A Sense of Space.

Some say that Otford village is a heavenly little place,
Its pond and quaint old buildings, and a model of ‘near space’,
For in fact, they’ve modelled our solar system there,
The planets set on posts, about the Sun, a stainless sphere.

All to scale, you’ll find the Earth, like a lentil in its size
Jupiter, the largest, would not win a rosehip prize
Saturn with its rings nearby, (in the Surgery’s car park)
And Pluto, half a mile away, half pinhead size, his mark.

Go, see this exhibition, if you are that way,
As it’s outside, choose a dry and sunny day,
Then, as you wander, like a traveller in Space
Wonder about the lentil Earth, our tiny homely place.

Perhaps the village, in proportion, is like a Heavenly place,
Some of God’s creation, is held in its embrace
And if He tarried there, so easy to understand,
How He could hold, indeed, the whole world in His hand.

George Potter

After the Fire

The fire is out, the blackened heath bears witness to the heat
Hard ash, instead of soft green turf, beneath the childrens’ feet
The pastoral scene will not be saved by rain, or tears of sorrow
But Nature’s power, like human love, can build a new tomorrow.
Ash-dusted by the fire, the neighbouring fields await
The first green shoot to repossess, the arid, desert state
For with this sign of life restored, will grow green pastures new
Changing stoney blackness, to warmer, softer hue
New hope and strength returning, ameliorate the pain
As seasons soothe, Good Nature shapes the beauty spot again
Gentler breezes sway the grass, where flames came withering through
For those who come now, do not share the memories of the few
Who yet recall, the earlier scene, and question what began,
The pyre of love ‘tween man and wife, and trust twixt wife and man.
George Potter

‘Coming home’

I think you say, in English, ‘I will be coming home’,
When you write a letter, or use the telephone,
But surely that must also mean, that you were there before,
With possessions and your Family, and a key for your front door.

So, I cannot use these words; I am a Refugee.
For complicated reasons, my home I had to flee,
So now, no thought of ‘coming home’ applies; I turned my back,
On all that was familiar. A home is what I lack.

In your hearts, unknown to me, I seek your intercession,
I travel forward hopefully, I need no more repression,
Perhaps, when I’m accepted, I’ll recall days when forced to roam,
And know then, safe and happy, I was really ‘coming home’.

George Potter

Lemmings are dangerous

Lemmings, apparently, will suffer mass destruction,

Mindlessly they copy, a careless guide’s instruction,

Now we seem to follow the Lemmings poor tuition

As we ignore the craziness of our own position.

We let our children see the things, that used to make us blush

No time to teach a grounding, everything’s a rush

Only I-pad games, it seems, now fit the new ‘street cred’

Videos replacing the old ‘story before bed’.

Television just promotes the money making art,

Argument pervades the daily Soaps in every part,

Guns appear in every game with violent whoops beside

None wish to be creative, nothing to keep, with pride.

Then onward with temptations, the dire computer games

No decent conversation, just text and coded names

Mostly barely readable, the tweets and texts galore

Like addiction always, wanting more and more and more.

So, hardly surprising then, the Lemming attitude

Develops mighty passions, p’raps sex, and humour crude

But worse, the love of violence, guns and cruelty

The consequence ignored; we should, but do not see.

So potential Lemmings, cast off the herd instinct

Consider what you do, take a moment just to think,

Would the World approve, of what you want to be?

Why stay a careless Lemming, without the sense to see?

George Potter

Tongue in cheek

By naming the Tower of Babel
Wasted speech was given a label
But then it was language,
Designed to discourage
The ambition of builders-too-able.

Now comes the Power of Mad Screech
Supposedly some kind of speech
Where the new predilection
To hustle one’s diction
Puts understanding, quite beyond reach.

Like announcements in DIY stores
A confusion of noise and no more
The objective should be 
To improve clarity
Not to drive me, full speed, for the door.

As hearing falters, it’s less differential
Making the clarity all more essential
For my pleasure each day
I silently pray
For a word rate more clear and gentle.

George Potter

Aren’t we ‘smashing’.

Wonders of the Universe, galactic combination

Require a depth of knowledge, beyond my comprehension

Black holes, time warps, expansion, ever faster so it seems

All started from a single Bang, is this the stuff of dreams?

Steven Hawking wrote the words, I strain to understand

And then outside my window, I see the beauty of our land

Billions of stars, huge galaxies, great telescopes display

But even those quite near, are all too far away_

To be of any relevance to our living here below,

Where we create more problems, despite ev’rything we know

We already smashed the atom, and made a nuclear bomb,

At Cern we found Higgs Boson, (but it doesn’t live that long),

We’ve smashed the Ozone layer, (so now we’ll heat up quicker)

Smash the shales, by fracking, so our future power won’t flicker.

In fact we are quite ‘smashing’, but it seems to me,

The errors we keep making, will last eternally.

George Potter

Broken China

(Thoughts after the breakdown of a marriage)

The Loving Cup is broken, its contents strewn around,

The once lovely wholeness, is split upon the ground

The jagged edges, razor sharp, enough to wound anew_

The caring children, who would love, to rejoin the two.

Though now the points are far too keen, for the whole to realign,

Don’t let unkindness trample on this still unique design

Each half now needs support, and may not stand alone

For family ties are fragile, like porcelain, not stone

It may be found that strain without, is more than strain within_

The family, and in good time rapprochement will begin.

Thoughts of happier times can’t be, forgotten and sealed up

Chips and cracks can coexist in many a well loved cup.

So this design, though broken, still has a unique glory

And hopefully we pray, for a good end to this story.

If Only…

When we say ‘if only’…, it leads on to a wish,

Be it, for a sunny summer, or to catch a bigger fish!

For honest politicians, for zero income tax,

A world without Al Queda, or more time to relax!

Usually, it is someone else, we think should make the change,

But if we turn the words around, our lives we rearrange.

For ‘Only if’, we do something, can we help to right the wrong,

Only if, we shout aloud, will we be heard above the throng.

Only if, we decide, can we change what might have been,

For ‘Only if’, means action, while ‘If Only’s  just a dream.

George Potter

Crossing the Channel

All around us, now exists, a state of great confusion,

No-one seems to know, which is the way to go,

From our Ministers, division, our leaders rudder-less

The charts have no indication, of the ground below.

In olden days the Captain, would, “Take a sounding!’”, shout,

The uncomplicated lead-line, into the depth was thrown,

It found the bottom, and straight forwardly

The important facts were known.

Now they use elastic thread to measure depths unknown

The line has inbuilt buoyancy, so the bottom’s never seen

The vague measurement presented, uncompromisingly

Is only a reflection, of where we just have been.

Clearly, we are still afloat, (none felt an awful shudder),

What we need is Vision, but on whom, now,  can we call?

Not the mutinous rebellion, of pirate boarding parties

Who claim great power, but actually, do nothing much at all.

So, clever Politicians, ‘all at sea’ or ashore,

Analyse with care, the dangers that abound

Think carefully about, where our boat is heading

Then make a sensible decision, before we run aground.

George Potter