Observe the enthusiastic dead.

            Observe them.

      A carriage of them we will make

and fill their Steady Boys, Steady,

         WITH STEADY STATE:

the bodies of boys and girls smiling.

Why worry about their rotting, empty heads

when they are dead ?

STILL, we tend to speculate

on what they might have said

at their lying in state.

To the question

'who is the name of the lord ?',

a lowering of flags is hardly recompense

   to their family and friends.

This te deum about the state

is completely meaningless TO THEM.

                        The bugle will call:

both to silence the waters and to writ them but it will not wake them

                   despite the living joy about the dead.

LATER, THE ROTTEN FRUIT OF SPECULATION

will lie in the gutter in a kind of lying in state.

Unsold,

      a last post of sorts.

Did they WHO ARE NOW DEAD understand the heart of man

   at this setting ?

              As the rotting sun is set.

On that long day, we said good-bye to all that’s good and dead.

                                             B H Fraser

As we crossed a trackless plain

   directed by camera -

our only record

as we crossed a trackless plain

      directed by camera:

            repeated.

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.

                                             B H Fraser

                    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.

                                             B H Fraser

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.

                                             B H Fraser

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.

                                             B H Fraser

I am black and you are white at Freedom Roundabout.

   At the traffic light, I caught your eye:

it did not say red, it said go on my love.

   At the traffic light, I am your firebird:

your spring rite.  The desert that bore me is now night.

   At the traffic light, I missed you.

Instead, I went home to captivity and Babylon.

  At the traffic light, not a mosaic

but a shoulder bare, daring our god.

  At the traffic light, I composed a love duet for this gulf.

I am a tree turning from darkness into light.

  At the traffic light, I am already your bride

and see myself not in black but dazzling white.

  At the traffic light, it is quiet and still:

I may turn neither right nor left, I may go on to you, my love.

  At the traffic light, a mysterious joy of water wrapped in voice

where your echo stole the night.

   At the traffic light, Purgatory/Inferno

if I believe our father Abraham.

                                             B H Fraser

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 ?

                                             B H Fraser

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

into a chasm of names

   not selected/random

but at the appointed time saved

   to live forever

although all of us alive -

       but disappointed

  by a signal lit upon the repeated sky:

    a great blitz of seats

reserved to hold hands

  falling into a minute that seemed

ready to leave

  although I would fail to say good-bye

and would be missed.

                a temporary monument

these temples I wrote of

now silenced as trucks crashed

              into our last defense 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

moving with great speed across a sky lit in italics

           with the force of shapes that made new punctuation.

                i love you and hope, still, you will reply.

                                             B H Fraser

(to) a powerⁿ that makes you feel

on a high walk

   connected, really sorted.

   without blemish

like i was and ever shall be original

   without fault;

  both intimate and numerate

to all the above then

  sing of where i live

in pure autonomy

  while those above watch.

                                             B H Fraser

Now naked upon the grid

     like some hairy cupid:

are you able to assist ?

     To assist The Magnificent,

                             who is invincible ?

    After,

          he sits in his cups

                   on ground unlimited

    having finished his push ups.

He takes everything by mouth:

                     liquid.

                                             B H Fraser

   trying to clear my head

     by way of lords

               on a bus to beachy head

   at the precise second the ball was bowled

          over wenlock edge.

   either a boundary or something -

    in the bowler's hand a difference seemingly,

a dance: suddenly a grenade, a warmth replaced by panic

      in my head the word titanic.

  brain on deck. to pass to faraway places such as france.

   his loop made me think of adlestrop,

of the blue i hadn't won at oxford:

   the driver to cover,

suddenly alive to the possible that he and i were lover

   as i sharpened eye and pencil,

      (on paper).

    the next moment was new beginning

    and very slow like June i walked as ghost to the pavilion.

                                             B H Fraser

To dance to time backwards,

    with neither flesh nor bone

in step to the last syllable:

  a first bar to put an end

 to race, wars and religion.

The sort of party

   -all completely good natured -

levelling up things.

    Would that be so bad ?

Held by the light of moon:

   as out of the crypt we crept mad

       with nobody watching except our friends,

         everyone dancing a shade unclad.

Any description will do - even resurrection -

            Here at Gravesend.

                   Cheers.

                                             B H Fraser

   Whether thieving in Ealing,

Looting in Tooting

   Or mortars in Bayswater.

Heavens  !

   Whatever ends you from,

Let not clouds descend 

   On Kensington.

                                             B H Fraser

so we bless god for this our genesis,

                         in splendour silent

                   where there is more to print

                                    literally;

we print more in green ink;

         gladly, gladly

             we pioneer

       with heads of heads,

                news

           where blinded and broke -

               busted,

                  with bills to pay with more bills

               along a stony path of thrills

             littered with i owe you's,

                              silent.

                                             B H Fraser

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.

                                             B H Fraser

In room airless,

        What are the limits

   Of symbols and shapes?

     What are they ?

And what does it take

    To be a symbol

              And to be a shape ?

To be floating on nil horizon

    In monochrome past 

And colour present ?

   In room airless,

     What does the unsaid say at that moment ?

                                             B H Fraser

   I think love sh ould be subtle

          Just like this bottle

            that is smashed over

                  your head all soft and memorable;

                a driving passion

           to divide your legs

      like capitalism.

  That takes to the limit

     something sensitive,

     even offensive, 

       at a party of rich gorillas

         discussing violence in terms amorous


               as the little people pass below

                   both faraway and stupid.

                                             B H Fraser

(in Cairo, Spring 2011)

Until now we had a different use 

          for the word emergency -

              now we have a new u rgency

To start easily,

as had been our training,

      amidst the dazzle of a shell bursting,

       for engagement to see nobody,

a moment hardly visible

        that travels in echo.

We are unsure but ready 

          as ground trembles:

modulated but deadly

as sudden switch to friendly.

    How friendly, 

        with noise now intimate.

I do not know and dare not be naked

     in and among the tongue of speculatio n.

Among these fragments 

     propelled here through multiple worlds -

Am I alone or with somebody ?

Who is unsaid ?

   As every word explosive,

      fractured by heat

       will extinguish and obliterate

      all life

       and start again

in Spring.

    Bringing back to the beginning:

           the word incoming.

                                             B H Fraser

With bells ringing

    and people meddling;

and children around a bonfire

      singing:

ring-a-ring-a-dollar

a pocket full of squalor.

Of all the aphrodisias of the all worlds

to make this final vision

not in amorosa but in the incincerator.

That pup is now a green eyed beast:

upon my mouth,

  sits some sunlit fantasy

upon some sunlit breast;

now we find a shower of heat

   through the soles of our feet;

it burns a hole in our head

and when our brains shall be burnt,

        we shall be ate;

and our ashes lie around a blackened stump

      to survey mysterious skies, deadened:

           the sparkle that went out with that fire

             we glimpse in far away star

          called Eden.

Once we descended with pride, 

now we are in free fall like a dying meteor.

 "Dollarisma, Serenissima"

   is the princely constellation

    of which we are victim,

as every particle of what is left

  makes a journey into nursery rhyme.

And those who believe in eternal life

have only the glare of publicity

  with which to light their path;

and the friendship of a cancerous dog

with which to howl into the night.

                                             B H Fraser

    There's my father skiing with his brother,

skiing with another,

    neither his wife nor his mother

are around

and as the brother is bachelor confirmed

   this is awkward

as the boy looks like a girl

   which troubles me as daughter.

I shall tell Mummy about this beauty:


   and the chalet shall be a little cool later.

                                             B H Fraser

   Mein dame and mien herr,

Bavarian girls

   race themselves

to the point of powerful men

   in powerful cars amen.

At five hundred miles per hour,

   feel their thrust:

to remember those corners

   and curls

of the Munich girls.

  In the minds of business,

there is not much light between them

   and plenty of thrills

on the Strasse of curves and spills.

   What's fair for the dame,

is fair for the herr.

   So let them both run:

one to catch the other,

   although I could not tell

which was dog and which was hare;

   after all,

this is Bavaria.

                                             B H Fraser

Running out of jokes about the Doge's Palace,

    And the one about Byron and La Giudecca,

We played non-touch Venice for a while -

    Rather humorous and without a hint of malice.

Until the guidebook pointed out 'our peril' -

    Being the point about Serenissima -

So we retired to our rooms over the canal illumino.

                                             B H Fraser

At the stroke of blackberry,

along electronic highway -

   for a moment in this mouth.

A sign in neon,

   of killer app,

  a signal that all three were relieved about.

      A tendency to destruct

           in all this driving about,

               dumb but with receiver on.

                                             B H Fraser

of colours and squiggles
   the mighty dollar
      blows deadly like

El Nuno:
      riding in patrol
a paper beast with secret signal,
      a smell draws the dogs on.

and now, pup,
paying ourselves for what goes up and up
to eclipse the eclipse,
to let it rip.

and everything moving –
   saddle and booted,
      you rough-riding vigilante.

I'm told out west
   you can be completely innocent.

what is this peak you speak of?
of what nobody is sure and dare not speak of.
sail then, sail across the sea and marry me
   just as a mountain,
      an enormous arm wrestle.

so we bless god for this, our genesis,
                         in splendour silent.

                     where there is more to print

                                    literally;
we print more in green ink;
      gladly, gladly
            we pioneer
   with heads of heads, of news
      where blinded and broke -
            busted,
                  with bills to pay with more bills
            along a stony path of thrills
      littered with i owe you's.
a printing machine
   literally;
            with which to cover our naked pulse,
to recall each leaf,
      its beauty helped us cross ourselves,
            saint something
                  unknown, completely naked -

                      green it was.

paying ourselves for what goes up and up
   to eclipse the eclipse,
      to let it rip.

and everything moving –
   saddled and booted,
      you rough-riding, green-backed individual
      out along highways

I'm told out here
   the verdict is always innocent.
      so what is this peak,
            revolver ?

sure, speak, stranger.
   the good doctor,
the doctor dollar would say
      would say to me,
run away and marry me,
      loaded and smoked.

   and bless god by and for genesis,
      as what we owe
            is a summary of information.
                  
               with this thing, it's all or nothing
                        no half and half will do

                              i guess i owe, i owe to you

                        a snafu or something;
                  a pup to stroke like it was all newed.

                                             B H Fraser

In what seemed a time interminable 
   This is how the world 'beginned'. 
Let's describe it -  
   Had the start and no sin.

If you stumble around darkness,

                     It can be quite harmless.

In tints of Eden, sketches, 
We was completely liquid.

Shadows but happier  
  Completely innocent.  We was.

We hadn't learnt to spell or think. 
   
To be precise we 'knowed' nothing.

    Hadn't put pen to ink

             Or even tried to. 
   
Space, collision 
Two people in conversation. 
   A big bang,

        Quite a picnic.  

   And what of the budded stem?  Gravity? 
All things to all men.

Until the sun cames up

And everything was bright.

And all the loving I could ever have 
             In one night

Came from the dollar's light.

                                             B H Fraser

Now the elbows faster and sharper

Have dulled Hyperion's laughter.

And he, who was once an archer,

    Who played with the Most Golden,

Had a visit from the Spanish master,

                 El Bow, the reaper.

                                             B H Fraser

"Try five trillion," they said:

    To think of their smile and his

The screen ahead fusing itself

                With this vision.

Then the sight of Pandemonium set in:

   Sitting there watching himself in a mirror,

     Watching them, watching him

       Play the devil

Who knows all the tunes

       Like every cartel.

Like every rebel, it was thrilling

  To sit at the controls of the Cosmos

   Wearing jeans and a t-shirt called Chaos:

       To play in the financial troubles

               In high pitched frequency

                                             B H Fraser

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.

                                             B H Fraser

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.

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.