Drowned The Lighthouse Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

From a tower
of waves on high seas,

I see through fog
with misty glasses
a lamp's wick
in glowing cinders
flipping out sparks.

Floating, bloating
between beacons
to the sunflower petal flame,
a hanging
growing lamp in the wind,

swinging rays
and flashes widening
into a ringing bell's mouth,
a flame of light
switched on and off

to funnel through
the sweeping broom
of a flamy flashlight,

the trumpeted cone
of a lighthouse's light
bouncing across
hawk-winged waves
flapped towards me.

(ii)

How morning cocks crow
across silvery
tree tops of rising waves,
its leaves
shamrock clouds broken
into lime ribbons.

How birds whisper
in the tree
rising above pylons
behind
the lighthouse's tower

touching the falling star
of late dawn.

How higher waves
plant more silver trees
that black out

the yellow calla lily flame
hurled off
by a swinging lamp
in puffs of wind.

(iii)

How a trumpet of light
from a swinging wind
sinks me deep down
into my crackling couch,

as I sit down
in a room
with wings of candelabra
at the bottom
of a wave's tall tree,

the lighthouse
a pool of light under layers
of jumping waves,

as I carve a way out
from my floor of gluing silt,
at the bottom of a whirlpool,
glowing lamps

groaning candlelight wicks
in black flying flies.

Drowned and ground
By rolling waters
when a lighthouse's peak
at a sea's bottom
strokes my feet with deep
distant light,

how do I jump back
to grab a star's light high up
in the firmament?