By the Fireside. Poem No. 1. (A Fantasy).

Suddenly the skies are southern blue;
The darkest days no more, those sombre hours
We hunkered down
In smoke filled alcoves
Scrying our fortunes in ash and embers.

The sun has cracked the ice lake,
The frozen water falls,
And like the reborn Phoenix soaring high
The infant year takes flight:
Wings of burnished amber catch the light.

Revamping the instant joy of fairground children
Running towards the ocean,
The perfect beach
Where wizard dreams come true,
We seek our fates,
Our unseen futures,
In smouldering remnants.

Last night I saw her face etched in the afterglow
As the room chilled
And the radio
Was unplugged at the wall.
A Pre-Raphaelite Angel face
Veiled in freezing mist.
Perhaps a dream woke early, filtered through
Before I closed my eyes and eased the sheets
Over my naked shoulders,
Or perhaps a spectre knocked upon the door.

A long cold journey, but some good news in June.
The clairvoyant yawned,
Raked the coals and ashes,
Then downed a glass of sherry.
Perhaps at last I shall outsmart the Ogre,
Steal the Golden Goose, get the girl.
Or perhaps, more likely, lose my grip and fall.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
25th. January 2014. -3rd. - 4th. - 5th. - 6th.  February 2018.
For Ivy.