Winds And Birds Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Under slates of a gale,
Hopping skimmers
Leap, whooshing over the gate.
A wind sails with me,

As I dash through my door
With the birds
That sang to me outside.

At a desk, I, plumped down
Into an elephant-back chair,
A rock-perched burning sunbeam,
By a high table standing
On dancing wheels,


Whistles and whispers
Of wing-flamed birds sing
In a vehicle hooting
To take me to an island,

Waves on a shore
Sizzling with cruising birds
Funneled down
Palm trees to cut corners
With new singing breezes.

(ii)

Sands distill from
The broken lips of flocked grains
Empty shells
Clothed in ribs
Breathing out a silence.

Brewing no snail,
But just bloated and wallowing
With moist night winds,

Daylight doused
With drizzles from lost
Trails of a screech,

A skua perched on the tree
Of my pen-holder
Spinning in new winds

The preened
Feathers of an albatross
From a swirling sheet
Singing across

Dawdling crawling ants
On a wobbling script
Puncturing the gate to a poem,

A sparrow's laid-out
Droppings
On a slate of sobs.