Poems

By Paula Banks

Paula Kaleel Banks was born on February 10, 1920 to a Palestinean father and French Canadian mother. When she was three years old, her mother died. Because her father was blind, City Social Services placed her in a series of foster homes until she was eleven years old. Then she entered a Quaker Friends boarding school. She first married at 15 and was soon divorced. Later she had a son, Fred Buckley. Over the years she married three more times, outliving two of her beloved husbands. She has written poetry since boarding school and published only one poem until now. Paula retired to Punta Banda, Mexico, where she became Property Master for the Gertrude Perlman Theatre and died March 5th 2007.

Moon

Frail and fragile morning moon

Transparent in the boundless sky

Watching the world spin endlessly

Hold the reins of the oceans deep

Never turn your back on us!

Guest

Are you looking for a guest?

I will do my very best

To be congenial.

I can do all kinds of work—

Yes – even menial.

I will never use the phone

When I find myself alone to call long distance

If you need a helping hand

Then by your side I’ll stand

To give assistance.

If you’re asleep and I‘m awake

Not the slightest noise I’ll make

And when it’s time for us to part

I’ll smile and leave your door with grace

And thank you kindly from my heart

For asking me to share your space.

Old

I am a stranger in a stranger land,

Where no one knows my name

Where no one looks me in the eye.

Of course I do the same.

The children sometimes talk to me.

Their language I don’t know.

I hear but do not understand

Their webs and fax and video.

The world has changed

But I have not.

I guess I’ve lost the way.

I sit and play my solitaire.

I’m missing yesterday.

Night Fall

The golden eye

Burns the visual purple of retina.

Blue sky floating to rest in feathery cloud beds

Fading

from pink

to peach

to violet.

A flash of unearthly green

And the purple night restores

Sight to bats and owls,

Jasmine and other night blooming things.

Earth Mother

The earth, my mother, has been raped

And beaten and stained and ruined

And bombed. Her rivers stopped.

Her mountains stripped and burned.

Her oceans defiled. Her skin

Pockmarked with mines.

Her soil depleted.

She will respond with daily bread

Which does not nourish,

Water which does not quench thirst

And air which cannot sustain

The breath of life.

Someday, perhaps, my mother

Will dance her cosmic pirouettes

With nothing to mark the rounds

Save Stonehenge, the pyramids

And the great wall. And the moon.

Vacation

Let’s go away from the airplanes roar

From the sickening sound of sirens

From the stop and go of the traffic s flow

And the cities mad environs

To the countryside where the wild weeds grow

And pollen blows in the breezes

And mosquitoes bite all through the night

Accompanied by sneezes.

The Master Artist

The Master Artists knew

That the sky should be blue

And green for leaves and grass

And so it came to pass.

And with a magic power

Colored each and every flower.

Made us red or brown or white

Yellow or as black as night.

Water fresh or salty sea.

Everything as it should be.

Let us try to keep it so

For there’s no other place to go!

What is God?

What is God that man is mindful of Him?

And some seek all their lives to find him.

Is he hidden somewhere in a snowy cloud?

Does he suddenly appear when heads are bowed?

Does he come into the meek but not the proud?

And if one creed is right, are all the others wrong?

It’s a mystery. That’s what preachers tell us.

They also say our Heavenly Father is jealous.

If so, of what? Omnipotent and omnipresent, He

Responsible for every bird and flea

He knows how many hairs are on my head

And every deed I’ve done, alpha to zed.

Still, he has the time to take both sides in war

As earnestly for victory they implore.

Has he some vast computer in the sky

That knows each who, what, where and when and also why?

If now you are a little bit suspicious

When God neglects to grant your prayers and wishes,

Remember all the things He has to do.

Maybe he could use some help from you!

Where are we going?

Jabber Jabber Jabberwocky

See the movie, hear the talkie

Buy the brand marked with the X

Raise your conscience, get some sex.

Faster, faster, faster, watch them fade away

Whiter whites and sleepless nights

Waiting for the day

That we, the people

Stop! Don’t walk,

Run to your nearest store.

Don’t pass go. Go directly to jail.

“Ain’t nobody gonna go my BAIL”

We, the people, you and I

Are the happening, are it.

Look! Out in the street

People moving, Street people

Doing their thing.

Marching in parade

Walking in the shade

Running to evade the law.

Laying bodies down

The people.

Jogging for the heart, Running cause it’s smart

Pushing shopping cart.

Bikes and busses, cars and planes

Trucks and trailers

Skates and trains

Spin your wheels instead of brains

Ask — Where are we going?

Spirit Lives

Old soul, knowing at the going,

Having been Egyptian, Byzantine

Renaissance, Aristocrat,

Philosopher, Magician.

Something in the bones

Elephant like

Turning away from the herd

To find the fabled place to die,

Reading aright the signs

Taking the fourth way,

Through the double helix

Dance of destiny

Away from clones and clowns

To drown the word

With eloquent silence.

Amorphous spirit speaks to each

His deepest dream

Half remembered, half concealed.

The animating spirit leaves

And none can tell us

Why it came or how.

Eulogy for D.

Because he was destitute

And on Medical

He got the very best care,

The best medicine had to offer

The best wishes of friends

And large doses of hope.

But he knew.

He’d seen enough of this world.

He rooted out hypocrisy

As a hog roots out truffles,

Exposing with gentle scorn

The perfidy of greed.

No model of mediocrity himself

He dismayed all such

And sought his own esteem in

Their disapproval.

And yet he was no Pharisee,

Thanking God he was not like other men.

He well knew his faults

(If such they were),

A poet’s sensibility and vulnerability

Needing shielding from

The hard cold edge of the world.

Now with “los muertos”,

Whom he always saluted

With the first drops of liquor

From every bottle,

Spilling it purposefully

Down the drain

We miss you, friend, Salud.

From one who knew you well.

Lover.

In our Dotage

In Our dotage

I thought we’d live in a cottage

We’d walk and talk —

I live alone. Think of that!

Well—dog and cat!

We’d garden and we’d weed.

Water flowers and zucchini,

If there ever was a genie

He’d bring you back to me.

I Sleep Alone (David)

I sleep alone in my bed

For many years

Remembering your poetry

I have not forgotten your poetry.

Or past times when you raged about

Or sober, brooding, lost in doubt.

I need no photos to recall

The man you were and that

Is all that I can say with words

I have not forgotten you and if I choose to sleep alone

It is because I choose to.

Old Couple

He, shortening his pace

She stepping faster to match.

Unconsciously adjusting to one another

Til now it seems as though

They had always been that way.

But once, she took his hand

And led him, so carefully

He was not aware of being led

But followed gladly.

Times when she faltered

He held and supported her

And gave her of his strength.

Confident now of self and other Hand in hand—

Bravely going on.

Remember the Roses

A small piece of peace

A small place of grace

A still bit of quiet – and

The sweet smell of roses

Remembered.

The sparkle of sunshine on crusted snow

The luscious hue of fallen leaves

The pink and gold of sunset’s glow

There I give to one who grieves.

Bury your nose deep in the roses

So you will not forget

When the leaves have fallen

And the snow melts and

The glimmer of gold is gone –

Then when you are peaceful

Graceful and quiet

You will remember the sweet smell of roses.

My Gallery

There are spaces in my heart

Which are forever empty

Only because they once

Were filled so well.

The picture gallery of my mind

Is full of memories

Of scenes of loves long gone

Beyond forever’s dreams.

Lover

Last night he said, “I love you.”

I wonder what he meant.

Should I believe his words,

Or question his intent?

Do I want him to love me?

Do I reciprocate?

Or was it just a slip of the tongue

I’ll not elaborate.

I’ll just call him Lover.

The Last to Know

If you don’t love me anymore

Didn’t feel the way you did before

Don’t let me be the last to know.

Just say the word, I’ll let you go

I love you more than I can tell

You know I’ll always wish you well

Hey! Lover you’re so cool to me

Just say the word and you’ll be free

My heart may break but it won’t show

Don’t let me be the last to know

(Lyrics for a country Western song)

For Albert 1965

I trust you will not miss me overmuch

When I am gone.

That pleasant times will fill your life with joy as you go on.

And that the little space I’ve left will soon be filled

And that all this shall transpire as I have willed

But not to soon, my love

But not too soon

I am the overprudent dog

Who does not bury, but stands guard.

My treasures all, you gave me them

I’ll cherish and will not discard.

Your dreams, my hopes, our love is here

Where sunripe children play and grow

May they come and seek to know

Of truth and beauty without fear.

You are now where wisdom dwells

There was no more for you to learn

Yet may I meet you once again

When both of us return.

On Love

And the magic of your liquid words

Saying what I wished to hear charmed me –

You are beautiful, you are lovely

You are my heart, I love you.

You are the moon of my desire

You are all that I admire

Be mine. Sparkling eyed and rosy cheeked

I’d listen raptured when you’d speak.

Meshed in your net of metaphor

Believing the words of a Troubadour

Swept to the sea from the solid shore.

Slowly I learned that love’s a word

Iridescent as a humming bird

Evanescent as a jasmined night

And cruel as a blind man’s sight.

Still, play your guitar on the beach for me

Sing those haunting words once more

For I’ve enjoyed the pleasure-pain

But I’ll never again be swept from the shore.

Pot Pourri

As sunset is forgotten with the dawn

The pain of parting pales into the past

But love, once known is not forgot

The sweetness of those days lives on

As roses bloom anew, without their thorns

Their falling petals scent the air

A mellow pot pourri…I close my eyes

And feel your presence everywhere.

Love

Gone as though you never were,

But in my heart you are.

So does the rising sun obscure

The gleam from far off star.

Which, unaware shines bright and fair

Although unseen by day.

With eyes of love I see you yet

Within my heart you’ll stay.

For love is stronger than the sun

Or moon which moves the tides

And when our time on earth is done

It’s love that still abides.

(For David)

Lines for an Actor

I arrived on time for rehearsal

I knew my part.

My shoes were shined.

I was not on stage with a man,

Playing Jesus Christ or Abraham

Lincoln.

Or a dog.

I did not know the play had been cancelled.

You left me first

You left me wanting more

But you did not leave me laughing.

It was not a tragedy, not a comedy –

Just a drama

Now, what is my motivation?

Maybe

I have followed where love led me

Heart for compass, stars for eyes.

It has cherished, fed and blessed me

Rosemary and sweet alyssum

Memories of tears and sighs

Knowing love much better now

Would I listen when he tells

Of worldly good he would endow

Or would I simply say “No,

Not for me the wedding vow”.

Rings and rice and wishing wells.

Would I take another chance

Find a lover, lose a friend?

If I saw a certain glance

Promise love and sweet romance

Once again my heart would dance

Oh, fantasies that never end!

Miguel

As one gets old it’s harder

To find sustaining dreams.

It’s easier for one alone

To see the ill sewn seams.

Beauty hold in sunset skies

And later in the stars

But flowers fade and dues are paid.

So visible the scars.

That time has healed from pain

Remembering the losses and adding up the gain

Becomes a game no longer played

A wearying refrain.

As one gets older, there’s a need

For other hands to hold

Another game called “come what may”

To while away the day.

One must be bold and make a dream

Where there was none before

Or where’s the joy, the hope, the fun?

It all becomes a bore.

No shining knight in armor bright

Or serenading swain

No millionaire with heart of gold

And castles fair in Spain

But you, with friendship and with need

Came to my door one day

To give a dream reality

In such a subtle way.

Should I question your intent

When what I wished for came to be?

What made you so benevolent

So generous to me?

Late Lover

Whether you come tonight or not,

I do not care.

Last night I sat with candle and incense

Wanting your love and touch

Let down my hair

And wished for you so deeply and intense

That now I care not if you come at all.

I may not deign to answer if you call

Your love for me apparently is slight

I many not answer if you call tonight.

Cats and Birds

Catch a mouse – pats and praise

Catch a bird – instinct obeys.

We must accept the fact.

I bell the cat and hope that that

Will weight the scales

In favor of the bird.

It fails.

The broken wing, the panic, shock

The separation from the flock

I hoped to save it and I tried

It’s best the little wild thing died

Were I a bird that couldn’t fly

I think I too’d prefer to die.

No Cat Food.

He: “I don’t want you to go

That’s why you want to

If you don’t know now

I can’t tell you.

Because there’s no gas in the car.

Because your night vision is bad.

Because you back is out and

I don’t think you should drive

Because you think more of

That damned cat than you do of me!

Because it’s Saturday night”.

Me: “Yes, you may make a suggestion”.

Cats

Cats don’t jump on you with muddy paws.

Cats don’t bark at the postman.

Cats seldom go about biting people

They don’t bury bones in the garden

Or chew up your bedroom slippers

Or lie where you’ll trip over them.

They don’t sit up or play dead,

Roll over or say their prayers

Or guard your property or shake hands.

What good are they?

Why were they worshipped in Egypt?

Small Explanation:

They kept rats and mice

away from stored grain

which allowed people to build homes,

farm, and start cities.

Cat

Fur clad feline, velvet smooth

Why are you so sharp of tooth.

Don’t you know it’s wrong forsooth

To bite the hand that feeds you?

Terrible two month monster mouser,

Needle claws unfurled

Sleep now warmly in my lap

Safe in your young world.

Grey Day in Monterey

Every tear ever shed for any reason

Is falling greyly now outside my window

The season is spring

And I am looking forward to the flowers.

I have no tears

The hours slowly

Slowly dripping on the stone of understanding

Splash me away

And grief is naught but joy expanding.

Another Poem!

How can I write another poem.

How dare I!

Volumes of verse

Anthologies, collections

Ancient to modern

And all between

Are clamoring heavy on the shelf.

It is enough!

So lines shall scan me in my sleep

And dream the poems I ever keep.

Poet

Why do we claim the name of poet;

because we rhyme sometime?

Oh no! It’s a visionary way of seeing

More a way of being

Than of words upon a paper

More of essence, less of vapor

Or a literary caper.

If we never write a word

What we live will still be heard.

On Writing Poetry

Some people write in a closet

Some people write in the street

Some people have no meter

And don’t give a damn for the beat

Some people write for money

Some people write for fame

Some people think it’s funny

But they do it just the same.

I’m an old fashioned poet

I like to hear a rhyme

There’s a line there and I toe it

Well, at least, most of the time.

Words

When words come whirling through the brain

Like thick juicy snowflakes

Stand out in the storm

And capture them in flight

And crystallize them into poetry

Capture them in flight

For when they settle down in snowy drifts

They become prose-not poetry.

Perry

Perry, Perry, Perry Winkle

In his eye there is a twinkle.

Think you know him?

Think again.

He’s up, he’s down, he’s here and then

He’ll share his dream -

That’s where he’s been!

He has friends in high places.

He has friends in low.

Don’t you tell him what to do

Or he will tell you where to go!

Sausalito Sally, Cannery Row Flora and San Diego’s Ida

Ladies, girls, Madams—

If you knew

How your lewd legacies

Are being made respectable.

San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter

Houses Ida Bailey’s dining room,

The celebration of the slightly sinful

To titillate the tourists

Sausalito Sally certainly showed style.

Becoming Mayor of the place.

Cannery Row has Floras’ bar

But Flo, Sally and Ida

Did you ever guess

They’d prostitute your names this way?

News

Give us this day our daily dose of news

About the war between the Arabs and the Jews

How many died in the last plane crash

How we’re out of places to stash our trash

Who burned to death in their home today

How many more on the old freeway

How many homeless sleep on the street

How many preachers have been indiscreet

Forgive us our trespass of we go ahead

And turn the dial to a game show instead.

Revenge and Vengeance

In anger once I made a doll

And stuck it full of pins

It hung for weeks upon a tree

Till all the pins were rust

And as I watched it fade away

My anger turned to dust

And I regretted what I’d done.

That’s when I learned to trust

The Lord to even up the score

I know He will be just.

Tip of the Iceberg

“The tip of the iceberg” signifies

That there’s more to see than meets the eyes.

Perils unseen I visualize,

Imagination must improvise.

So, whenever I hear or read the phrase

(Which is all too often nowadays)

I seem to see the brave Titanic

Resting deep in the Atlantic,

While above that berg still rides

Majestic through the waves and tides.

Only one eighth will ever show

What does go on there down below?

I fervently wish that iceberg’s tip

Would quietly sink and join that ship.

Diet

I’m on a diet because

I’m not as thin as I was

I eat lots of lettuce

But where does it get us?

And it’s raisin and bran,

I do what I can.

It’s yogurt and sprouts

But I have my doubts

I’ll ever be thin as I was.

Oh, I’m on a diet because

I’m not as thin as I was

I eat raw carrot

Till I cannot bear it

I’m calorie counting

My weight it is mounting

I try to stick to it

But once more I blew it

I’ll never be thin as I was.

Dawn

I like to watch the dawning

Though I’m usually yawning.

I hate to miss the light show in the sky

When all the pinks and golds are streaming

Well., there’ll be another sky show, bye and bye.

So tomorrow I’ll rise early

And the heavens will be pearly

With clouds and hints of rain, I sigh.

And the dawn is drear and hazy

I should have just been lazy

Yet, tomorrow I’ll give it another try.

Quiet Times

I love the quiet times

When no one calls and no one comes to visit—

When I don’t have to answer

Phones or doors

To ask “Who is it”.

Times to set and dream and reminisce

Or write perhaps, a simple verse – like this.

Collector

I am a collector of memories

Day by day I find new ones to save

And add to the ones I have.

They are all around me

On book shelves

In my closet, my drawers

And cabinets.

They are spilling out of boxes

And hanging on my walls.

I keep the good ones on exhibit—

The best are in my private collection.

Wonders and Secrets

The crystal culture of Atlantis

Keeps its shining power secret

Neath Bermuda skies it sleeps.

High in Peruvian mountains – blocks

Two hundred and ten pound rocks

Cut and raised from mines below

Stonehenge, Palenque, Tiahuanico

The sky view needed to reveal

The lines on Nasca’s plain

An ancient airfield long unknown

Discovered once again?

In perished Persia, deep beneath the sands,

Remains and relics wrought by long gone hands

of Babylon, Sumeria and Chaldea.

The record of the flooding seas is clear

As we dig through seven thousand years

And more, deciphering early farms,

Now herdsmen thrive and disappear

On down to sixteen thousand year

Centuries down and down we go

Until we reach, and cannot pass

A floor of hard and fused glass

Similar to the desert floor

In Alamagordo, New Mexico.

Eat Your Crow

First catch your crow

Pluck the feathers, singe the down,

Remove entrails, wash and dry well.

Sprinkle cavity with tears,

Stuff with rue and rosemary

Baste and roast until it’s done.

Makes more than enough for one.

Postscript

Albert is gone

Tom is gone

David is gone

George is gone

But I am still here.

Where have they gone?

Into the secret recess of my heart and mind.

And when I am gone too

Who will then recall them

As I knew them and loved them?

Will anyone remember me

Or that I loved or even lived?

The Gift

Through this body I have known

Birth and death, love and hate.

Lived with many, lived alone,

Walked a crooked road or straight.

Found nothing here to call my own

Some joy of dance, of song, or art.

So swiftly past the time has flown

And of the past I was a part.

So now that I have grown quite old

In years the sands of time I sift

And find that all has turned to gold

And life is still a wondrous gift.

Sweet Bird of Youth

Sweet bird of youth

When was I young?

You flew so fast

I could not see you

Or hear the song you sung

When was I young?

Too soon the blossoms fade away

Too soon the winter’s cold

And all the dreams of yesterday

Forgotten ———OLD.

Death is no Lady

Death is no lady

She’s a whore

Who taps upon the window – smiling.

Suggestive movements

Becoming, beguiling

She is as old as time

Fresh as an April spring

Slow as a winter stream

Fast as a Honey Bee‘s sting

Kind as a mother’s love

Cruel as a love betrayed.

Sifting through the Rubble

We don’t know how many

Were killed in the

By the

Air crash

Quake

Eruption

Train Wreck

Nuclear Accident

Hurricane

Ship wreck

Poison Gas

Etc., etc., etc.

Until we finish sifting through the rubble

The world blew up the other day.

No one has claimed

Responsibility.

A Child is Born

A Child is Born, unwanted and unloved.

A child who grows to know frustration, fear and hate.

Who, never knowing love, lacks feeling

For his fellow man and mate.

No social conscience guides his way or will.

The courts are full of these

Who rob and rape and kill and burn.

To compensate for what?

For what they never had, a chance to learn

When egg and sperm by chance collide

Another person lives inside

And if one wants a babe, or no

That’s the way it’s got to go.

Our government may so decree

And take away our liberty

A woman who may be unwilling

May, one day, be accused of killing.

Those who would legislate morality.

Are blind to life and it’s reality

Contempt for law is what they have decreed

Innocent children suffer for their parent’s deed.

Unless a child is wanted

Loved and taught to love.

He is no member of humanity.

Let each conception go full term,

The woman has no right of choice

And science, the compliant tool

Of those who plot destruction

Is not for her. She can’t rejoice

To bear another soul to earth,

She ponders life and death and birth.

We hear the call for jails, more jails

And everything that that entails

Which freedom wastes away unnoticed

And justice puts its thumb upon the scales.