On the subject of Poems

‘unmarked’ @ remember »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.


Filed under 2019,Poems

 

You said something about a song adventurous

The time I had in my younger self

Both of us in the arms of our mothers

Later as friends

To many in parks or clubs various a nuisance

And after a belly full

Now finding ourselves cripple

Circling almost squat

The shank of a walk

With old dreams and old talk

Our sight severe and at the slightest touch

Is this a secret war between us

 

To recall what might have been

And now I face you in the street: my old self

A misunderstanding

I wish my love was here

As I staggered towards myself

The trash traffic of food delivered

My last look one of young girls

An angel watching from the pavement

The car crash that is myself

Still living in these flames the tears of these girls

Recalling a trial of strength between one and myself

 

My stump like an old sack steady

 

Is lately silent and empty

Found by a lonely dustcart

Still my remains ‘unmarked’ @ remember:

He was a fiery fellow, an eagle

And what might be said of him

In the green black water of this basin

An overflowing pit

As they scrape his brains from the traffic system

The chorus repeats what might have been

He’s still to agree himself as the 52 bus dims its lights

Turning into Kensal Green

Hail to the Chief »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.


Filed under 2019,Poems

 

1

Hey, Amigo. Yes, Gringo.

You and I we travel in tunnels.

They say this stuff makes you invincible.

So both of us in shadow –

the brain controlling sums alien.

These sums measure the smallest tremble.

Amigo, I notice your hand upon something personal.

And after we are done, I forgot to mention

I’ll be waiting

Escobar, Jesus is coming.

 

2

So show respect.

Assist me, assist The Magnificent.

I am invincible on ground unlimited.

And I sit in tower with cup between industry and dust

organiser of the money shot.

In each face

where once were words now is humming.

He is? Tell me he is.

He is: “es nuestro amigo”

We told you before, Escobar, Jesus is coming.

 

3

Gringo, this wall you said….

Amigo, it’s likely to account for many dead

but who cares / what the heck.

We have this tunnel of ours:

to enter together and lie there flat wanting,

the sweat of coke, the sweat of ambrosia.

It could be quite a party and I shall lack little:

Escobar, I hope you vote for me.

And you one day for me

when America is Mexican.

Troll »

B.H. Fraser

October 8th, 2018.


Filed under 2018,Poems

 

 How very dull to be taken by a troll

At the start of my visit to Oslo.

  If you believe in them

it will be easy to understand a key play of Ibsen.

  Such as why they poisoned the water

In a letter delivered by the daughter.

  Which gets me back

to the Troll and Dr Stockman:

  Who are both rather brave and fearsome.

Lucy »

B.H. Fraser

April 30th, 2018.


Filed under 2018,Poems

 

after Matsuo Bashō

In the nearly sun

    A mist rises on the water

To the now awake

 

Two bees make honey

    In a flower sweet but still

Alone as welcome

 

To something alert

    A swan moving in a lake

Upon gold they sit

 

Observers of light

    There is something electric

In this crest of white

 

As the bees work

    A mesmerising sound grows

To constant measure

 

Light on the water

    That sings its song to the dawn

In time to the beat

Plenty @ The Public Theater New York »

B.H. Fraser

November 16th, 2016.


Filed under 2016,Poems

 

It was all a bit of a mistake, slightly careless:

due to a mix up with the Americans

the wrong things went to the wrong place.

‘Ambassador?’  ‘What?’

‘Excellency, that was and is,’

‘Is it … slightly hopeless, I mean,

to lose an Empire due to Suez?’

‘What?’  ‘I mean, Ambassador, shall I draw the curtains?’

‘Yes, draw the curtains at the embassy.’

Fix It »

B.H. Fraser

September 21st, 2016.


Filed under 2016,Poems

 

No rhyme or reason

Or rationalisation

Some vague notion of globalisation:

A hairy bear will take my home and stay there.

Brexit? Is that you?

I thought, you, I mean, really? Really?

I don’t do detail, don’t care, just fix it.

While I stare at the wall

On my sunken patio.

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