Nigel Fisher

Nigel Fisher Poems

Nigel Fisher Biography

The England I grew up in no longer exists, some of my earliest memorys are of the London fog or 'smog' as they called it. The winters were cold and we nearly always had snow. I suppose we noticed the weather more because we had no central heating. I made it my job to light the coal fire every morning, it was great fun as we had a gadget known as a gas poker, a poker with fire blazing from holes in it's side. This I poked into the coals and soon had them blazing. I remember the first time we had to learn some poetry for prep how excited my Father was, I couldn't understand, like so many things I have had to reach my fiftys to comprehend much of my childhood. My Father wrote poetry and published two small collections of his verse. I believe his Mother also wrote Poetry. sadly I have not seen any of her work.)

The Best Poem Of Nigel Fisher

Brian. [r.I.P.]

What motivated him to lie?
Tales of friends in the east,
strange bearers of gifts.
A brother hanged.
I saw his childhood home and knew.

Precise rapid questions - he can't slow me down,
keeping pace - answers contradictory, random,
I sense his fear, he feels the trap,
doesn't he know that questions do not harm?
It is the answers he gives -
that kill!

He writhes and struggles - the death throws... are upon him.
The mask, once proud, respected is cracking,
with sharp stacato sound it shatters
Integrity and self respect lost in an instant
I lift the broken shards and now reveal -
Broken eyes that focus far beyond,
a nose bent - a mouth that was raped
by a Policemans torch.

That Silvery Slither of Steel is broken
his strength dissipated, the once proud
back arches forward shoulders hunched
Something that should have died Clings -
a parasite as before but now the
only nourishment an occasional exhaled breath.

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