.
I am not, by nature,  a silent eremite
A vision craving solitary locked into a cave,
But this bleakness makes me want to hide away,
Bury myself in books, CDs and Videos,
Until Easter Day is announced upon the radio
And I can once more sup on cakes and ale.
O England, England, a land of mist and mirrors,
I wish I was on the Rialto among the Carnival crowds.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
March 12th. - 13th. 2019.
Venice has also been my favourite city, but it is now far too expensive to live in.

I Offer A White Rose. (Revised).

I offer a white rose
For the children who have died
By bullets
By knives
By rockets and bombs
By the thoughtless actions
The casual decrees
Of self regarding
Power loving
Petty minded
Semi literate politicians

I offer a white rose
For the children without shelter
Who sleep in subways
In cardboard boxes
On spiked park benches
And are killed by the stupid thoughtless actions
The inhumane decrees
Of self regarding
Power grasping
Petty minded
Pseudo religious politicians

I offer a white rose
For the children who stand firm
And march in battalions
Without knives
Without pistols
Without bombs
Without mortars
Without fear of condemnation
Against the thoughtless inhumane stupid decrees
Of the self serving
Power adoring
Lazy minded
Lying politicians
Who line their stomachs with dainty caviare
And let infants die of want

I offer this single white rose
For all who stand fearless for truth
For innocence
For justice
For knowledge
For wisdom
Against the might of those ignorant self servers
Who think they are powerful
Who think they are just
But have nothing to offer but spite

I offer an unsullied white rose
That bloomed on a crown of thorns

Trevor John Karsavin Potter
March 10th. 2019.
Note. An unsullied White Rose as an emblem of innocence and non violent resistance.

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Girl Who Came to Tea, A Childhood Memory of Wa...

Trevor J Potter's Art: The Girl Who Came to Tea, A Childhood Memory of Wa...: My mother and her sister left the room Closing the door behind them, But I was more fortunate, I was allowed to stay there, Cosy and war...

Bad Weather Friends.

I am your threadbare overcoat
That you throw on over your shoulders
To keep yourself warm
On chilled out winter days.

But I also feel the cold
When you hang me up in the wardrobe
And leave me there in the dark,
For week after week after week.

Just like you I need companions,
The chatter of friendly voices,
Even though the Taylor forgot
To sew a tongue into my inside pocket.

So in future, please hang me out in the hallway
So I may see the comings and goings
Of you, your friends and relations,
The cat that creeps in from next door.

This wardrobe is a walnut coffin
That stinks of dried sweat and moth balls,
Old shoes and things I can`t name;
This is no place for a friend to be dumped in.

So please, please, give me a break,
Let me witness the summer sunshine,
Snuggle close to your straw hats and jackets,
Your frivolous holiday wear.

I may not be much use in a heatwave,
And may take up a morsel of space,
But for the sake of our long term friendship,
Brother, please let me out of this place.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 4th. - 5th. 2019.
First seven lines were written on May 3rd. 2013.