What draws you to storms like a moth to a light?

[Stephen Levine]

For me storms are art, beauty, magnificence, passion, geometry, dance and joy.

I have posted on my website www.joyfulstormhunting.com a poetic description of specific types of storm events that make my heart squeal, titled "What I Love".

I would great joy to read your poetic descriptions if you have any.. all types of storms, all times of year, all terrains are game.
With storm season being at least a good month away, perhaps we can create our own here, through poetry and image...

 

[Greg McLaughlin]

I'm not very poetic, but I will give this a try.

Ever since I was a young child I was drawn to stormy skies.
I remember how I used to get excited when I would go outside, summoned by a loud clap of thunder, and find a sky so dark it was if a black curtain had been drawn over the sun.
The bright green leaves of the trees silhouette against the black sky had an enrapturing beauty to it.
Maybe that is why level 3, the tree level, in the original Mario Bros. was always my favorite level.
Over the years since I began my quest to pursue the storms I have lost that excitement and mystery which surrounded me long ago.
These days if I am lucky, I find myself on a lone desolate road surrounded by nothing more than open fields; just me and the storm.
A warm wind at my back singing through the trees and the wheat as it rushes in to the tempest to provide it life.
And yes, that tempest is alive.
It was born, it consumes and it dies, but at that moment as if it knew I was there to revel in the view, as if on cue, it provides entertainment.....a show of sorts.
A state of awe, a trance if you will settles over me as I watch the clouds dance and the curtains of rain part.
And as if it were meant to be a grand finale, down from the rafters, the tornado slowly descends, with great fanfare and awe.
Overwhelmed with excitement and amazement I always seem to find myself speechless, for how can something so dark and deadly be so incredibly graceful and beautiful. Perhaps there is still a mystery to it. Perhaps that is the greatest mystery of all.

 

[Bill Tabor]

Since you brought it up...years ago I was inspired to write this:

http://www.tornadoxtreme.com/Chase_Inspiration/Why_We_Chase/why_we_chase.html

Why We Chase​

by Bill Tabor

​

Many often ask this question; - "Why We Chase?". ​

Perhaps we are all drawn to a truth greater than ourselves. ​

Perhaps we are seekers, on a journey, on a road, between time and space. ​

Perhaps we are they which wish to understand the beauty, ​

And the majesty of being.​

The hidden truth which seems to lie behind the next veil, which is blown by the wind. ​

Seekers of that which isn't known, but must be. ​

Somewhere there amongst all the turning tumultuous rivers of fire and ice, ​

The mountains of snow and wind,​

We are ever drawn on towards that which inspires us and gives us hope. ​

Some would see a cloud, a wisp, which passes like the vapour of our lives. ​

Like the distant memories of our youth, ​

And truly see nothing.​

Yet there are those of us who know that there is in that fire all that defines us. ​

We find the eddies of light, and the flows of sorrow, ​

The beauty of sight,​

And the terrible terror which kills and destroys ​

Ever beckoning, ever leading us onward toward the inexplicable which is our life. ​

Perhaps we know, that which is,​

Is ever greater than ourselves,​

And we just want to see, just want to be a part. ​

Many have come before, and many have perished. ​

We are brothers of the sky, the wind, the fire. ​

We are the keepers of our souls.​

We are the question poised for the answer. ​

So look again upon the sky my friend.​

Cast your cares to the wind.​

Plot your course and transcend,​

To another time again.​

And be a part,​

Seek for the heart, of God.​

 

[Stephen Levine]

Thank you, both Bill and Greg for sharing your beautiful words and poetry.I feel very touched by both..

Greg, your words bring me to Western Kansas, standing by a field of waving wheat on a sunny hot and humid day as clouds bubbled up then suddenly exploded into thunderheads. The wheat waved like ocean waves.

Your poem, Bill captures for me the inner quest that I've been on my entire life that seems to also be tied up with watching and chasing storms as well as music that for me captures the energy of both the quest and the weather that I have quested since 1977.

Thunderheads and their children have been so home for me that when I was in my 20's as a storm passed on and clearing ensued, I would look eastward and silently tell them "take me with you".

On one of my seasonal storm quests, I met a woman check-in person in Oklahoma who got excited when I told her I am storm chasing. She proceeded to tell me that when tornadoes would threaten, she would get up on the hood of her car and dance - - naked -under the wild sky.
She told me that she scared the s... out of a boyfriend that she had doing this as a funnel cloud took shape nearby.

My Thesis advisor gave me a nickname: "Hermit of the Sky".



Just discovered that somehow I misplaced my file of weather and storm poetry. When I find it, I'll add a couple to this post..

 

[Rob Wadsworth]

I think that storms have their place in creation.
They serve a function created by circumstance.
They are soggy, brooding, moisture monstrosities that are best watched.
As opposed to tuning one's back on their magnificence.

Ignoring them means being pelted with ice rocks or boulders.
Tearing your trees or home with fierce winds.
The crack and boom of thunder reminds one - that you are small.
But far from insignificance...

 

[David Mikulec]

Can't find my poet's cap, but...

Those white towers of convection
I see as God's skyscrapers
Those tall things that beckon us
To see what it is He's building
For us to marvel at today

 

[Karla Dorman]

This thread is right up my Alley. =] I call myself, StormSpinner, WxPoet, Photographer, PorchChaser! =]

Started writing StormPoetry in 2002 as a way to deal with a lifelong fear of Storm. It has helped greatly.

So many poems, which to share? Here are two: the first describes my fear and the second, how writing/taking pictures (PorchChasing) is allowing me to confront that fear.

'The Howling' (c) 2007, Karla Dorman

used to the room going black,
spinning, as if the storm
reversed itself back into
my bed. lightning flashes
oneonethousandtwoonethou -:
never reach three before
the Howling screams me awake,
neatly stopping the heart.
happens again and again,
these spasms of panic
throwing me onto the floor
safely out of harm's way:

try telling that to my fear.

'Storm -- Chased!' (c) 2007, Karla Dorman

The Bizzness of Storm
IZ my business:
all I know. My whole
life revolves
them: hunted. Hunting.
Pursued. Pursuing.
Their power alerts
fears to level red,
yet their beauty calls
me out into the
wind, inspires me
to write, to capture
them on film: this, the
life of a chaser.

And now going on my first REAL chase this year. Nervous? Yes. Excited? YES!!

More of my StormPoetry can be found at http://stormspinner.blogspot.com

Yeah, yeah, I know: got to update. =]

 

[Stephen Levine]

Good luck to you, Karla! Perhaps your first "real" chase will be life transforming in a very positive way.

I've located my storm poems. Following is one that I would love to share with you:

Sky Song:

I behold the glory of wind rushing across my legs
I thrill to the beauty of sky stretching above my head
I call to clouds of fleece dancing joyfully like children across sea of blue, and rush to join them
I hold the seed of the Universe in my hands..
pulsing light eminating forth; electric horizons flashing, merging unlimited.

I document the whims of wind
as if he/she were my child
Watching her every dance and shade as views of sunsets and sunrises merge before me
melting in colors surreal
Mountain - clouds rearing up spewing sunstreak

I squeal in Storm-rush
Trees bending in awe
sacrificing leaves to wind
I give my arms to cloud that towers in sunset shades and whispers in thunder- murmer
My bed a satin sky

 

[Laura Duchesne]

This is a poem I wrote in high school (just a little over 10 years ago). It's more about how I feel when I am chasing... free - I let the storm take me by the senses, and nothing else seems to matter anymore.

Storm Chaser
copyright Laura Duchesne

The severe storm screamed before my eyes,
Swishing, singing, and swaying as it covered up the skies.
The long lightning lashed across the dark sky,
"Oh severe storm, let your wind blow!" I cry.
Then it blew, and I went along with it,
I am free and no longer in the pit.
The rain and hail whip about me,
The swirling, scary clouds are all I see.
I can feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins,
While I am blinded by the heavy rains.
I am all alone and there's nothing to fear,
Since all there is, is the thunder to hear.
Traveling on the long, lonely lane,
I have chased a storm that I am about to tame.
Since there is no one else here to face her,
The severe storm is left only for the Storm Chaser.