Steering Waves Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the arrow-hurled
storm and hurricane
drifting me through
a hilly strait,

curve me into a lane
of smooth-rolling
waves wheeling me

to the emerald
meadow of a flat sea,

all bumps knocked
down into gliding wheels
of sea steering
me through a pitch

of knotted chains
and snares of sea,
a Stonehenge sticking out
poking angles of stone,


drowned beacons
leading straight
to beams and glimmer,

a rock top lighthouse
ashore harboring
lit whirrs and buzzes,


sandstones in the sea
building up, steering
me to cut corners

round smooth gliding
ripples and soft
fibers of riding waters.

(ii)

On a smooth sea
let ripples expanding
wings like drifting
drowning butterflies

guide you to peek
at the world
beneath a sea's surface
choking megaliths

and spikes of jumping
rock, spears
in their heads to poke
at a canoe on a level
stretch of sea.

Low waves lurk
and ambush the fisherman
sleeping on his paddle,

as a bump from
silver flowery waves
lift bow and keel
too high with no wavy punch.

O soft ripples
and feathery lime fibers
pulling canoe
along a sleepy stretch
of gliding sea,

let steering low waves
pull my hands
to wriggle through
a smooth face of sea
staring me in the eyes.


(iii)

But digging out
no arrow-headed wave
to poke the bottom
of my canoe
with a soft nudge

filling eyes with light
to pierce thick blankets
of waves close
to a storm wave's trunk,

breaking to flip out
leafy branches of waves,
as I, a fisherman
ride through
a sea, stranger to soft

waters bobbing
slowly, pulling steel hands
on a paddle
to plough through calm
settled waters.

A sparkle-flowered
sea spins a forest
of thorns, hands digging
deep with a paddle

to clear off shark-tailed
waters, as I drown
in small doses of sleep.