On the subject of 2004

Zoo Gardens »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

I

It isn’t Kew you know, though
abundant. A new plant called
Elbow/Arms crushing me on the
pavement at Wall. I kick back,
shouting for ‘some’. For it to appear
to caress; to surface quietly.

2

On the port is Fred-he has plenty,
a dance with a mate: rather tight
suited, overcoated,
metal in armour-ready to go
beserk in dealings on New York.
Honorary men in black, courting them.

3

Groping, faltering, longing-hard
at it. A collection of people lock
themselves in Sea Horses.
An escape is planned by the
jetty on Swan Lane. Chaucer visits,
a perfectly understood event.

4

Colours fill the gloom of Monday.
At Bank, rivalries clash
in little Europe towards Cripplegate.
Milton, unmoved,
contacts Erasmus in Paris-surprised
by the response, offering to talk.

5

Agents arrive to experiment. In
a confused state, we introduce Euros.
‘Do you require wine, sir?’ Our
appetite increases,
with this talk of contract, history,
‘a little something for the people’.

Agent Provocation »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

Liar. A rusty old hulk lies
off Canvey Island:
its message, Gravesend.
This is the story of the
Ionian Bank-Miracle!
Shareholders gather, the
registrar is a spectacled
philatelist.
Rumblings at Bishopsgate,
hardly a thought
in the ditch:
for derivatives or
foreign
exchange.
All rise at London Bridge
for peace-elbow
minorities, hire advisors,
issue a prospectus and
print it on
lavatory paper.
Smoke emerges
behind
the columned
lady.
An ironed
shirt
pricks
the conscience:
‘we have a bank, gentlemen.’
Depositors whisper,
unable to break out
of Normandy 1944. Then
suddenly parachutists
in St Mary’s Axe,
the famous scouts,
form protest.
Mrs Gray, Islington, steps
forward as c-in-c.
Directors hide
in the pub.
‘Your savings are hardly
the point-
they’ve gone
anyway so
caveat emptor
North London.’
Let us all
celebrate
to-gether
the rise and rise again
of the Ionian
Bank-Saint!

A Good Sacking »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

I

Pray Americans come.
Booted. On. Now.
Sybil, wait: it is tea
when the biscuit broke
you like my uncle
John Ball, our
Chairman, took
calls from
Broadway to
Wimbledon.

2

By the walls: a horse.
And in exchange
gifts which
yield information.
Necessary. To this,
a hard something-
‘placed
In bakelite red’.
To personnel-to
me.

3

I shared a cab
once with Margot
Fonteyn.
Lovely legs.
I am thinking this as
the drawbridge
lifts on my good times
with Razzle and Inc.
So praise
God
a-men.

Serious Love »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

Sons of Israel,
we crossed seas-
placed bets, laughed at ourselves;
had a run at it.
Then drew lots, divided forces,
hunted as the fox.
David, is that a name you like?
I heard you cry out earlier over coffee:
that this chase might have a bloodless end
so in our wanderings we both be brought to safety.

Old Anglia »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

Trouble me not, Pip: finding my body
on the platform at Bank, erect at Suez.
None has declined more since ’57. But the
spasm that runs every night over Fleet.
Play this song-the sound of poor herdsmen
that come now: enjoying their ports in Greens.
Strike a note for the old man whose hat
is paper. Read by some. In finance.
It was May; the sky was early technicolour.
I was removed by something greased, a civil
servant-learning Pythagoras after Eden.

Business Centre »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2004.


Filed under 2004,Poems

 

I

Business centre. The television is
  on. Somebody has a headache.
Aircraft leaflet the area,
  Margaret Thatcher is on the radio.
A bank manager addresses rotary.
  Someone sets fire to the kitchen.
Sit then perfectly still and be
  kissed.

2

John, or Nanki-Poo
  dedicated to that certainty which
disappeared with miners and
  Handel’s requiem in Old Trafalgar
at Christmas.
  Rise then Metroland although
the warmth is that
  of unkept places at Euston.

3

Property values rise steadily
  in the background: foreign investors
at Luton-sur-Mer.
The Greek was dejected that day
  and went the whole hog at auction
in memory of his mother, an
  illegitimate Mitford.

4

Blessings on the Harvest Festival.
  I shall contribute an onion.
Or sponsor the cricket team to
  advertise my undertakings on their
flannels in deo excelsis so
  something is tasteful in
suburbia. Where I Am.

5

Hitler and Stalin are the names
  of the dogs that roam our streets
after dark. Purchased from
  a friend, whose sister has a
brother whose sister is the
  receptionist at the business
centre in England.

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