Bloat Of A Firefinch Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A red or orange
yellow rising
spark of a finch
ignites a flame,

a flock of other
stitched finches
taking off
like bullets shot
into a burning air,

as drifting fireballs
and interwoven
red and yellow
clouds of the birds

burst and sprinkle
into gaudy fires
of flying wings.

(ii)

With the wind
the fire is sprayed
into specks

and wallowing
sprays drifting,
as they melt
and leak into splashes

high up in the air,
black cinders
and darkening flint,

graphite ashes
building up
into darker clouds
higher up
on air's ceiling

shifting in the breeze
with bubbling
feathers
steered by breath.

(ii)

Into a cornfield
steered by the hoes
and machetes
of Nange and Nambu

in their glowing
yellow and red loin
clothes, the birds
weave themselves

into soot clouds
sinking and sinking,

as they land
on a grassy savannah
bush adjoining

the cornfield
and explode into
whispers

and soft whistled
song swelling into
a chorus of twitters
and staggered
refrains of chirps.

(iv)

As a wind scales
up its howling voice
into the roar
of a gale, drowning
the birds in silence.

But as the flamy
birds take off
in a whizz and swoop
of a stormy tornado,

a thunderous uproar
in the cornfield
swells into a loud
buzzing trumpet

blasting into an alto
of screams,
shrieking, bawling,
squealing and wailing
hollering voices,
levelling into

horns and swarming
brass voices
of other women
in the cornfield,

who shout out they
saw an exploded
wildfire, while others

snivel out they joined
the chorus to call
out a landing wild hawk,

as Nange and Nambu
cackle and laugh
like a grinding rattle,

the maracas of a gale
riding through
dry banana leaves.