Blue Star Of A Marksman Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(tale of a passion flower)

(i)

You're the jade mountain
surrounded by moss weeds,
flashing a blue light
from your rising arms lifting

rubble and bed rock
into hollow layers of a slab
to plant you yards-deep
with fig tree roots.

Behind you, I see beads
of strolling frolicking stars
and the mooing bull,
as it ambles across a glen

eyeing me with a piece
of your sky in its blue dye.

(ii)

Throwing spears from
an armed gaze piercing
the bush of a wandering stare.

Behind you the marksman
who stood on the bank
across the sky-blue river
flowing with floated petals,

their beams hurled back
at the sharpshooter
who found a place in your heart -

who pierced your core
with a sticking arrow
carved out of a heavenly staff.

(iii)

Behind you rises
the numen, who stuck quills
into your mouth

to spill out a comet of light
as you crawl

and stand on the quarry
of a promontory, from which
blue walls rise
into a tower girded by crags
overlooking a sea shore.

Here stands the place,
where we meet
in a breezy kaffeeklatsch
to gab about the blue
crown of quills you wear.

(iv)

It's been crafted from
a mooing bull behind a mountain
rising with you above
a tower housing the numen

who made your eyes shine
with quills from a porcupine
that melted into the bushes.

And when a marksman
shot you in the eye,
you exploded into the great
star of a passion flower.