Felix Bongjoh
Felix Bongjoh Poems
(i)
Mother, crawl your eyes over
flames of specks left after a fire.
...
Nightflower
The ship cuts horizon,
Crimson yelling behind,
Where sky kisses sea
...
No sun, no shadow.
Night bower shines with cold coals,
Hearth's deep pit.
...
(for the victims of the Ngarbuh-Ntumbaw genocidal massacre in Ambazonia)
(i)
...
Felix Bongjoh Biography
A Human Capital Development Consultant, he has been writing poetry since he was 15. He worked for an International Organization for some 30 years, during which time he travelled throughout the world. On the basis of his past unpublished poems and new insights gained through the diversity of the cultures and physical sceneries to which he was exposed, he has already published 25 books of poetry,8 with AuthorHouse and 17 with Strafford Publishing. He still continues to write and enjoy writing poetry, of which he is also an avid reader, T.S. Eliot among a few others having influenced much of his poetic career.)
The Best Poem Of Felix Bongjoh
A Harvest Of Flowers
(i)
Flames of gold
orchids
warm up
our legs and feet
A fire of roses
and sunflowers
and fire ginger
arrows shot
from corolla baskets.
How these flowers
rise and creep
and creep with sprays
from painters
with deep plant roots
on the tip
of their spinning
brushes shifting
from one sun-burnt
dawn sky
to the next sprawl,
running
through a dale.
A sky of orchid stars
Is spread on earth.
Shifting from
white and yellow
calla lilies
hugging
hummingbirds
with no hum, but the buzz
of a wind's
trombone through
rough barks
after fluting through
hollow reeds.
(ii)
A bonfire is set
for a harvest,
burning tinder
a rainbow hue
to ignite
more flames
for the eyes
and caves
of memory
erupting
with their smoldering
glow of bowls
swinging bouquets
for garlands
and wreathes.
(iii)
On a flower field,
life begins
with seas carried
by butterflies
on their beach wings
and shuts its gates
with night-hued
flowers
pulling in padlocks
to bolt doors
to rainbows
and sun-polished
petals gleaming
on life's skin.
(iv)
But after a brisk
walk through seas
of low-lying
flowers, and skies,
pink petals
sprayed on them,
we run to into
the claws of thistles,
their tentacled
prickly fingers
choking a hummingbird
we snatch out
from the flower bush
just before we leave
after a complete
harvest of life
in all its shades.
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4/23/2024 4:23:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A Human Capital Development Consultant, he has been writing poetry since he was 15. He worked for an International Organization for some 30 years, during which time he travelled throughout the world. On the basis of his past unpublished poems and new insights gained through the diversity of the cultures and physical sceneries to which he was exposed, he has already published with AuthorHouse (UK) six (6) books of poetry, including Season of Flowers. His seventh book is about to be published.