Summer thunderstorm and frogs

Here is a brand new poem for you, baked fresh out of my head today. I just realized if one juxtaposes the letters of poem it spells 'mope.' That is something I promise I will not do today.

Summer Thunderstorm and Frogs

Heat lightning bounces in the sky

Percussion shocks move closer, like bombs

It's night, and dark, I can't see it, but

the storm is coming this way.

Jagged flashes make their zig-zagged trails for Zeus to ride upon to earth.

The crackling has such great distance to travel, I hear it move from top to bottom, sideways

Ripping like torn paper, moving, moving, then BOOM

Time to remove things from the dock before they fly away.

Everyone else is asleep. I slog through the heavy air, stealthy as if I was a night hunter.

Excited by the conduction in the air, my skin has been touched, electrified. I am very awake.

At the dock, the frogs have no concern for the oncoming storm.

The spring peepers and tree frogs have grown quiet

and I hear the fascinating sound I love, the twang of large frogs, or bull frogs, I can't see them hidden

A single, dissonant twerp or twang

A slightly loose string on a banjo or guitar that hasn't been tightened, out of tune

blueck, plueck, tweoong

it resonates in the heavy air

then the answer of another frog

to the left of me, and again, same frog

then first frog

then from the far side of the lake, a third

her string just as loud

they triangulate.

-SLG