Goldfinch On A Gold Flower Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The field of gold
tulips roll out themselves
like a yellowish rug
of pile weaves
undulating
between low hills
and shallow valleys on fire.

At late afternoon, under
pearl and chiffon skies
interspersed with cream shades
and isolated dotted amber,
more showers of light
pour down and flow across.

Sky, roll out your ceiling
to blot out all dim
patches and cream spaces.
Ceiling high above, spray
this gold field with
gold silver rays and light.

John, how are we doing
with the weeding, yells an old
man, cackling and chortling.
The hard rough weeds have been
uprooted, the softer grasses
swept off with my raking
digging gloves, squeals the young man.

(ii)

And, as if they're awaiting
this moment, a yellow cardinal
trailed by one yellow
warbler sail in. A yellow-headed
black bird and finches

steer in another set of gold
yellow birds before the sky
is swarmed and filled
with birds of yellow feathers
sailing down like splashes
hovering over the field
of tulips and daffodils.

Wow, exclaims Anthony,
a neighbor, who adds,
the sky swarms
with yellow birds, yellow wings
all over, all over, all over.

No, cackles the old man,
the sky is filled with yellow
smoke of birds, our gold and yellow
field of flowers already flaming.

The old man glues his eyes
to the yellow birds, as he bawls
out, let them have a sip
of nectar for the evening.

And before he melts off,
a gold bird lands on a yellow
tulip cup, sticking its beak
into it for a sweet candy drink,
as the field smokes out
more and more gold yellow birds.