Birds From Nestless Trees Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Green leafy trees
have been
chewed and gulped down
by cream specks
and a stretching sheet

of floating flying snow
thinning out
into the swung rays
of a striking sun
still to bounce back
with a lace and daisy sky.


Gray and gold birds
dive down
from houseless trees,
and fly off from
swinging branches

into rising perches
of mountain-climbing
cream clouds.

As the day hums
with more puffs
and dancing breezes
strolling
no further than
the gardener's brow.

The loner prattles
with his shears,
mumbles to the breezes
and sings

with a wind crooning
through stretched
drizzles in a cartwheeled
tide of morning
wind and throttled zephyr.

(ii)

Birds in grey
and gold coats,
your wings
a tirrivee
swinging you

into a loud hum
and buzz
stinging a wallowing air,

as you find no nest
in the hollowed-out
funnel
of your route
back home,

your path narrowing
into the hollow night
of a deep cave

sinking deeper into wings
of an eclipse
with the ebony feathers
of midnight.

But when sun
from a hiding nest shoots
its arrows
of rays pushing back
a new flock of birds
to take a nose dive

down earth's floor
devouring burnt-down clouds,

as other withered
gray and gold leaves
from nestless trees
sink into earth's floor

with diving rains
crawling into deep trenches
and culverts, as the birds
don't rise back,

finding new homes
in basements of crawling
dark gray and flint air

spinning life's tunneled end
with no whisper,
but a breezy spinning whimper.