Summer Storm

Summer Storm
by Timothy Reed

the hours arranged themselves in bookcases 
while the clouds sat overhead like grease in a pot
thoughts, a medley of feverish flotsam and jetsam
eat, eat until I am full to bursting
but the day would not relent
Summer Storm is upon us, it seeps up from the deep

all the light things, airy things, press us down into the blaze
Summer Storm, Summer Storm. 
if we had the kindness of soil below us, we would have hidden 
we stew down, every substance divorced, every issue separated
we become hundreds of ourself, splitting and splitting 
laid out on black iron, haphazardly 

whipping wind and whippoorwill draw us up to the tempest
but only in eddies - they smack of inevitable return
Summer Storm, Summer Storm
Storm on, but I pray for any other season





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This poem is a juxtaposition of a summer thunderstorm and a stew-pot. The subject of the poem finds themselves with their heart and mind stretched between the two, squeezed and dissected by internal and external analysis, issues, convictions, & controversies. In short, it is the turning of a soul upon itself as it wrestles with the core issues of life.