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Present at the Feast (Praia, Cape Verde,1983)

The family battalions massed nearby
Waving their napkins of white lace
At the heat, around the flies
That hung above the pig's glazed head
The salads, Cachupa and rice

The diverse plates, upon display
For clearly a sufficient time
To leave impression on the guests,
Removed again, we took our seats

The paterfamilias rose to his feet
Looked across to me (accusingly?) -
Young stranger, long of hair and pale
And began to take aside his girl

Mother took his elbow urgently
And whispered to him in commanding style
So every single guest could hear:
'Sta passionado cu Zaza! '

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poem by Frank Bana
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Our lost weekend melting crayons!

Reflecting on the lost weekend from beyond the sand valley carousel of cape cod,
I dig the lost hours the thoughts, the gallivants, which melt in the purest crayon wax of our souls.
I dig the diamond lattice in crystallographic earth facets like a house of mirror
or some bleak bleeding laboratory blowing girls dresses up from their gooseflesh legs by compression air jets and floor tricks that reflect from my inner loupe grinding the light through roadside glass and mica rotating in minds eye on fun house dizzy and whimsically revolving exit funhouse wheels that spills us to our seat, and casts confetti colors around my eyesight like the inside of a rain drop.
I reconstruct these moments connected in the lotus of thought the flowering palm of wisdom
Each moment!
Each feeling!
Each idea!
Each painted cage...
Watching them shuffle by on lotus like; the peeling elephant painted, the open black panther cage, the straw stuffed lion cage, the monkey mini top all starving dirty like and I dig it all like ZaZa zen of a circus train splitting down the rail lines like moving pictures before my eyes speared to the reels in a fervent heat which redden my skin protecting me from the naked blue sun.

poem by Jerome Moore
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