Olumo Rock by John Pepper Clark

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Olumo Rock

The lid of a pot all night on the boil 
Has ceased to pound before noon 
For fled with the moon 
Are the denizens of turmoil 
But froth-spilling over beneath 
Their sceptre-tongued fire 
Laps the bracken-heath.

Stone reared on the crest of Olumo 
And far-out-flung by lightning-hand 
On a witch’s errand,
Will it not sod-soften, thaw 
Or loosen to pulp and peat 
When the cauldron cracks for heat ?

O mother, my mother overprest, 
Dancing on your sweat-wet laps 
One self-soured by unsterile paps,
Come suckle him on dry breast 
Now smoke-clouds, curly-furled,
Leap to flames round him early-whorled.

So blest be my loving-unloved flesh, 
That fanned so long in flames of passion 
Lapping futile for consummation,
Turns this pillar of ash ;
But curst my heart that stubborn 
As Joan’s yearns and wouldn’t burn.

— John Pepper Clark

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