Four New Poems

B.H. Fraser

Easy Money

Starting easily
Like the dazzle of a shell bursting
For engagement,
A moment visible       But travelling in echo.

 

  Message ready to unleash hell,
At the brain controlling,
        A sum alien.Each sense the miracle of atom and particle         As models tremble,
Modulated but deadly,
As a switch to voices of “incoming”
        How friendly           With noise intimate. With something personal — 
A cup to drink from.
That the loving person
Who likes somebody
That likes something
        Is perfect.
Intoxicated, a symmetry.Every word explosive   
The lack of reason
For what we are about to receive
Making us truly thankful.
At nil,
         Our understanding.
            The lights in the crater not ours,
Everything emptied.So I began to go beyond going to thelimit.

Observation

I shall bring you now by muted mouth
 
            To sacred text
 
Naked and extinguished.
 
I shall bring you now
 
            Either
 
            To the end of time
 
            Or new summit.
 
I shall bring you now
 
            To entertainment.
 
To boys
 
            Who take you up and
                                  down
 
And around again
 
            In simulation
 
Until the music breaks.
 
            I shall take you now
 
Into a sea of ruin
 
            Where chaos
                        Is computer-driven
 
And the cancer
      Has every tongue still
 
I shall bring you now
To neither good nor evil
 

            But observation.

Holland Park

Where Bayswater forms a meadow
            And some of the smarter people
                        Are trapped in wealthier ghetto,
                                    I lie awake in prison.
 
A peacock in the smarter mezzanine,
With lusty wobble, I exercise daily
            To see my sentence double:                    A lifer in this grotto.

 

Mykindatown 

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.

An autumn note

“For many, the end of this uneasy year cannot come quickly enough”

An ordinary killing

Ian Cobain’s book uses the killing of Millar McAllister to paint a meticulous portrait of the Troubles

Greater—not wiser

John Mullan elucidates the genius of Charles Dickens
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