A Bit Of A Poet Poem by GRANT FRASER

I've always
been partly poet
which is never enuf!
incompleteness,
a sort of familiar friend,

so Ted, just go **** yourself!
I like Hart much better,
and I can sense his being,
even though he was what
you called "Queer",
maybe that's why he took
his coat off quietly
and jumped from
the "Oriziba",

it's not fair once you've been
there - love?
and by God didn't you
have your tragic share,

But sometimes I have to go
further afield, just to feel it,
that's why I wound up in
your old house, this past summer,

And back again to watch
daughter Frieda read
at the Baptist hall,
she was thoroughly engaging
a sort of inherited fusion!

It was sort of exciting in
a stupid way,
and I just couldn't stop
thinking about Sylvia,
six feet under, above us,
up on Heptonstall,
whom I have loved since
I started having deeper
feelings, for meaning & words,

but who am I to say,
when it all gets carried away,

Stuck at the beginning
overlooking the end,
sandwiched among the meat,
it's alive or we're already partly dead,
requires a jump start,
if you just can't feel it enuf,

Why am I here?
as it follows you everywhere...
some images require great stringing,
or at least a sort of psychic
necklace, hidden, for mind to wear,

yes I've worn all kinds of poet thoughts,
coughed them back up,
for better or worse,
stripped completely naked,
laid myself bare,

I'm still looking though,
to the furthest space in time,
where I imagine some assignation,

Stroked or stoked
by some unimaginable force,
here eat some of this...
this kind of hunger is uneven?