Stump Of Flash-Eared Flower Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the growing
gold-
and silver-lined
alabaster
air built of
moonstone beams,

an animal
piercing my eyes,

you burst
out from your
volcano
of beauty,
a butterfly hue,
magma
jumping up

in a tornado
of rose sprouts
catching
my eyes,

but flowing
with you
in your
crooning
cold lava,
you a river flipping

out quiet
choruses
and refrains
only you
glued
and sealed
to you,

you sit down,
a mass
of a brown
flower
glowing
in your coldness.

(ii)

You plant
yourself down
a floor's slab,
a leafy root
of a dwarf tree,
but you're
just a puppy

flipping out
wings
of bright fur
in leafy
flowery streaks.

You sink
your roots
deeper
into marbled
floor
carrying you,
rocking you,
as you wince,

only to plump
down
into your bunker
of silence
growing
fire ginger
flowers

burning you
with
a ribboned
coldness
of cold
silence whisking
its ribbons

through your
moonstone
eyes planted
on me
like nailed-in
goo,

as you're
completely
sealed
into yourself

to build
a new chateau
to feed you
with gold
rounds
of silence.

(iii)

O tree stump,
whisking
your tail
to fly to your
flowery
ears of silence.

But you
fold yourself
over
on your tail,

as you
brighten eyes
to shoot
at me
with lightning
silence

caught in
flamingo cloud
growing
a scarlet fire
from
your piercing

arrowed eyes
bawling at
me with
a trombone's
tenor voice

to plant a point
like a deep
milestone peg:

"I'm not a toy,
but a young dog
basking
in my hearth
of silence

by the wavy
shore
of my rippled tail".