Resurrection of Desire
I was abandoned
By desire
Sure the subcutaneous rumble
Continued its silent tango
With the subterranean ache
But desire in her true glory
Overt and unashamed
Deserted me
Surmising I guess
That I deserved her mercy
Less than I did before
Even less
G-d should forgive me
I wrote
For the failures
Of my daily resurrection
And of my poems of praise
G-d will not forgive me
According to your note:
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poem by Frank Bana
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The Wounded Self
If I could be my ego death
The pain of love could be outrun
I could forget
The distance of your womanhood
To peace succumb
Dissolute and self-effaced
No mirrored shadow of desire
I could achieve
Sunder of hard material
Breakdown of inner pride
The wounded self seeks healing
To wholly disappear
But necessary still to rise
To bear the weight you find to be
Too heavy to ignore
Buried by a hail of tears
Offshore. And I meanwhile
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poem by Frank Bana
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My Execution
Facing my execution
Unsure I was the one
Found with the smile, holding the smoking gun
The hooded hulk
Weighs me up and sighs
Deep delight is dancing in his eyes
He knows so well
Arousal and the swell
Anticipates the snap, the fall, the void
While I look back
At the wide door of my cell
From which my life has suddenly emerged
Regretful or ashamed
Who do I have to blame and who
Have I betrayed? As they abandon me
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poem by Frank Bana
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H's Soul
I wonder what happened to Hitler's Soul
As children cursed it around the world
At breakfast tables, under hidden floors
And at the oven doors
Lovers cursed it in their ecstasy throes
Soldiers cursed it, spitting on their boots
Marching in life and death parades
As their mothers cursed him too
Begging his Soul to be damned in Hell
Consigned with Generals that cursed it well
Where did it go, that very special Soul
Was there a space, a prison cell
Padded by the silence of his screams
That echo in our darkest dreams?
poem by Frank Bana
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Monstrous to the Core
For Russia or any nation state
To 'claim' the North Pole to itself
Is monstrous. The riches of
The natural world
Are Heritage to us all -
Humanity, the other creatures
Of the earth and air and sea -
To be guarded with great diligence
And managed carefully
For the welfare of us all.
Yes, to claim a piece of earth
For one tribe, clan or gang,
Species, or National Artifice
Is monstrous to the core
And one of many things
This marvellous, morally able
Sapient species
Should have outlawed to itself
A long, long time ago.
poem by Frank Bana
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The Jail of Pinochet
Streets resound to Pinochet's demise
The murderous Dictator lies
Interred with all the multitudes
Of innocent young lives in bloom
The stories of Allende rise
To dance beside his muddy grave
The spirits of Neruda, Jara
Raise their voice in song again
He might have been a kindly father
And kept his torture memoranda
Hidden from his children's eyes
Behind his mask, his deadly shroud
I wonder who those children are.
Five hearts and all the shadowed souls
A ghost cries for exoneration
The morning sun guarding his jail.
poem by Frank Bana
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Cinnamon and Domino!
Can you believe those two, the whole day
Sitting by the screen door window
Staring at the sunlit green
Waiting for a gopher
To come darting through the yard?
One white, one bright like caramel
Solemn side by side
Their tails almost touching,
Heads in a steady line.
DVD players, I-PODs whine
Televisions whispering
In corners of the room behind
Smoky jazz and barbeque
And still they do not turn their heads
As if in shy Memorial
For brave felines passed on
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poem by Frank Bana
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Angel of Love
One day I felt the angel's hand
Brushing my cheeks, on a slow train
Watching the long-lived trees pass by
And homeless men out in the rain.
The many years sped down the line
She whispered small words that she gave
I knew she was a love divine
For any mortal would have stayed
And had much more to say; and now
She makes my wings lighter to bear
My spirit sheltered in this life
By certainty that she is there.
The angel's presence strays so far
By time and distance measuring
Until her light falls by my hands
And leads me to its treasuring.
poem by Frank Bana
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Kalahari Weavers
The weaver birds build homes together
Great thatch domes
They enter and leave
Circling in their thousands
Nests embracing great thorn trees
And no wisp or stalk is wasted
The weaver birds build commune homes
That stately sway in the breeze of dawn
Freezing under the midday blaze
Defiant in the cruellest evening storm
Tireless desert artisans
Peerless design skills
Resolved to live together by
Savannah stripped bare of life
And grasses of which few survive
If I had a week, a shade
And water-bottle filled
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poem by Frank Bana
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Cargoes of Childhood
The world was young in mystery
The Winnebah breezes blew in song
No child would bring cargo to Tema Harbour
Or steer her ship by that violent shore
And once the green Dalmatian coast
The bandit Macedonian hills
Were the boundary lines of my poetry
Horizons of my careless dreams
But adhesive stamps from the Gold Coast
Malagasy, Bechuanaland
Stuck to my fingers, my first satchel
And each succeeding travel bag
The kings of Siam and Samarkand
And caravans that knew their names
Caught my ears, riding underground
To school by the dark, unyielding Thames.
poem by Frank Bana
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