Mist in the treetops…
The clouds have come visiting;
the sun stays at home.
*
Mist turned to drizzle…
The sky eats the horizon
and spits at the earth.
*
Mist dissipating…
Birds snatch disappearing worms
and swoop to the sun.
(c) Sarah Potter, 2012
The poem below, written fifteen years ago, is dedicated to my beautiful and characterful daughter–herself a mother of two fantastic children–and who, this weekend, celebrates her 30th birthday. I love you, my big baby xxxx
***
THE CHOICE
you are the best mistake I ever made
laid
backs turned, doors slammed, new friends found, new front doors
thaws
I knew you because you made sure of it
prophet
as an inchling squirming in my womb
room
hand-me-downs of doll-sized clothes sat folded
moulded
long days passed before my gift-wrapped surprise
guise
you never cried–too nosy from the start
heart
a beautiful individualist
kissed
old spurners backtracked to ingratiate
late
I’d petition angels to protect you
true
we fought pitched battles with the world and won
stun
and now I watch you fight your teenage wars
roars
your eyes squall-grey, fire from your studded nose
pose
smiles, apologies, blue-eyed bliss, peace
cease
an unbreakable individualist
kissed
lovers of your own and choices to make
wait
(c)Sarah Potter, 1997
On full swell and with abundant stops out
you ensnared me in your fortissimo
with the ebullience of a maestro
who has not a semi-quaver of doubt.
*
You knew a moderate tune would bore me
when I required my body and spirit
to augment into a frenetic fit
of diatonic notes exempt from key.
*
I watched your broad hands plough the ivory
and sow seeds of possession in each note,
the linen wings of your surplice afloat
as you caroused in tonal rivalry.
*
Leaning to turn pages, I felt your breath
tease my ear in a capriccio dare
and smelled wood-smoke and incense in your hair
so I ached somewhere between life and death.
*
As an infinite note trapped between staves,
I became a part of your concerto
oft played presto and seldom larghetto
in a passion of agitato waves.
***
(c)Sarah Potter, 1994
Dedicated to my musician husband,Victor, with love xxxx
Men regressed to boys…
Throwing snowballs and sledge racing
they forget the bills.
*
Dogs regressed to pups…
Leaping snapping at snowflakes
they half remember.
*
Women non-regressed…
Walking thinking about snow
they foresee the slush.
If you haven’t already seen the other paintings from this multimedia collection-in-progress, do take a moment to view my previous three ‘Artistic Interpretation of Haiku’ posts.
To learn more about Julian and his art, please visit http://www.juliansutherlandbeatson.co.uk
As usual, we would appreciate any constructive feedback about our project.
Sarah Potter Writes 