Sand, Silt And Clay Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Flying wind
yields
to digging gale,

torrents
of sinking
tornado

prodding
deeper
into
earth's mantle
to rise back
with mud.

Sand, silt
and clay
and mushy
sticky mud.

And I sprout
and grow
into tall rock

spraying
leaves
and flowers

to sing
and whistle
in the wind.

Sand, sand
and sand
across knolls

and sky-flat
land
spanning
earthy bowls.

(ii)

Over prowls
of hidden
creeping
tentacles trailing

jots and dots
of grass,
hickory mossy
pebbles.

And I sprout
into
a sand dune
collapsing
down to its feet,

but all
wind-gouged
and
swallowed
to trail as dust

like a pyramid
of beef,
a hamburger
in its
jacket of a bun,

growing
blankets of mold
and a coat
of moss.

(iii)

A pine hue
Closes in
to blend
with basil hairs,
as I grow

into a camel
riding a hundred
camels
of galloping
storms

and tottering
gales veering off
corners

into a rocker
in the veranda
pushing
me back into
a see-saw.

A gale nudges
me awake
in my horse chair
to do
the canter,

thick gobs of rain
dropping
to churn dust

into mud
in the lawn
near my floor slab,

as my head
closes in
to a tumbling
ceiling

in a windy,
gale-sweeping
afternoon
that took me
into a rattling snore

gonging me
awake to find
dots and coats
of mud

from flying
thick rain amid
stars
of fireflies
in my dim
dancing living room.

But I sit up,
still hurled
and tossed off
from side to side,

a caravan
of galloping
wind
trailing the south
porch.