On the subject of Poems

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

#buildthewall »

B.H. Fraser

April 26th, 2017.


Filed under 2017,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

   we’ll be waiting,

Escobar, Jesus is coming.

2.

   But, Gringo, you said, the facts.

Yes, but Pablo or is it Manuel ?

   All you do is change the channel,

      and never pay your tax.

Amazing Grace, you made me invincible, strong and rich.

Making a grab,

I got my legs to play with my breasts.

   and my hands to give birth to my face.

The world’s strongest and richest speaks:

Escobar, Jesus is coming.

3.

   So show respect.

Assist me, assist The Magnificent.

I am invincible on ground unlimited.

   And 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.

4.

Gringo, this wall you said,

   Amigo it is 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 but you cannot live to see it.

Pablo, I hope you vote for me.

   Another time they’ll say,

     Escobar for President.

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.

Best Bargains »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.


Filed under Poems

 

Sit perfectly still and be kissed



  while sunning yourself



    beside the heat of home-made screen



           this good news, the new year brings.



                Bargains by the dozen,



                    go out visit a crowd of mad gunmen





               haunting the aisles of exploding shopping malls.





As when in irrational mood



     they spray the car park with guns and food



everyone agrees shopping is ecstasy;





    with the wildness on every person’s lips



        that speaks direct.



                I don’t care, I got here first



         with mouth pursed, kneel,



  to hear a final word: a loaded quip.





       

        No fire or glamour, no words or hammer

just…………..



      What light is let into the empty brain ?



Is it heroin or cocaine? Or just nerve ending ?







    To pause, engage, kiss



              with this vast fix



      that we see across the sky in smiling lips.







Have I not free will to drive in, shop and kill ?







                                                To celebrate a

prosperous year for all fanatics



                                              and everyone else in any

kind of racket



                                          such as our friends in

government.



                                  There are lots of cameras around



                              with which to spy upon us.



                            It makes them smile



                      to see all that moody heat



                  chasing deals up and down the street.

A Rotting Sun »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.


Filed under 2012,Poems

 

Observe the enthusiastic dead.

            Observe them.

      A carriage of them we will make

and fill their steady, boys, steady,

         with steady state.

The bodies we will make.

We tend to speculate

             on what they might have said

                         about their rotting.

                        Neither will the bugle wake them

              As the rotting sun is set

on that long day to say good-bye to all that’s good.

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