The Sun behind the Storm

Where does shelter lie

To offer solace from the storm?

Do you wall the endless sky

And close off every face and form

Until your soul is held inside

And nothing enters through the door?

But what of those who wait outside,

Enduring still, as times before,

The lashings of the driving rain,

The pressures of eternal strain?

 

No – today, I open up

To hear the cry and see the cup

Where dreams deferred spill out again

To break upon the ground, and then

I reexamine what I think

And learn from lives that bend their ink

To mark the struggles they have known,

Each loss and wound and broken bone

And so much time spent waiting

For all to hear the devastating

Song that pours until reform

Will find the sun behind the storm.

 

For the sun is sometimes brightest

When it’s breaking through the falling rain,

And the air is sometimes lightest

In the shadow of the hurricane.

Will the days soon bring that moment?

Will the swelling waves and fair refrain

Bring all humanity to bear,

Confronting such historic strain

With deeper strands of love? Ensnare

My humble soul, in days grown warm,

Where solace lies beyond the storm.

I've been writing this poem slowly over the past week, thinking about everything that's been happening in the country and the world - thinking about the past and present sins that haunt our society, the need to confront and address these horrifying realities and systemic injustices, and the importance of raising up the voices and work of members of vulnerable, neglected, and oppressed communities. In that vein, I'd suggest you check out the short and extremely powerful poem Harlem, composed by Langston Hughes. That poem is what inspired my use of the phrase "dreams deferred" in the second stanza.

The poem I've written is meant to convey the responsibility I have to be open, to listen, to work toward a better understanding of the issues at play, and to support efforts for a more equitable society where everyone - and especially those who have been and continue to be the targets of racism and injustice - feels safe, valued, and loved. It's my hope that this period will help to push us along a path that leads, eventually, after continued effort and sustained work, to better days.

Spun Askew

When lovers wandered hand in hand

And children raced from door to door,

When every hour’s falling sand

Revealed to us an altered shore,

Each moment of the world felt new,

But time has now been spun askew.

Although the planet’s spin persists,

Our days are draped with stagnant mists

That swallow up our lives’ progression

As we endure this plague’s oppression.

We need a modicum of hope

To focus the uncertain scope

Of future’s course, to give direction

And help us feel time’s onward force –

A pathway toward renewed connection

To realign us with our source.


Over the past several weeks, I've not posted much poetry. In part, that's due to the fact that I've been focusing more on recording music to share on Facebook. But, it's also because I've been having trouble finishing poems during this period when time seems so different. I'm not exactly sure of the reason, but I think it has something to do with how it's harder to notice progress and change as the days blend together, and as almost all my time is spent inside my apartment. That's more or less what this poem is expressing.

Sitting Out as the Sun Goes Down

After returning from a run

And showering off the sweat,

I take a folding chair outside

Upon the deck and let

Myself recline beneath the angled sun.

Preoccupied by data shining

From the computer upon my lap,

I do a little work, defining

Trends before my sightlines snap

And look around.

The orange sphere’s descended.

A stillness settles on the ground,

The sky has purpled and extended

To meet the full moon’s pale and yellow light,

And I return inside, refreshed

By the magical turning of day to night.

There's not much explanation needed for this one. What's described in this poem simply happened last night, and I felt inspired to write. This poem may be a bit freer with rhythm than what I typically write...possibly because I wrote it so quickly.

The World at the Window

The scent of the rain

The touch of the breeze

Protect me from the daily strain

Of isolation’s draining freeze.

The sound of a bird

The sight of the sun

Uplift my soul without a word,

Forgive me for what’s left undone.

A taste of life’s expanse

Connects me, where my body stands,

To all the world’s varied dance,

To you in near and distant lands.


This is another short poem about life during this uncertain time. In Illinois, we are under a "stay at home" order, so I'm spending almost all of my time in my apartment. Yesterday was a warm day that offered all of the different things mentioned in this poem. It was nice to open the windows and feel these different parts of the outside world. 

Abiding

Yesterday, I stood

With the screen door open wide

To feel the world I’m distanced from

And all the unacknowledged good

It holds. I stood a bit inside,

Took in the air, and heard the hum

Of growing things that sprout and crawl and glide.

In the end, I thought of you

And knew

Your presence will abide.

Like many others, I am now working remotely from home. I'm fortunate to have a job where this type of remote arrangement is possible - many others do not. Still, it's an odd feeling, even for an introvert like me, to be separated from others to this degree. This poem is yet another one of my efforts to remain connected as much as possible, and to provide some small amount of comfort in this extremely uncertain time (for me, as well as for others).

To Turn at the Crossroads

I come to a fork in the road through the wood,

And a choice must be made where to go.

Running right, left, and straight are the options. What good

Will evolve from the footprints I’ll grow?

Staying straight is perhaps the easiest way

For the moment, at least, but again,

Quite quickly, I’ll meet a new crossroads and may

Face greater uncertainty then.

The straight path leads toward what I thought I’d desire.

A distant white tower ahead

Beckons onward, but pitfalls exist and inspire

A turn to a second thread.

On the right, climbing fast to a tall, airy peak,

I would soon leave the woodland behind.

The view extends far, and the voices that speak

May reach many with new thoughts aligned.

It’s a path I knew not, when starting my course,

But revealed, it presents some exciting

And broad possibilities, close to my source,

Though a soft voice inside me is fighting.

I finally look to the left, which slopes down

To a faraway plain where the trees

Grow thick, bearing fruit from a leafy green gown,

And the warm waters run with the breeze.

While I can’t see the future, there may be a chance

To return to the road I’ve been on

If it calls, but for now, this elongated glance

Just feels right. To the left I am drawn.

It’s unknown, but familiar – far away, yet near

To some places I’ve walked before.

And the longer I look, something seems to appear:

It’s my heart, my passion, my core.


This past week, I had to make a decision about my future. I had a few different options, and I decided to accept a job with Aquaya, a research institute focused on improving global water and sanitation. I'll be starting in September, when I'll move to Nairobi, Kenya to be the Senior Research and Program Manager at the institute's research office there. This poem is kind of an abstract look at this and other options I was considering, and the main reasons for my decision. Writing it certainly helped me think through the different possibilities, and I'm also really grateful to the people I talked to about this choice.

At Rest

“An object at rest remains at rest.”

This (partial) first law of motion

Is the law of motion I know the best,

For while I lie in the slumbering ocean

Of early morning dreams, the dawn

Begins to dance through the windowpane

Beside my bed, and the conjured fawn

Begins to prance upon my sleeping brain,

But still I remain at rest.

I wait to rise, to wake, to test

My movements as the night transitions

To newborn day. My senses soon suggest

Resuming life’s bold expeditions

Beyond the realms of dreaming,

But even in the sunlight’s beaming

Still I remain at rest.

Then, finally, the impulse of the spheres –

Forever revolving, marking time –

Compels me, as the image disappears,

To rise, to wake, to heed the chime

And cross the threshold into conscious rhyme,

Yet rest remains a natural state,

Returning nightly with unerring fate.


I've been fortunate over the past several years to often have the flexibility to choose my own working hours. For me, that means I can stay up late at night - which is when I often write poetry - and then sleep in a bit the next day. There's not too much to this poem beyond the notion that I like to take my time waking up in the morning.