Cream Moon On Onyx Waters Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The narrow tapered gold
flame of a bright moon
on a candle's stem of night
has slipped off to sit on
an onyx ridge of sea wave.

The sea folds itself over,
a swollen blanket on a bed,
raising its height, as another
storm-driven wave drifts

to stitch and weave itself onto
the bouncing swelling ridge
of black-emerald water
pierced by stars slowly dying.
Leaving deep holes
of light tunnel through deep

green and teal spume
and foam from a cleansed sea.

The moon swells to full
size, a round ivory-cream ball
wearing a beige hue,
as it sits on a teal high bed
rolling back and forth.

How the ridge of water
swells and breaks into other
undulating ridges expanding
the bed's viridian width
into a floating mattress.

Flip over and spread across,
O layers of rising waves
skipping over their silver spidery
sheets on a bed swelling
with olive and emerald nylon

carrying too many tubular
pillows of water
to settle resting heads
on silver undulations
sleeping above top sprays
and bottom sheets of a soft flow.

(ii)

Moon, spray your linen,
ruffled sheets of daisy nylon
on seafoam polyester,
and let cotton foams float

over glistening dark damask,
as your alabaster sheets
of light roll over
hairy sparks of sandy tan waters.

O waves flapping egret
wings on mooing backs of onyx
cream shooting off
coconut horns of splashes
poking rising drifting air,

settle down to your ogre cows
of water swimming through.

The sea ploughs and breaks
down ridges of water
swelling its back to a bunk bed,
carrying sleeping sheets
of rolling pearl moon light.

On a night harboring a moon
quietly rolling and bouncing
on gossamer silver,

the cream ball swells
its swan wings
to fly with me
through humming wind shears,
as I roll over my moony bed.

O moony waters, ride me
to the door of your round mass.

Glassy round ball full
of night's wax in a sunny night
of splashed flamy light,

how you balloon
into a massive bulb
to shower the sea
with your dripping drizzles of light

poured on your round body
with no door to enter
deep trenches
hiding your zircon gems.

(iii)

O flint and graphite head
of night, you spring up
with a forked black tail yawning
to lit candle skies.

O moon, do you sleep
on a whale's tail that will flip
you over, sink you deep
into the sea and swallow you,

as your door flips open
for a walk through the corridor
of a breeze to take me to sleep?

When I sleep, sink your wings,
O moon, deep into the sea
to spray fingers and palms of light,

as sun rises
not from the sky
but from a sea's cornsilk
and tussock bottom

still carrying a buried moon
with arms of a cream noon
on onyx waters
under a lace candle-lit sky.