Rock And Rods Of Dawn Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Under a sienna burning
sky, a dark graphite mass
rises. Stands on tottering
legs rising high
to the towering height
of sun in its night lurking nest.

An obelisk of a stony cloud
soars on the horizon
to seat a crown of sun
flashed from a past

of a thousand monoliths,
these peaks bundling up
into raised mini-suns
early on when dawn builds
up from broken petals
of flowers shivering in the wind.

In the stony clouds
rising to tapered tips
stony life spins
and pins itself onto the thin
rods of rolling clouds.

On them sits a sun
from a splash
of bright dawn hanging

on a sky's rising pillars
and rocky hills of clouds.

(ii)

I last saw a sun rise
deep from the gorge
far beyond the bleeding
magenta swelling arc,
a sinking horizon

of a past building rock
to soar in rods of fog.

Breathed out in rainbows
arched to stand back
as a pillar of a cloudy, rocky
smoke from the mouth
of a deep barrel of gray bulk.

Spinning a past to rise
with a sheet of raised sprinkles
of sea sitting on deep
sheathes of mist

with little meat to swell
a mooing cow of an ambling
graphite bulk raising
an onyx head into a pillar

of dawn standing under
a fire of spat rays
from the overfull mouth
of dawn's
bouncing up with stony walls
from a deep chamber.

(iii)

As I sit up peeking
into deep air, across my drifting
window, I wonder

if specks and splashes of sun
jump down
from the swelling firmament

or fly up from
from a crater of a burning
horizon building back
itself with smoke

from a rising stony obelisk
of light splashed
from mini-suns on monoliths
of orange clouds:

O dawn is the past
chasing us
with stony memories
of clouds that never die,

more rainbows
arching from a petrichor
of rains still ringing bells.