On the subject of personification

Fancy A Haggis? »

B.H. Fraser

February 12th, 2008.

Filed under 2008,Poems



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


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?

Now eat and say your prayers.