Silver Star - 3,460 Points (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Outside Time Somewhere... - Poem by GRANT FRASER

This tendency for
after reviving from
dosing off,

like trying to make
out what the clock
is saying on your wall,

we should be creative now,
life is ticking us off,
for eternity...

to get the brown bean
powder fine, and the electric
grind, cutting me a cup or two,

half a mouthful
and three chords:
'She's got everything...,
pah! pah! pah! ',

can you imagine a singer
like me now, fifty,
it's nice that I kept it up,
for the sing song
gets rid of the inner strife,

and so I get carried away
and hold it differently,
from fast to slow,
or back to the wall,
where a certain gold
glides thru your planetary head,

I am your singer
and not dead,
there is stuff dancing
inside me still, that lives on,

until you hang up
the silver gloves,
have had enough,

it's like your
on repeat,
and the poems
are steeped,
in the same
hindrance that
bore the funny
echo that came,
when your name
is shouted,

I am a noise
in your head,

some old photograph
is where I'll be,
shortly afterwards,

he just doesn't live
enough - that guy!

something about the
way he presses the image
down, hard onto the paper,

before it all becomes
a crinkled ball or vapour,


we all will,

and not know it...

Topic(s) of this poem: poem

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Poem Edited: Wednesday, August 13, 2014

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