And when I'm coming down
again, at the thought of it,
I didn't sense the purpose
of the Sun, filling me up
with a radiant love,
Struck with blind whims,
mulling over old things,
used to think I could make
the world sing out anew,
Words, don't really mean
anything, until you address
'love is a standard - leaping
out of the window, of yr heart! '
And when I'm flying thru the sky
or the hoop, Bah-Japa-Rappa-Papa!
just a few more bricks
how can the world exist?
We'll make that board meeting
at ten then, everybody can do
what they like, but I'll do
Skin of the grape
cash mixed with honour
as soon as the bloods dry
that's what I like...
But just who is that coming now -
riding on a tiger...
R-i-d-i-n-g- o-n- a- t-i-g-e-r...
In the shadow of cities,
where I've slaughtered my brain
senseless, crying, what am i doing
here, where am I going...
And like a man half attempting
to run away, hid in perpetual
booziness, fleeting moments,
Great sophistication, of modernity
eating into me like a thousand
posh buildings, chewing me with
their bricks - ah! the shame of failure!
A black chandelier rattling underneath
my hair, that crashes down beneath
well I got up today,
felt sticky with thought,
my breath stinking still
from drinking 'Old Rosie! '
GRANT FRASER's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(01 January 1950)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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