A Merry Carnival Poem by Frank Bana

Some poems are love songs
And can even be sung
Some are praises to love
All its glory and cost
Or personal enquiries
To those who are lost

I have songs that give praise
But this song laments
I have poems for loving
But this poem complains
Of Americopia, where consumers spend
Afflicted by thirst, without solace from pain

A Merry Carnival
Whose show cannot end
This Americomedy
Its laughter undressed
By those calling for peace
And working for rest

The Americarnivore
Plays at love like a beast
The Americatastrophe
In implacable haste
Addicted to plunder
Lays its heroes to waste.

Some songs are praise poems
To heroines and gods
Which celebrate mortals
With barely-heard cries
At the well of the throat
Where redemption lies

And at the firm juncture
Of a shoulder and hand
Tracing the crossroads
With delicate allure
The poems are recited
The songs raised once more.