The Thunderstone Poem by Goddo Faggotte

The Thunderstone



Walking by a slow gutter,
a smooth-skinned stone,
oval in its oliveness,
called up to me,
and listening as I was,
down, to pick it up, I stooped.

Rubbed in my hands,
warm with my heart,
I grew accustomed to its close,
hard companionship,
like a birthstone.
Beneath my pillowed head
it rested, my lucky stone,
all the dark night.

Shocked at first light,
for my olive oval had turned –
it was a blood-stone
deep ruby and birthed
by a thunderstorm.

Knowing that within this stone
grew an evil, vengeful impundulu,
a blood-bird, a lightning bird.
I had but one thing to do.

Burying the unlucky blood-stone
in the singeing orange coals of a virgin fire,
I turned away quickly,
not waiting to hear
the screams of the dying lightning bird,
unhatched in its bloodstone.

Ask me someday,
one day when the sun is shining,
a day without chance of storm,
no lightning to betray,
and I will show you its heart,
scraped from the dead embers,
and perhaps tell you
what the thunder said.

Monday, September 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: danger,mystery,mystical,mythology
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The Lightning Bird and The Thunderstone
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
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Goddo Faggotte

Goddo Faggotte

Frontier Country, South Africa
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