On the subject of 2020

Getting the all clear at Gwennap Head: August 2020 »

B.H. Fraser

October 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


    Not from a Cove or Ovid

There came the news from Cornwall,

   But infernal Covid

That life was almost normal

Drone »

B.H. Fraser

September 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


Travelling in shadow


with message ready


to unleash


the chaos of hell: a battlefield.

Every word explosive,

all sides tremble.


Man, you wouldn’t believe it,


we jumped off, super tourist,

(staying seated naturally)

with a switch to


voices of




How friendly.


With noise intimate,

A hissing song

a tremble

of text.



A bloody snap of paper

(Attention!  Postcard!)

As butcher bird appears



With something

much more personal.

“Contact” –


licked clean, perfect


by the blast.

A pause.


Execution perfect


in the high altitude of killing


only the “wish you were here” missing.

For an extra twenty »

B.H. Fraser

August 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


At the harvest fellowship,

We believe in one vision, a holy, most almighty, GIVER OF THINGS.



BEING A Maker of money,

Our kind of salvation by the power of television. Hallelujah.

So make money.

I guess this preacher JUST got blessed and became famous. AMEN. HALLELUJAH.

And our kingdom shall have no end.

Did I tell you about the profits we’re making?

You gotta believe but keep it tight with the insurance.

I shall probably get crucified but that adds to the premium.

And my kingdom shall have no end.

Believe in me as the giver of heaven

Who CAN pull them in.


Troop Withdrawal »

B.H. Fraser

July 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,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.

An Astronaut Disconnects »

B.H. Fraser

June 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


on a high walk communicating

like i was and ever shall be original

without fault both intimate and numerate


to all the above to sing of where i live

in pure autonomy the moon bid me unlink


to see a ‘dans maen’ of merry maidens

are the stars talking in my voice

i remember lying in the grass at home

and what the stars first gave me was eternity

as my pulse raced the image darkened



and i floated away into infinity



Nighthawks »

B.H. Fraser

May 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


by another name, the nameless wood:

a strenuous monotony of being awake

where I could not go on

but did

to the middle of a vision

to walk and go beyond

going to the limit

to hear only the echo of footsteps

in my viewless, steady tread.

i had no more lust for knowledge

even its branches

suspended even from sleep talk

to know more about my sleepwalk –

in this soft earth only secrets.

as i realised the senses between night and morning

are nameless.

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