The Volcanic Explosion Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A storm of voices rose and fell, rose again
until a thunderclap of applause
cut off a running groaning rumble, lions lurking
in an underground den.

Across the expanding galloping hall
a volcanic explosion went off, spraying
its tentacles on all participants

stretched deep down
into the crater ofthe meeting
room, a chamberof heated supporters
and villagers. They wore thick clouds

from year-long grumbles
and rumbles about
a colleague who'd grown acres of rubber,
but had been brought to choke in fumes

from burnt latex in drums
in the large storage warehouse
that stood floating,
an empty ship in a sea hit by storm waves.

(ii)

Dim glances darted at each other
across the hall brewed storms
of arrow-pointed questions
bruised many and often pierced a few men

and women left to bleed and wail
with wounds from dodgy remarks
experts made, only stropping their own
spearheads for hour- and mile-long battles

ona jagged terrain sharp probing weapons
meeting only slippery walls,
glossy ambiguous beams of flying wordy answers.

(iii)

The man in a blue jacket who'd turned on
the button of unpaid bonuses made
farmers' faces beam with fruits on the horizon,
gradually shooting out
side vents from various angles,

where many saw larger bundles of fruits hanging
from their trees of unpaid monies.

the hall filled with wind from an ash cloud,
as deflated balls of bombs
fell on the moderator and the main speakers

no less frightened mice scared by the string
of missile-questions landing on them
than the horned and maned participants asking them,
as others roared only softly,

remembering the monarch's fire that had
roasted and devoured one of their colleagues
at the November meeting still
smoldering them from hair and scalp
down to their shredded toes.