On the subject of Poems

It’s… The Government… Stupid »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.

Filed under 2012,Poems


As we crossed a trackless plain

   directed by camera –

our only record

as we crossed a trackless plain

      directed by camera:


A cluster of legs accelerated

   numbers heated by bodies

heated by bodies

ready for the quick stamp panic attack

               of gas attack.

Repeated and played and watched

by men and women tracking us

   senior officials with senior and sensitive facts

about our lives and loves

   repeating to themselves

it was good for us to be watched

   and after the attack to conclude

there were now less of us to track.

Mykindatown »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.

Filed under 2012,Poems


Blessings on Monaco
                And all its palaces –

Particularly the one I live in

                Covered in bougainvillea.

Or the yacht I forgot to mention
                                                  Abacus 1,2,3.

Or a matter not unconnected,
                The boiling of the sea.

Jerusalem New Town »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.

Filed under 2012,Poems


  (from William Blake)

And did those words in City speak
   not quite mean what they said?
And was this secret place still England
   now it’s owned by global inc?

And did the governor, a touch laconic,
   look like King Canute and slightly comic.
To put us on our mettle;
   We, who are the face of  battle.

Bring me my bonus of burning zeros!
   Bring me a nod from my manager!
Bring a decent appraisal, o career unfold!
   Bring me a car with two steering wheels!

I shall continue to make a million
   and control the price of oil per gallon,
while we build a new Jerusalem
   where money is without limit.

City Sonnet »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2012.

Filed under 2012,Poems


      (from William Shakespeare)

Shall I compare an option to a future?
The thought of all that money is lovely.
Markets are volatile – alleluia.
Wow, the contract has a month longer
And the market’s gone loco.
Hey, it could be an opportunity (in such confusion).
As once in a while you get this kind of thing –
To go away in May and come back in September,
Overpowering us happy few with a price
Nobody can remember.
I guess we couldn’t believe it –
The vanity of the forbidden City.
For as long as someone’s able and willing,
There’s always a chance to make a killing.

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



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


     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 –


   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 


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.

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