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

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