The Buzz Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the taupe
waddling cloud
of flashed
and
piercing pain
carrying thorns,

an insect
builds its nest
on the jack saw
lips of cactus

waving
a buzzing flower.

A buzzing
honey-splashing
bee carries
the seed
of sweetness

planted in ridges
and beds
of a garden's air
throughout
a deep and shallow
hollow day,

when time
spins wild bushes
of the calla
lily pulling in
the dancing bee.

And opens
the door for
another round
of pollen
to mulch cloudy times
with flowers,

the lotus sitting
on an extending
swamp
pulling sky's stars
for rebirth,

as another star lies
in the crib
of a ripple pushing
and pulling
ripples

that float
and spiral and glide
on to the horizon
of a river, a tick tock
pulling
the river along.

(ii)

The sleeping
firefly
carrying a bee's hairs
bawls out
with a fiery mouth

it was already
on earth,
before the star
awoke
in its sky nest,

as the star flashed
its sinking light,
with a glassy crystal

hanging in with
a wing-flashing wasp,
its wings

as transparent
as glass, its sting
the deep cloud
of a tapping buzz,

the anti-bee
gong heard through
a broken pipe.

(iii)

As times bite
and leave
no flowers
for healing,

the trumpeting bee
always nearing
the nipple
of dripping nectar

to feed
new life with a beetle
carrying
a rockier dung
that doesn't crush it,

but builds
air to push it off
like the darted arrow
of a pollen's stroke,

a dove plant
floats a star's
gliding wings,

a man harvesting
more flowers
without roaring
on a lion's buried
swelling poop,

but whistling
with a morning
robin's voice.