Lion And Bloated Mantis Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Alone a stone
in a forest,
a roar devours me

before I see
a lion's face,
storm in its eyes.

Like a splayed fire
in puffs
smoldering,
a windy hearth
spinning beneath,

I stand
in my brewed
volcano
deepening

into a blacksmith
dressed in silver
streams flowing

down his raised
temple and cheekbones
into red bowls
of coals, his bellows
flipping out

arrows of wind
to redden clusters
of a crimson
and scarlet glow.

(ii)

I figured out
how hot
a lion's tongue spun
in its fiery mouth;

how hot
in gold flames,

when tufts
of grass
spun ruby and carnelian,

as a man's fright
spirals into red
diamonds and jasper.

And hope
is built
into a beast growling
in me,

towering
into a lanky dragon,
a mantis
in tall boots striking
big and red fires
with one punch.


(iii)


When a lion
flips out red arrows
from a devouring
flame of rolled
and spun eyes,

hurl out to grind man
into ashes,
stick your head
into its mouth
to kill your fright.


When confronted
with a roar,
roar louder than thunder
to devour the beast.

When fire waves
lion tails,
whisk a mantis'
limbs over

a pile of brown
trash wearing
a lion's mane,

as a beast swirls
in ochre
and tawny old garbage

wearing the glossy
mane of dust-woven
fibers, the debris
of your splayed fright,

a lion eaten up
by a mantis' limbs.