Crowning Flowers Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Crowning Flowers
(i)

In life's rolling
expanding wingspan
flapped by breeze,
petals tuck in

floating butterflies,
all spinning a cotton
and pearl hue,

as a silver and white
sky doesn't fit
a garland
or door wreathe,

all triangular crowns
for a round head.

(ii)

Only lilies for
the edgy finisher

after a tentacled
weave through
the closing hem,

a spiraling needle
and thread
wriggling through
a wide tack

that breaks loose,
missing a line for
the tight stitch.

(iii)

Few stargazers
for the blue bird
shot from
a cerulean sky

spun by a sun
of air and sprung
from a padded
inner bowl
of memory.

But lilacs too
beam through
my bones
with the stainless
morning sky

still melting dew
on petals
cut off from bee
and bird

buzzing deep
down
a swinging chirping
petiole,

as starlings fly
from zephyrs
of rolling breath,
and sparks
jump off

from flashed teeth,
the morning
stars twinkling,

as lips bounce
against each other.

(iv)

Too many petal
trumpets
for a hummingbird
that ducks
a mantis' uppercut

and an angled
jab before the bird
stands up
on broken tottering

legs and takes
off, diving right
into another cup
of petals to sip
off nectar not only

with mouth,
but eyes standing
as guarding
armed soldiers, hand
on trigger.

Whatever cutting
wind or storm,
flowers stand straight,

breathing in sun
even after
a withered fall.