Stormhigh

Earlier in the year, tornadoes hit hard in several areas in the South and Midwest. I felt like it would be inappropriate to publish poetry about how much I enjoy a good, loud storm. But now that fewer thunderstorms bring tornadoes, I can share this poem. 

Stormhigh

    

The wind's moans make me laugh,

And its shrieks bring me joy

As I capture it in the circle of my arms.

Its elemental parts shift and whirl,

Rubbing positive to negative,

Creating power.

Charge builds, earth and air,

And I, composed of earth and air, take it,

Make it part of me.

I ride the roll of thunder like a wave,

Call down the lightning

And grasp it in my fist.

It crackles and struggles in my hold,

But I drink its ozone odor

Till it fades to darkness on my palm.

copyright Angela Parson Myers 2011

Thunderhead

The first real thunderstorms of the season swept across the Midwest last night. While the worst of them seemed to part and flow to the north and south of my home town, others had tornadoes and floods. 

This time of year, storms usually come in huge banks of black clouds that roll over the prairies in lines that stretch for miles. But in the summertime, they sometimes come singly, dark galleons floating in an ocean of sky.

Thunderhead

Storms never surprise the prairie,

They build up on the horizon,

Great blackening hoards of cumulus

Like the gathering forces of evil

From some old Scandinavian folk tale.

Or they travel swiftly alone--

Silver, anvil-shaped giants

Floating over their own shadows,

Muttering to themselves deeply

And juggling lightning bolts,

Sometimes dropping one.

copyright 2011