Flowers In Wind Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The rhododendron
crawls like a thick bleeding cut
spraying blood across
a piece of green lawn,

but in the wind
it raises its hands high up

to show no smoke
is flowing beneath
its stretchy cruising arms

in a flamy crackling garden
full of strokes
and brushes, leaf on leaf,
petal on petal.

White tulips gaze
silently with cream eyes,
but in the wind

rubbing the cheeks
of birdwatchers,
their creamy floated peeks
land from dude to dude,

as they breathe them in
and hurl out
arrows of remarks to touch
everybody's inner core.

(ii)

In the mulched
living room full of vases,
tight-lipped flowers
hurl out silent tropes,

while wind
cruising across a labyrinth
of peeks
and darted peeps

unfold scores of messages
from the core
of each flower's hue.

What wind flies through
a bouquet
on the center table
to carry a message.


(iii)

A flower un a vase
without the throttled
wind of a gaze

does not swirl
into its full bloom,
its message lost,

when a peek,
an ogle, or an eyeball
carries no wind.

All is lost
to swinging withered flowers
in the wind -

hurling off petals
to totter
like tumbling butterflies

rolling off in their ashes
with no phoenix's hands.