The Visitor

This visitor is always near, waiting to be heard,

Not always too apparent, but each considered word,

That he, or she, would like to say, in a moment calm,

Will probably, if listened to, save each of us from harm.

This visitor is not alone, we have one by our side,

And so do Politicians and Presidents beside,

Even warring Generals, the Rich, the Poor, the Weak,

Can have this Sage, for nothing, if we just let it speak.

This visitor is Common Sense, so there is no surprise,

Its messages are simple, but full of logic wise,

Why do we then struggle, to avoid stupid mistakes?

When listening to this Visitor, is really all it takes.

George Potter

Each of us matters.

We were not responsible, for decisions that were made_

In olden times, before most of us were born.

Such mistakes are more clearly seen, by the conscience of today

But then, a Nation’s actions, obeyed a different norm.

I will not make excuses, for injustice done,

By those who, for selfish reasons, ignored humanity

But let us not, with hindsight, react intemperately

For only ‘Understanding’ will give foresight to see.

But I am, in part, responsible, to find a better way,

Sadly those who suffered, will not by our protests gain,

For selfishness still creates the troubles of today,

We must learn, now, to avoid creating further pain.

Pulling down the statues, posing on bended knee,

Does nothing more, than separate, those who, without pretence 

Co-operate with willingness, to find a better way, 

Seeking conflict resolution, not selfish recompense.

All lives matter, black, white and mixtures in between

Beliefs, are too, a stumbling block, where arguments abound

But if we start with friendship, without the prejudice,

Acceptance of variety, is more likely to be found.

George Potter

The Venus Trap

Written to support Rachel, who has a blog for Nature lovers. Visit

Oh Flies, beware, the Venus Trap, so versatile is she,
Her ever open, scented cups, are beautiful to see.
But hidden in their fond embrace, are trigger hairs that sense
Any careless insect, that ventures to her scents.

When lo, in seconds split, the trap well laid, is sprung
The plant consumes the insect, whether old or young,
Then later, after time well spent, absorbing all the food,
It opens up its leaves again, for in Nature ‘Greed ain’t rude’,

Just the best way to survive, is by taking every chance,
But don’t leave your fingers, in these carni-vor-ous plants!
George Potter

Don’t Do It yourself

or ‘How one can bite of more than one can chew!’

“It’s time for a change! The loo needs a refit
The tiles are disgraceful, the basin’s a pit,
The boys are careless, (aimless the word)
A hygenic room, don’t be absurd!”

So out with the basin, a new one arrives,
Chromium tapped, perfectly sized,
But the rad’s in the way, so now it must go
So drain the whole system! “Get on with the show!”

New Cardene floor, and back goes the loo,
“Let’s have a new towel rail”, with dimensions new,
Now the pipes are not right, must be shifted to fit
So drain the whole system! Frustrated? – a bit!

All reconnected, with chromium pipe
From a distance, indeed, it seemed to be right
But sit on the ‘seat’, and all that one saw,
Was chromium pipes, from ceiling to floor,

So drain the whole system, (that’s three times, I think)
Re-route the tubing, (it looks like a sink)
“So hide it, my Love, behind tiling clean”,
Satisfaction, at last, and the outlook, serene.

Looking back, I wonder, just how it began
I started a calm, well balanced man,
“Do it yourself, is the way to survive”
How come, then, the ‘men in white coats’ arrive?

George Potter


I thought Corona virus caused a failure of the lung
Or so the experts told us, (though in bats begun)
But now it has mutated, as some, unbelievably, pursue
A brainless selfish pattern, which the empty shelves, prove true.

In olden days the pirates, chased their love of gold,
Sailing off to pillage, the richer lands of old,
But now it is just pasta, with toilet rolls to boot
Which gauge the pirates’ grey cells, in their choice of loot.

Perhaps in times to come, when these storms subside,
These stupid selfish people, will themselves deride,
As their weaker neighbours, who, remaining proud,
Lost their chance of livelihood, behind this manic crowd.
George Potter


Corona Virus, How do you do?
You, like a genie came,
Apparently from Chinese lands,
Now Pandemic is your name.

Please don’t deny our right to be
A little out of sorts,
You’re uninvited, aggressive too
According to reports.

We are quite tough, we humans
And up to quite a fight,
But leave our weaker folk alone
Survival is their right.

Meanwhile, don’t be complacent
We’ll shortly have your measure,
Then seek no sympathy, my friend,
Your demise, will be a pleasure.

        George Potter

Cheerful sourdough!

In the current lockdown, many are baking again. The references here are of two local bakers with whom I chat….

At the moment, there seems, not much we can do,

As the virus constrains our best plans,

But cooking and baking, is good for our health,

And also gives work for our hands.

So it was, I decided to bake some sourdough,

As a change from trying to buy,

The yeast dry or fresh, disappeared from the shelves

So, ‘Back to basics’ was my only cry.

In a chat, I discovered, (at 2 meter range),

That Kristin, was a baker devout,

Sourdough her staple, and Derek proclaimed,

“Kristin, Master Baker, I’ve no doubt.”

But then in another two metre chat,

This time words crossing a fence,

We learnt, young Rosie was kneading the dough

And sourdough her choice, no pretense.

So now the “Feeding of starters”, and more

Talk of keeping it right, 

We discuss how to maintain happy yeasts,

And eat the loaves, from morn ‘till night.

Let it be known, that there’s nothing so sour,

As a life without any sourdoughs

And by keeping alive, with yeast, we survive,

The problems, that fate, at us throws.

George Potter


(written after the massacre, by a ‘loner’ at Newtown, Connecticut)

A chilling stillness overcomes the world
Unbelieving, did this really happen?
A troubled man escapes, anger unfurled
Blinded, armed, exploding ‘mongst the children.
We cannot guess the state of our brother
The secret quest to find his own ego,
The silent conflict ‘twixt Man and Mother
How can we know what’s never put on show?
More, display excess, trying to impress
Fast cars, fierce dogs, knives and assault rifles
Violence, bad language, all, more or less
Treated as insignificant trifles.

Ego – Angry, sad, witness to these times
Of quiet despair, in words and rhymes!

        George Potter

Six centuries later.

They say the old star Betelgeuse,
Which is, in Orion, found
Could be about to self explode
As its ‘End of Life’ comes round,
But it’s slightly pinkish light
For years, by gazers seen
Comes from, ‘so very far away’
It’s light could be ‘has been’
It takes the light six hundred years
Through Space to make its way,
And so what happened long ago,
Is shown to us today.
If so, what we will see, occurred
When King Henry took his chance
And Charles, the king in Paris, then
Bequeathed him, all of France.
Of course, old Betelguese won’t know,
From what he can espy,
How ev’ry thing is changed here, too
As we from Europe fly.
George Potter

Companions to the dying.

Perhaps the least applauded, you work so peacefully,
Providing care and comfort, to those who will not see,
A future life before them, here on Earth, but hopefully,
Their soul and spirit remembered, here and eternally.
But Nurses, Doctors, Friends, whose dilligence displays
The essence of humanity in many diff’rent ways
Love, sympathy, devotion in all those final days
To which their own commitment deserves the greatest praise.
Some may believe that courage, is by the strongest shown,
But it’s another kind of courage, to fight for those alone
Who perhaps, fear their death or, pain, or with hope gone
Have, these caring, loving folk, to help them travel on.
So bless you all, for your courage, and for being simply kind.,
You are the Earthly Angels, and may this verse remind
Us others, who could not begin to know where we might find
Your strengths and wisdom to provide, the ill, with peace of mind.
George Potter