Morning After Snowfall Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Above pewter
slate skeletons
of trees plastered
and chalked

with white
strands of thick
wooly threads,

an upper air
hangs
and wallows,
waddling across

until streaks
and threads
of flint
and coin hovering
in mid-air

dissolve into
a Cherrywood hue.

The sky sweeps
down with
a cream white blot

erasing clean
a pebble cloak
grown into
a beige gown

to leave a floating
slimming cloud
and powder frost.

Then a medallion
cloud breathes
out a tuscan sun

flashing out
cream and amber
rays to pour

sun's breath
of feathery daylight.


(ii)

The sun spins
a rising flame
sprouting
on a white hill

still wearing
a beige hat
with a spiked
white crown.

O alabaster
spruce hill, you
stand like
a thick femur bone
with little flesh

still splashing
out pearl
and floating cotton
carrying
a tray of sun

you flip over
to glaze mounds
and plateaus

of snow
with a silver white
sheet wrapping
me up
in my canapé

tucking in wings
for me
to fly through
another

low-roofed
tunnel of a snowing
day to dump
me into fiery
gold rays

fishing out snow
flakes flying
down with egret
wings to settle

on cream bricks
and marble
molded by snow.

(iii)

Trees still clothed
in thick
cloaks of snow
thicken their
skeletal
bones with
with more flakes

hanging on
leafless branches
only to fly

out in puffs
of wind as white
ibises,
kites and plovers

of winged
snowflakes sprinkled
across air
to land on

a thickened white
rug of hardened
ashes of snow.

Let this cold
morning flap
its fully sprayed wings

to warm me up
with the sunny fire
of ground-crawling
carpets of snow.