Blood Lines Poem by Frank Bana

Maybe this will be the last journey
And I will not return again
Riding down to the stony beach
Where spring once was gentle
and love innocent

Now autumn clings on, struggles for breath
Gliding on the tops of cliffs
The paths that resisted invasion
Germany, Spain, the French
Its strength diminishing by the year

Torn by winter's claws, relentless
Brave young defenders, sons of refugees
Stubborn homemakers, not ready to yield
Their locus of happiness by the sea

I chose the train and not the bus
Thinking how you converse in carriages
Like those Ealing films, black and white
That helped make England a great place to live

A little girl riding for the first time
Her mother pale and flittering
And grandad in bright Barbados jams
All mixed in together with me

Even for suited businesswomen
Dealing cards and property
The ride is over much too soon
Too soon for real ecstasy
Or to place the soul at peace

Fresh oysters sold on the stony shore
Seagulls louder than the drunken boys

And so the trail leads me here
I may not visit in another spring
This season is so harsh for weak
And sentimental hearts, as mine has been

Soft-bitten, easy with a smile
Thinking of homes in London, Spain
And summertime, carefree with them
Before the years of doubt and pain

Wherein these journeys can't escape
The shadows of the darkening sky
Where I piggy-back
On what came before
And lines of blood lead here once more.