Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Four Night-shift Poems


Voices hidden, outlined,
in red sunset,

a brain docked like a
cold frozen grey ship,

hope, too extravagant,

for hopelessness,
blue may it be,

a rudder through the stony
filled faces of Earth,

echoing! ! !

caught in manifold glances,

but nowhere....


II


I want to be lovey dovey too!

I want...want...want...

the so called connection,

heart shaped equipment,

not this lump of beating meat,

stopping always in it's tracks,

enquiring,

'so where do you live? '


III


Spontaneous photograph
of my butter dish,

some mad idea,

that some moments are fixed,

locked in motion,

and that the dust in my mind,
or eyes, has settled...

the soft simple serrations I made,

whilst building sandwiches, ham & cheese,

for work...


4.


The mistakes, are the mistakes
of a life that I notice,

of a life already lived or still
being led,

it would seem,

that 'all', could be the same mistake,

or earth revolving,

to the same acceleration, who knows,

it's the mistakes, that I cannot take
upon myself, to eradicate,

mistake - to me - is everywhere in everything,

too?

so collosal,

important, that I see nothing truly great,

emanating out of other deserved places, either...

'a mistake on my part - I suppose - to not act
in some other way...'.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 12, 2013

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