Spectrum of Zephyrs

By Felix Bongjoh

Consistent with his earlier 8 books of poetry, Felix Bongjoh in this ninth book, Spectrum of Zephyrs, takes up themes of mundane experiences spanning various aspects of life, including ordinary events of survival and coming to terms with society. Some individual poems showcase life in its various facets, including challenges which society and individual inclinations grapple with, choices typically made, and attitudes adopted in the face of a variety of circumstances. Balance is maintained throughout such that readers may identify with either hilarious or gloomy perspectives in accordance with their interpretations and understanding of life based on specific circumstances and factors at play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781490793399

Felix Bongjoh

Felix Bongjoh, currently living in Boston, Massachusetts, is an International Human Capital Development Consultant, who previously worked for an international organization for some 30 years. In addition to the present twenty-fifth book, Saddle On Thunder, Bongjoh has previously published 24 books of poetry, as follows: (i) Chorus on a Bridge; (ii) Broken Gloss of Bliss; (iii) Nightfall at Dawn; (iv) When Dusk Hoots; (v) Weeds of Jewelry; (vi) Season of Flowers; (vii) The Ineluctable Spin; (viii) Gloom’s Sprout of Love; (ix) Spectrum of Zephyrs; (x) Whistles in the Wind; (xi) The Sun Still Glitters; (xii) Cliff of Sirens; (xiii) Quiet Shadows Scream; (xiv) Angle of Angels; (xv) Sculpted Out of Sky; (xvi) Feathers of Fur; (xvii) Through Sundry Waves; (xviii) Beyond Dying Ripples; (xix) Doors to Eris; (xx) Outskirts of Inner Bowl; (xxi) Ebbing Out, Bouncing Back; (xxii) Tailored To The Stars; (xxiii) A Storm Wave’s Reach; and (xxiv) Isles Of Light.

Book preview

Copyright 2019 Felix Bongjoh.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9335-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9339-9 (e)

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Trafford rev.  01/22/2019

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This book is

dedicated to my late beloved daughter, Agnes Josiane Bongjoh

Preface

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Spectrum of zephyrs

(song for the afflicted)

A wheezing sneeze,

A breeze’s hard toss,

Lands an ice-cold hand

That glues the afflicted

To monstrous beds.

Night falls pre-emptively,

An eclipse blooming:

May the fan of a zephyr

Sweep the faces of the afflicted

Before a gale strikes.

The zephyr’s hands always

Light and cotton-soft,

May a gale’s hard fingers

Spin, flicker and flip over.

May the gale’s hands stay

On the mountains,

From where they descend,

A deep-throated bass,

Fondling and lulling the afflicted

In their sick addicting beds.

When the gale wields

A bulldozing force,

May they howl and growl

And stay in the yard,

Leaving the afflicted hugged

By the furnace of silence.

May they sing a song

Loud and strident enough

To awaken the afflicted,

As they recover from

A cold’s cuffs and teethed grip.

And when it’s all over,

May it be known soberly -

In a spectrum of zephyrs -*

A breeze punches the afflicted,

And they sneeze out a gale,

A hurricane, then a tornado.

Towed to bed, rooted boulders,

Rising with wings, crickets,

They recover, bee hummingbirds,

As a new breeze brushes them.

When a hurricane opens

It’s claws and paws to grip

The afflicted, they’re better off

Getting fondled by bird feathers,

As they fan themselves

In a gold-covered dawn

With birdsong and breeze

Never coming to a freeze,

Suns still hiding, uncovered.

Suns wake up, raging stoves

Swung back and forth,

High-handed waves, throwing

A tsunami’s heavy jabs and blows.

This book derives its title from this poem written by the same author.

Contents

My teardrop like yours at birth

My daughter’s return

Pace in Space

Hue of anguish

Seeds for his bed

Song for a fallen angel

The two hunters

Burning the mid-night oil

Invincible

Trifle of force

Dog hanged by a storm

Hisses don’t always bite

Love’s vigilant sun

Reminiscing love

Where love is mined

Noisy silence

Fleeing truth

Swimming back

Beast of skies, land and seas

A breath of clouds

Chia sings bicycling to town

Version of a myth

From gorse to paws

A weasel rides a woodpecker

Ash day

A Pause

Revolting frogs

When angels bunch up

When flowers clasp each other

The birds shamed us

Desperation

Elation

Slithering road to heaven

A bunch of tulips

Dislodging a boulder

Flames never catching a fire

Hesitation

Burnt-out engine of hesitation

Postponement

Mountain of a kiss

Pause

Squeezed in

Stung in his couch

Home again

Time survives the hangman

The man in a hurry

In a host’s generous yard

Corn and beans

Heaven’s gifts

Folklore

A toddler’s broken hand

Children’s screams in a camp

A grain of rice

Showers from trees

Dawn drips in

Deep in the valley

Packing up our lives

The messiah

Prelude to a folktale

The desperate hours

My teardrop like yours at birth

(for Agnes Josiane Bongjoh)

A teardrop, a silvery mountain

below my lower eyelid

illuminated above

by your neon-fed smile -

smooth glow, nylon of plasma

sprayed on my cheek.

Your palm laid

to rest forever

on my hollow face - filled only

by the glossy flesh of your breath, the curls

of your euphonious giggles

louder than

a festival’s orchestra, balloons

twirling wider than

a lone ripple on a calm lake

spreading in inch-paced crevices

of mirth flowing out

in soft bullets of limelight as smooth

as your dainty fingers.

It’s your smile overfed with mine,

festooning mountains

on my face.

With ribbons and garlands

harvested from a rose light-year

away in a faerie country.

It drills a hole

through the compact bullion

of my heart

down a lily-flanked canal,

where love is rowed in the canoe

of your memory

and paddled with your arms I can feel

but cannot grip

on a gentle sea where nothing sinks,

only floating

between my arm and yours.

Where father-and-daughter

love

secrets are kept

like jewels in a gold safe

deep down

a cozy trench in open space, its base

touching earth’s core,

where a mantel kisses

love’s eternity

running on

a path that never ends.

I’m your standing volcano,

the summit of which collapses

with memory, magma’s overflow -

over the mountain’s sides

into a river

that never dries up on my cheek,

flowing to the confluence

where gravity-pulled streams journey