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.

To all those who are 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

What did I see?

When we say “I saw it!”,

Perhaps we ought to say

We glanced at an image

Before we looked away.

When you draw you really look,

The right shape to define

And so with Nature, really look

The great beauty there to find.

So in your Explorations,

Look underneath the stone,

In between the grasses

For they are not alone

Hundreds of little creatures

Each with a life complete

Are there to be discovered

Beneath your giant feet!

Then you will have really seen,

Nature, for you, unfurled

So take your friend along next time

To share the wonders of our World.

George Potter

The Prodigal Daughter

The pictures seen, from lands so far away,
Can change our moods, and our convictions strain,
Veiled mother’s face, conceals, what she might say
Beside, her starving child, entreats, in vain.
So how can we reject an ‘Isil’ bride?
Her chosen way, was not what we might choose
But let us not, her honest faith, deride
In fear of what our own belief may lose.
If we believe in tolerance and love
There is no place for sad revenge, to stand
We must, again, by our example, prove
Misguided she, to trust that first demand.
For terror lives by fearful, beck and call
Humanity, through loving care by all.

George Potter

Bravado


Donʼt talk to me of superstition
It puts my actions ʻon conditionʼ
Silly to be so restrained
All is lost and nothing gained.
Surely life is hard enough
Without this hocus pocus stuff!
Lead your life as if your own
Donʼt believe in, some old crone,
Questioning your common sense
Fate is there without pretence
Get on with life and youʼll be fine,
Ooops! Here comes the thirteenth line……..

Political electioneering

We are becoming submerged in a cacophony of news,
Each day the avalanche continues, many vibrant views,
Often exaggerated to whet our appetite
With opinions, unrelated to what is wrong or right.

No time for thoughtful discussion, of what really should be done
Before another deluge falls, the politics re-spun
Heads must roll, to say the least, or a scapegoat must be found
Reverse a policy decision? We never change our ground!

Cliché after cliché, but no-one cares a whit,
We’ve heard it all before, – believe not a word of it,
Yet still the repetitions, ‘We’re One Nation’ is their call,
But behind the wistful words, there is no plan at all!

George Potter