Church bells.

“Oh! Ho!” My ringing friends exclaim,

Their sounding bells above

They pull the ropes and spin the wheels,

And practice what they love.

And when the Bride comes to be wed,

The bells ring out the news

They spread the word of love and joy,

Beyond the church and pews.

Some bells have been thus ringing,

Three hundred years and more,

All kinds of diff’rent methods

With strange names, of that I’m sure,

But come and share the pleasure

Of challenge with much fun

Keep old traditions going,

Church bells for everyone!

George Potter

Indian Sonnet 2019

Mandeep, our guide, asked that we chose, just three

Favoured points from our recent escapade

But how can we start to choose, when we see

The range of diff’rent journeys we have made?

How can the Taj Mahal, be so compared

With fine silk threads in carpets wove by hand?

The beauty of the dance and music shared,

Twixt dancers, zither, drum and piper band?

‘Tis not for us to differentiate

Between a few of India’s greatest arts

When we, just thankful to participate

Should see the whole and not the single parts.

For day, by day, surprises unprepared

Became unique by fun and friendship shared.

George Potter

Common Sense.

Each day I scan the pages of a reputable(?) rag
To make myself aware of principal events
Because I am still thinking, I take up my position
I am not one for sitting on the fence.

So often, I consider the salient why’s and wherefore’s
To distinguish facts from mere pretence
Most times, it seems to me, the obvious absentee
Is a modicum of good old Common Sense

We see the MP’s drooling on money to be made
By redefining what is called expense
Meanwhile they just argue, argue, argue
Where did they all, leave their Common Sense?

Media Editors turn the ‘Nelson eye’
As their Hacks, crash through each private fence
‘Do, as you would be done by’, is quite simple after all,
Where! Oh where! was their Common Sense?

Listen, read, consider, (empty barrels make most noise)
The availability of knowledge is now immense,
When all is said and done, the best advice may come
From your own inbuilt Common Sense.

George Potter

Where are we going?

Each day, we read, how we’re, so smart

We invent and make more things, 

So if we are, let’s play our part,

Make sure the work no evil brings.

Progress is the general call,

Most has a value true,

But equally our minds can be

Blinded by the selfish view.

Again it seems self-centred greed

Towards disaster leads,

The Earth is warming, by and by,

We’ll ‘bite the hand that feeds’. 

Each one can make a difference,

There is no time to spare

It’s for our children’s children

That we should now show care.

George Potter

Why carry a gun?

W. Tate wrote this original love ballad

If I could plant a tiny seed of love,
in the garden of your heart
Would it grow to be a great big love one day,
or would it die and fade away
Would you care for it and tender it with care,
till the time that we should part.
If I could plant a tiny seed of love,
in the garden of your heart.

I wrote this version to all supporters of the National Rifle Association (NRA)

If I could plant a tiny little doubt,
in a recess of your mind
Would it grow to be a stronger thought one day,
Or do you think the NRA
Will always ‘pull your strings’ and tell you what to do,
On what guns and pistols ‘do’ for you,
Or could it be that you might one day say
No, it’s time to throw the cursèd things away….

……Hope springs eternal…

George Potter

Don’t Do It yourself

“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

Great Investors!, New Billionaires!

Oh Great Investors!, New Billionaires!,
You feel strong on account of your wealth
Sure you worry about the price of your shares,
But they’re not a good measure of health.

Take more attention, is p’raps better advice,
Of the wider effects of your work,
For many believe, your self-centred greed
Shows good ethics is something you shirk.

Some do reflect their good fortune,
And recycle a bit of their worth
But most slink away, hiding ‘offshore’,
So, shit too, on the land of their birth.

“Of course, you belong to the Finest Elite”,
With some leaders, tarnished banners unfurled,
Use irresponsible power, and yet believe,
They are fooling the Rest of the World.

“No Guys, we are here, quite well aware,
Of the plots in your own self-cast play,
In a moment, off-stage, why not try to foresee,
The reviews on your own Judgement Day?”

George Potter

We are, each of us, responsible.

Song Saa, this idyllic isle, now warns us, what we should dread.
Explaining how, the life we know hangs by a thin, and thinning, thread.
Careless, we abuse our Earth, to satisfy desire,
Despite the warnings, the life we love, will certainly expire.
Dig the coal, pump the oil, let no-one bid us nay,
Pollute the air, poison the sea, and then on judgement day
We’ll not, from Heaven, hear our fate
But, by our mindless greed, too late,
Expose our luckless progeny _
To a spoiled Earth; Our infamy,
Will last for Eons, when they will say,
We spoiled their tomorrow, for our today.

George Potter

My Favourite Place.

Now you, Dear Reader, may in truth suppose,
That I will write of verdant pastures near,
Of humming birds and scents of summer’s rose
Or Nature’s beauty, or the fallow deer.

But if this special place gives joy to me,
To gain this joy, I must indeed be there,
But not alone! I’m sure I’d happier be,
With others who, this happiness might share.

So please excuse me if my favoured place,
Is not defined or marked upon the ground,
I see it where I find a smiling face
Or loving, kindly, cheerful folk abound.

So each day, a place unknown and unprepared,
Becomes unique, by love and friendship shared.

            George Potter

Stone story.

The humble star of this story
Is an insignificant stone
Which during a volcanic eruption
From the core of the Earth was thrown.

It fell, cooled, then merely existed
Nothing special, you’d say, just a flint
But the Stoneage man was delighted
When he saw the stone’s tell-tale glint.

The stone chips flew, and the caveman knew
It would cut some hardships away
It may have killed bear, or made something to wear,
But its useful life started that day.

It should have been seen, in Fourteen-fifteen
When a pilgrim, intent on his verses
Cut his leg on its edge, as it lay in the hedge,
And gave vent to his knowledge of curses!

It lay still for more than ten years before
A peasant out looking for stone
Considered it good, when combined with wood
To construct a baronial home.

There it rested above the principal gate
A witness to all kind of things,
The routine of life, invasions and strife
The comings and goings of Kings.

But such is the way of change and decay
The house was wanted no more
The timbers were burned, the stones merely turned
Into a pile of hardcore.

The scientists found the Earth was quite round
And we might have descended from apes
By questioning more, they found coal and iron ore,
And started to change the landscape.

They dredged up the sand, forked over the land
Mined coal and cut down the trees
Invented the bomb, (and worse) with aplomb
And drilled holes in the bottom of seas.

A schoolboy, tired of forced labour
Revenging his miserable state
Threw the stone with all his frustration
Far into the gravel-pit lake.

The sand and the gravel, the flints and the stone
Were devoured by the dredging machine
Then riddled and tossed, sorted and washed
To give industry, silicon clean.

Its previous glint of grey virgin flint
Now shines a glistening blue
For microchips are tiny bits
Of stone, sort of joined up, with glue!

The boffins plan, computers they scan
The Moon’s reverse to see
“Could we return from ringed Saturn?”
Dreams interplanetary.

Now this tiny crumb, Earth’s stony son,
Began a new life in Space
Humbly it rode, aboard the probe,
It informed the human race.

It looked at stars and flew by Mars,
Bright Venus and Neptune dimmer,
Programmed to go around Pluto
Where sunshine is more sun glimmer!

Dons were lauded, the Public applauded
“Will the pictures from Pluto be clear?”
But ‘neath African sky, by waterhole dry,
The Hungry ones knew death was near.

Now God on his throne, said to the stone
“You’ve had many hundreds of uses,
Human people implore, me to do more
Their prayers just full of excuses.

Most have all they need, but yet will not feed
Those, whose burden is greater,
Hunger prevails, while their efforts sail
Past Pluto – to measure a crater!”

“So rocket ship, and you microchip,
Can rest in this orbit of mine
We’ll curtail their plan; then, p’raps I can,
Dissuade them by showing this sign.”

The TV’s went blank, the boffins’ hearts sank
The civilized world paused and wondered.
A satellite lost, but who bears the cost
Of the billions of dollars just squandered?

Someone then cried, “Five million have died,
While we’ve watched this extravagant show
We’re losing direction and we need correction,
P’raps God is letting us know.”

Who knows, at the time, did they notice the sign?
Did people become more aware?
Just how their own future, depended on Nature
Or did they exploit without care……?

No people alive in One million and five,
As the microchip flew round the Sun
It came again near, when the Earth’s atmosphere,
Brought it down, where its life had begun.

Oh shame! Human nation, and Civilization
Your passing was your fault alone
But Stones have a heart and this one will start
The Age of Intelligent Stone.

        George Potter.