Silver Star - 4,073 Points (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

More Things... - Poem by GRANT FRASER

Your going to have to find
more things to hold onto...

the world might be temptress,
but just detest, what's hollow,
about the phoniness and distrustful

if you can surmise the distant
echo of blood
like a red black liver,

hanging onto so little,
could be the only way...

there's something warped
about the product that we praise,

I am in search of,

inconsolable souls,
covered in trophies,


there is awe, a complete
emptiness that has gnawed
away graciously at my needs,

let it crumble,

empty becomes full,

is it celluloid?

Hanging Harmony onto
my ugly face that cannot erase,
it's still trying to have eyes,
after the blinded conceited
greets you,

the sugar acid sting of gaeety
while climbing up a coffee bean,
in a fizzle pink bed, of dank brain,

hold holed on,
your hole is a fold,
inviting a a spec of spittle,

and your agape at how wide,
the whole thing becomes,

you are hanging from it,
holding onto whatever it is,

self's permission,

this is where puppet play
rests, on the edge of that dark
chasm, pleated by a conscience,

hanging onto a gob of gods spit,
should you unzip in haste,

and the hungriest are bent back,
like a spectre of 'No',
spinning round so fast,
compliant, yes vomit of foam,

We are not at home,
inside our homes,
but parked inside
our multifarious
car's back sides,

What happened to
the light in your drink?
Shrunken thoughts for miles,
it's like the only puddle
with an alluring glare,
full of false pictures
and glittery bull shit!

For a split second you,
come back from the brink,
and then crumple like a wrapper,

C'mon - this is like getting
on a space ship,
that has no intention of coming

And why should it?

Topic(s) of this poem: poem, poems

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Poem Submitted: Friday, November 9, 2018

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 13, 2018

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