On the subject of Poems

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.

11th September »

B.H. Fraser

April 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems


into a chasm of names

not selected/random

but at the appointed time saved

to live forever

although all of us alive –


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.

Animal Thing »

B.H. Fraser

March 1st, 2020.

Filed under 2020,Poems



He stands upon the grid,

Like hairy Cupid.


He rules above us as porn king

A model of international stardom.


He is to himself magnificent

As animal thing.


He does much, much

And wears a magic ring.

‘unmarked’ @ remember »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.

Filed under 2019,Poems


You said something about a song adventurous

The time I had in my younger self

Both of us in the arms of our mothers

Later as friends

To many in parks or clubs various a nuisance

And after a belly full

Now finding ourselves cripple

Circling almost squat

The shank of a walk

With old dreams and old talk

Our sight severe and at the slightest touch

Is this a secret war between us


To recall what might have been

And now I face you in the street: my old self

A misunderstanding

I wish my love was here

As I staggered towards myself

The trash traffic of food delivered

My last look one of young girls

An angel watching from the pavement

The car crash that is myself

Still living in these flames the tears of these girls

Recalling a trial of strength between one and myself


My stump like an old sack steady


Is lately silent and empty

Found by a lonely dustcart

Still my remains ‘unmarked’ @ remember:

He was a fiery fellow, an eagle

And what might be said of him

In the green black water of this basin

An overflowing pit

As they scrape his brains from the traffic system

The chorus repeats what might have been

He’s still to agree himself as the 52 bus dims its lights

Turning into Kensal Green

Hail to the Chief »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.

Filed under 2019,Poems



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

I’ll be waiting

Escobar, Jesus is coming.



So show respect.

Assist me, assist The Magnificent.

I am invincible on ground unlimited.

And I 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.



Gringo, this wall you said….

Amigo, it’s 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 and I shall lack little:

Escobar, I hope you vote for me.

And you one day for me

when America is Mexican.

Troll »

B.H. Fraser

October 8th, 2018.

Filed under 2018,Poems


 How very dull to be taken by a troll

At the start of my visit to Oslo.

  If you believe in them

it will be easy to understand a key play of Ibsen.

  Such as why they poisoned the water

In a letter delivered by the daughter.

  Which gets me back

to the Troll and Dr Stockman:

  Who are both rather brave and fearsome.

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