Shipwreck's Island Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

They danced
to the breaking pace
of rain drums
on heads' roofs,

splayed
memories expanding
with blackboards
carrying scribbles

jumping out
with wings of stars
pulling in mouths

to read thorny
writings, scripts
on a trip
they clung to

until their ship
was wrecked.

(ii)

They swelled
to the contours
of a standing
midnight digging

up space
into dark corners
far-flung behind

a lighthouse
drifting
into the womb
of sable and jade black.

Thickening
into the drifting door
of a smoky volcano,
ink clouds

cut off from
beacon beams

rooted
into the tree trunks
of a polished night,

the bones and flesh
of their ship
spidery curves,

only spiders of anxiety
gnawing them
with snarls, cats

bouncing through
with cutting
lances in the drifting wind

nibbling off
warm air and brushing

breezes to hurl
back deepening
ice coolers of air.

(iii)

Sinking down
to a smacking
blizzard,

the only glass
of thought
to scoop out

thick layers of night,
as we spread tentacles
to drifting stars

to fish a way of out
of our dark
screen of night.