On the subject of 2011

Merry Christmas »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

                    a special kind of miser,

              i detest christmas 

          and on the feast of saint nicholas

mention neither wenceslas nor little baby jesus.

for me the plaintive note of silent night

      is cause for inter-racial fight

heralding the joyful and triumphant:

   of the intolerant and pompous.

    

had your fill of gloria and all those bells ? 

              and long to put end to all noels ?

then through gritted teeth, 

           wish the atheist in you 

              a merry christmas.

away in a manger ? 

 i place every shepherd in clear and present danger………..

   

with sharpshooters drawn from the blessed angels:

  the wounded get finished off with myrrh and incense.

 

 in all this misery and mayhem,

a bleak midwinter to you in the deserted village

 

           bethlehem.

Quiet Then Shall Be Our English »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

My Kipling ! My father knew him. 

  When all was respect and quite amazing !  

This was what the fella sung

   who knew Kipling at Wembley

          “Two-one…”

     Shall we come along ?

Join up ?  Be part of the song ?

     

A blank wall into which I repeat English.

     Weddings, funerals and all religion.

Comes to Sudbury.

 

     It has respect and will carry on.

      To discount mortgages

As from these branches sprung –

            Something.

   Same as anything that is,

that is 

 

     “Two-one” to England.

Called this sun, 

  This fire in them that’s English.



To whom our blessed daughters 

   rally,

offer their wombs

   to a savage and forgetful get-along.

   

Although I now remember

where you and shall one day lie

 together in the hard cold and still fury

             of the sitcom.

Quiet then shall be your English.

Boson’s Paws »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

With the mental strength of Daniel

   And the paws of Samson,

    This double of Ben Johnson:

           My watchful  Boson.

In conversation rare was his rank, 

     Not just among dogs

       But also amongst men.

   In dreams, his friends included

 Shakespeare, Bacon and Donne.

Only The Believer May Enter »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

I am black and you are white at Freedom Roundabout.

   At the traffic light, I caught your eye:

                                    it said go on my love.

   At the traffic light, I am your firebird:

                                      your spring rite.   

At the traffic light, I turned from darkness into light.

  At the traffic light, I am your bride.

I see myself not in black but dazzling white.

Interval »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

what we have is faster than travel:

did you call me ?

i thought for a second

     of unnamed millennium

where each of us stood

a time-piece

able to control each moment

          in time and memory.

 

did you call me ?

   i thought you did.

 

the light between us constant

 

it has no date or memory

like the universe

 

    it is an interval

 

  neither forward nor back

 

   but bright and still in constellation.

did you call me ?

   i thought you did.

 

At that moment

we are utterly motionless

And as wise as Methuselah.

did you call me ?

  or was this silence

so perfect it went on dividing

unseen and beyond any interval ?

Miss-ng »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2011.


Filed under 2011,Poems

 

into a chasm of names

   not selected/random

but at the appointed time saved

   to live forever

although all of us alive –

      disappointed

   by a signal lit upon the sky:

      a great blitz of seats

reserved to hold hands

   falling into a minute that seemed like a century

ready to leave

   although I would fail to say good-bye

and would be missed and miss-ng

            a temporary monument

these temples I wrote of

now silenced as trucks crashed

         into our last defence and all the eyes

could not devour in one sitting the sight

         of so many;

you can still find me though I am missing

         in a chasm of something.

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