Fishing Out Of A Crib Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Spasms of spun water
On a stretching lake. No fish
Spurting out
To fall into cemented nets.

Large-pored scoop fabric
Still wriggling
Under a gliding tailor's forehand.
Thumb pressing a song
Paddled by waddling duck feet.

No bubbles
In hopping gusts of hope
Blooming
With Speckled trout.

But enough cobblestones,
Bow-legged twigs
Hugging reeds wearing snakes'
Heads, whisking
Mini-dogs' tails and whiskers

From hose-channeled
Light falling
In creeping worms of plasma
And grown into
Flower-feathered meadows,

(ii)

Grasshopper breezes
Bouncing back
From symphonic hops,
A bee-harboring whimper
Stretched into
Flowers of a flame,

A smiling baby's crib, grandma
Too fishing out
A sun's crown stuck under
A baby's pillow,

Where Venus unfolds
Egret wings of light, a mooing cow
Twisting head
Horns stroking a giggling baby
For the gorge,

In which hands are buried
To bask in showers
Pumped in by the beaming flames
Of a clarinet-mouthed bass,

Blown by grandma's
Fat laugh catching a fish
From a blooming baby's crib,
Bird-feathered hands
Gliding through
With soft padded plastic fins.