The old needle

Stands in a moss of green

Its broken point strikes me -

                                             B H Fraser

Click here to read full length poem (pdf)

In a crash of symbols, recessions, jingles

   With all the trappings of failure

In rally between nought and zero

   As rates encourage more mania

Carried away to darker pools and caves

   On the wheels of twelve casinos.

Now in a mass of bleeding liquidity,

   A bladder with too much credit –

Circuits of pipes and plumbing

   Beyond treatment.

What lies there

   A simple domino of taste.

A golden apple.

   A matter not of net but gross.

More than life or death.

   A lifetime spent to blind Greece.

   To guarantee a fortune

Without any benefit.

   Let our villas, though, be saved

                                             B H Fraser

With something personal

Hand upon receiver

Make this truly awesome.

Die Hard guys laughing and giggling

   To themselves as they ordered pizza.

Who measure this smallest tremble.

Kids raised on Marx and aphrodisia

The same boys (spoilt I think)

    Who broke the campus window

To the hot gates

Every top floor directed -

Ice sculpture of ourselves in victory.

Told to be alert, sensible

As the smirk shifted

To bundled reserves

In mysterious havens -

Correlated lights

For many to swim to.

Make science alchemy

If crazy/others madmen.

We stand in shadows

At times motionless.

   From the depths: Listen. Terror. Kiss.

To those who push back

Who fall but want a piece of us.

Instead we step aside

  To take to the inferno

Where dogs clean their bowls in pure lust

And money is like gold dust

A four minute warning is all you've got to join us.

                      Outstanding.

                                             B H Fraser

Like some infectious carp,

      My bonus out

Ponders the darkening.

      A hundred pound predator,

An inland shark
      Swims towards the great metropolis.

No system should despair

      Nor Michigan resist.

Every good American, booted, on.

      He paid our debts.

Made our borders strong.

      And the greenback,

What you'll find at Kingdom come.

      If it please the mighty Abraham

In smile-less state

      Opening those holy and beloved gates.

                                             B H Fraser

From half a world away,

      Hear this:

Hear me

      'Blood drink'.

My shadow

      A giant vampire squid,

I swim in silhouette

      With tentacles that stick.

In many fathoms do I lurk,

      A rich banker doing god's work.

                                             B H Fraser

Sit perfectly still and be kissed

   By the warmth of on-line screen

     This Good News, the New Year brings.

       Bargains by the dozen,

         A crowd of mad gunmen

           Stormed a prosperous precinct.

             Turning a well-known fast food outlet

               Into a scene from ‘Blood and Ketchup’.

                 A prosperous year then to all fanatics

              And everyone else in any kind of racket.

            Such as our friends in government.

          There are lots of cameras around

        With which to film us.

      It must surely make them smile

    To see all those anxious feet

  Chasing deals down Oxford Street.

                                             B H Fraser

1.

Starting easily
for engagement to see nobody:
   a moment visible
but travelling in shadow.
Message ready.
   The brain controlling sums alien.
Hand upon receiver, something personal,
to measure the smallest tremble.
   Die hard guys laughing and giggling
as they ordered more pizza.
To the hot gates they go
as every director bid them.

2.

As the smirk lifted
   to bundle reserves in mysterious havens -
correlated lights for many to swim to.
At times motionless,
   surface constant but horizon a mirage.
steps taken to finesse the figuring.
   To recall their narrow, rounded beauty.
"Outstanding", awesome",
   passed fit by Darwin
as darkness folds around my bonus.

                                             B H Fraser

Like two dogs coupling -

What’s the difference

Between Marx and Capitalism ?

Both lie programmed

As if they meant it.

And amidst those stars.

That still sparkle in the gutter

How clever to call my bonus an incentive.

With the same fluency and finance,

Luminaries gather at Davos

To be made rich quietly

In their villas afterwards.

While nations slide asking for information

To bankroll their currency.

Political parties start wars

And pocket the difference.

An image gold and burnished in every household.

Bubbles, shadows, assets –they’re all a party

As central bankers hand out all the smarties.

All money corrupts but absolute money

Corrupts completely naturally.

A black box in a black hole

Of unintelligible depth and distance.

With only the analysis

Of a man with white stick as echo.

Like I said, I’ve done more for communism

Than any communist.

The pup I bred

Will cry for a generation.

                                             B H Fraser

Let us pray for merchants and bankers -
 World leaders.

For outproduction
 And economic potential.

A prayer
   Where greed is good:
      A dream of domination.

Now there's the rub.

Where did it go wrong,

My adventurous song?

Our wings outspread like some financial Milton.

With rates at zero and losses infinity

I could have done with help earlier.

I ask, is this the prayer to prick my conscience?
As all around I see an eternal question.

One of nonsense, nought.

Cancelling these beloved mortgages.

Gone my Rock, Northern,

And happy Prince Bingley.

Where shall I turn, O Jerusalem?

Perhaps to back a different humour
The one with monetary tumour –
Boys and girls who bet the invisibles
A smile on their face without demurring,

Let us praise them.

Who stamp their feet
Staggering between alpha and beta
Giving a two minute warning
Before extinction.

   In a vision, looking beyond the curtain

The price of oil doubling

While falling

A long way and back again.

What is this?

Nothing.

The stump of a tree rotting.

Inflation merry,

Iceland? Sold for a penny.

Print and be damned,

How sweet -it's 'bail out'!

For cars we do not need

Or care for.

Now there's a man with vision –

The US President,

So heads were spinning
Nobody (anybody) queried the query.

Knew whether we were running,
Shooting, firing

lobbying or…

Out in rigs, steamers, living.
And everything moving –

'Gated and booted,

    You rough-riding, son of a vigilante.'

And horses with the feet of centaurs,
Salesman out west along highways

In patterns of spending obvious

Even the rich normally clever

Looking stupid.

Enter Bernie to get

His leg-over.

Il Duce. Vittoria!

Are you on the list?

The rest laughing at a distance.

A bad day at the races, let's face it.

Out there, even St Patricks' boys are stealing.

So many friends, so many places

Who said the're Our Pillars?

Finally, the screens stand watching themselves
    a view is fixed, a trance,
suddenly no, not Goldmans!

We trusted you,

Although the mask has fallen
   A finger points

Accusingly

To

'My Word, my Bondy.'

But with whom, Israel?

Truth being somewhat of a victim

These lies dominated by further cluster
And all prominent –
    Telling of Tokyo,
The Footsie or Paris falling –
    Beneath
Running powerfully from Bank to

      Chancery

The system failing.

A stop at Lehman intoxicating.
    Sounds of drums and shields.

inhabitants

Walk out in a crash of symbols

Despite the sulphurous smelling/still exclaiming

    "isn't it wonderful the killing."

Our data correlated
   To voice and nervous sinew
As starred-crossed models.
   The new swimmers,

despite their death 'brothers',
All names inter-twinned – winners.

   Pure velocity, surges/rallies.
Suddenly damaged,

Mayfair empty,

Was sure we'd go forever.

Not what Hank envisaged

Instead

Fannie and Freddie miserable,

We tried again to cancel September

In the Forbidden City.

It's off the wedding but shotgun ready

Heavies appear, the quiet men

Scot to English

Adam Smith furious

But even Edinburgh

Wasn't immune from greediness.

So my breath became prayer

And my prayer dear life -

Was glad as I walked into this house
Could not divide one mouth from another
Nor tell who was on my side

Felt only the warmth of the sun on my back
   And the fires of hell around me.

To god I go –

A mispriced fool in a world of wonder.

     Yes,

I shall walk in the valley of the shadow of debt

  Every seed planted.

A million Armageddions flowering.

Thought I was man's best friend
But now the lakes are burning,

All of us, no longer filled with thoughts of lust
Are wretched in state moneyless

Where dreams are turned to dust.

Let us return to Paradise, Archangel,
You and I walking under an evening sky -

What a bargain! Credit unlimited.

But, despite a discount,

Despite a god,

This sucker's going down alright.

                                             B H Fraser

You flash thing,
You master of the cooking bling.
God, you’d be good in bed – arms, legs, skin,
Even the words unsaid. Good luck then.

Top pudding, number one, legless fun.
You bellied-beast,
Sometimes what’s best is least.
Who claimed you’re good Monsieur Haggis,
‘The Special One’?

What with the knife, Shorty?
That cuts what looks like muck.
Until a light - you realise what luck,
Gold amidst the tripe.
The oozing ‘insides’ rich, as thick as thick.
How about it?

And what’s the deal when you eat this meal?
A burning sensation,
The starving air, starved itself until the pricking:
Fire with energy/
Gloriously rich like all
        Temptation.
A gasp, perhaps a whiff of danger
From that gangster pudding.
His face honest but thin - deadly beast.
A form of midnight porridge,
More fun but rougher on the lips.

Some resist.
A smile, a microwave, a menu,
            Nothing genuine,
Not a word of truth amongst them.
Sauces thinly/sick.
To be this famous -
As slick and slick -
They go by the name
        Of the Cognoscente.

Contrast -
Hair plumméd, shoulders set,
Ready to extend a hand of friendship –
The Immortal Memory.
Flame-throwing son of Caledonia -
Making vegetable into nips,
His words as succulent as chips.
The stomach ready, greedy for the saucy bits.

Transmitter on/Receive:
The power of universal union.
Tune into ‘Radio Pudding’ -
The hairy guy, silent sometimes,
     Can baffle a bit.
You can’t hurry love
And you can’t hurry a haggis.
So now do you fancy me?
And can a night be spent together
Learning the meaning of all eternity?
   Time to eat and say your prayers.

For engagement
To see nobody:
A moment invisible,
Travelling in shadow
   With message ready
To unleash
     The chaos of hell, of battlefield.
A word alien,
Each sound a miracle of atom and particle
As bodies tremble.
A second, a sign, an allegory
Until a switch to voices of
           "Incoming!"
How friendly.
           With noise intimate,

  As butcher bird appears
         With something
Much more personal.

Execution perfect
In the high altitude of killing.

Ready to avenge himself
   How do you describe me?
As Bringer of War?
Or Peace?
   By Jupiter,
                   All these things –
A regular corpse-maker.
      Trained well
To see the best of all possible scenarios,
Though now it's done
A land I neither know nor believe in.
To make sense giving thanks:
"Gloria tibi domine"
    A repeated prayer, a repeated failure,
Something my orders didn't mention.

So
   I
      Began to walk.
            To go beyond
   "Going to the limit"
With no understanding
Except myself as limit.
  What is today limit? Nothing.
No music
     Just shadows,
A stump.
Reflections.
To dance the dance macabre.
The comedy finished.
I shall not wake from this magic sleep
Either as Roland or Darius,
or The Lion himself, David.

Put down instead
like the dog I followed and believed in.
I’m going up the line tonight.
Looking neither left nor right

   All contracts filled
By this rotten earth
   All places extinguished,
   As the darkness folds

Around these words.
I vanish mocking each syllable,
My jaw fixed,
Unable to move –
   The sound still,
                   Incomprehensible.

                                             B H Fraser

Dream me.
I am neither asleep nor awake.
I am in parenthesis.
Watching
   With love and remembrance,
I am your heated vision.
This sense beyond the furthest limit
      A new language –
               The stuff
   Waking sleep is made of.
It makes no movement.
An unsaid moment.
Did you call me?
There is laughter in your calling.
The refrain though is mine remembered.
      Notes capturing a shadowless beauty
Beside a shaded meadow,
      Around the blunder/break of sleeping.
Now only the sleep/lightning
   Has my echo.
What can be said? Look around.
I am alive and you must remember.
Although I stumble,
   Listen –
I hear the music of the water
   And dream for it to take me.
Where is this place?
   It is between each birth
     In a timeless tense
Injecting each repeated second.
     Told in whispers before you wake.
   Neither here nor there
     But in reflection.
Waking, no mirror, nothing –

                                             B H Fraser

And did those words in City speak
    tell us much about what was said?
And was this secret place still England
    now it's owned by global inc?

And did the governor (himself divine)
    Judge like Mercury upon a whim?
And was mammon raised here
    amidst these bright, intelligent things?

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 not rest from making millions,
    nor shall power sleep in my wallet,
until we have built a new Jerusalem
    where money is without limit.

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.