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by Gary Jacobson Sitting high in the branches of a tree Facing the teeth of the storm coming I see In deepest meditation, Sublime contemplation, Swaying with the first wind’s sighs Luminescent glows hypnotize. Reveling in the power of deep throated thunder Filling me with majestic wonder. I’m so all alone, Listening to existence moan. The solemn spirit fills me. Quiet excitement thrills me, My breath capturing, Holding, Mid lightning flashing. Then tossing reverie asunder Comes all encompassing rolls of thunder In that moment I feel serene peace, Mundane troubles inhabiting my mind cease. Forces of nature thrill me, Filled with divine powers that be In the supreme storms energy Cascading over my soul, As one with divine wonders of nature’s whole. At no time do I feel closer to God, Envision clearly The Master’s Iron Rod, Solemn purpose revealed to me In crescendos of dignity Than when in a tree, A ravaging storm surrounding me, Pounding at me, Gently pulling me... I’m touched by the storm undulating, wind and waves my soul quickening, with a knowledge of my vast insignificance, In a celestial trance Prickling mind and body with electric flow, As winds with frenetic majesty blow. I love a storm’s smell Caught up in the ominous knell Of luminous sounding bell Smelling stormy fragrance of the ages At one with spiritual sages. I love a storm in stately grandeur Bearing magnificence severe Rolling in, Mid a ferocious din. In supreme authority Manifesting awesome sovereignty Unquestioned, By puny man unchecked, Uncontrolled, Its dominant significance trumpeted, In turbulation roiled, Rocking my world again, And yet again... 
by Gary Jacobson When I was a young Oklahoma lad Weather watching was a participation fad An interaction sport Where in rain filled gutters we’d cavort. Neighbors would line the curb. Heck, a little rain couldn’t this fun disturb Gettin’ soaked to the skin Would only be a sign for the fun to begin. Each thunderbolt the sky shaking, Like a bomb crackling Blasting Like a shooting rocket Right down your hip pocket. A rainy Oklahoma day Was time for Sooners to play Time to stop whatever you were doing And go to your window watching The thunderheads roll in, Stormy weather no respecter of men. Still, weather watching was a game For young and old the same Soaked to your skin and shivering At thunderbursts jumping Searching gray, bubbling masses Inspecting with high powered glasses Looking for tornado funnels These weather watching, neighborhood sentinels. |
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