Keep Writing

I struggle to identify

A theme that’s new, untried, and unexpected.

I wonder if my writing

Has now exhausted all my heart’s collected.

Should this be so, I’d pause to cry

But then begin again to pen a rhyme,

For here my mind keeps fighting

To understand my place in space and time.

 

The words have been coming somewhat slowly recently, as I've been trying to write poems. When this happens, I sometimes wonder if I've just run out of ideas, or run out of whatever creative writing ability I had before. Buy eventually I realize that, even if that were the case, I would still need to keep trying, because this has become one of the ways I process things - one of the ways I try to understand my place in all that happens.

Infinity Ridge

Standing here

Beneath the crusted winter air,

Looking at layer over layer

Of folded earth extending through the haze,

With trees like frosted fingers reaching

Toward the touch of pale blue sky,

And I, breathless on this zenith crease,

Find peace beyond the cold confines of time.

 

Mom and I did a little hiking last week in Shenandoah National Park (in Virginia). One of my favorite trails there takes you over some rocks to a 360-degree view near the top of a mountain. From there, it seemed like the mountain ridges around me went on endlessly, fading off into the hazy distance. That's where this poem came from.

Choice and Circumstance

Raindrops touch the puddles on the pavement,

Rhythmic, with the rings they make expanding,

Mixing with the ripples from the breezes

Blowing over top the water’s standing.

How we touch the world through each decision

Chooses where our waves begin their growing,

Broader forces bend the seas around us,

So we must adapt and go on flowing.

 

I didn't get around to posting a poem last weekend, mostly because I had spent the prior week in Ghana and was traveling back to Kenya. Now, less than a week later, I'm sitting in the Nairobi airport again, getting ready to fly to the US for Christmas. Getting the opportunity to do all this traveling has made me think about how the forces in our lives - including both our own decisions and the broader contours that affect things beyond our control - move us around and provide us with so many different experiences. At the moment, I'm really looking forward to the experience of being home in Pennsylvania for the next few weeks! 

Fading Visions

Nighttime visions of you

Light dark halls in my dreams,

Swimming as if on cue

Through my subconscious streams.

Lost are you at my waking,

Vapor from off my head

Fading as morning is breaking,

Drawing me out of bed.

 

This poem talks about how I sometimes feel in the morning, after a dream that fades quickly from my memory. The dream might have included some friends or family, and I may vaguely remember that they were there, but I often can't remember much else. It creates some mixed emotions - wanting to dive back into the dream, but also wanting to get up and see them again sometime soon, if I can.

Grant Us Peace

Grant us peace

Like a gentle rain that rolls

Beyond the thunder’s crack

And soaks into our harried souls

To fill the calm we lack.

Grant us peace

To still the sparks that burn the coals

Of clouds as dark as black.

 

This past week was a particularly stressful one, and this poem came out almost all at once last Thursday night. I think it's pretty self-explanatory - it's a simple prayer for peace of mind and soul, amid the storms and struggles we face.

Present

Here am I,

Here where time and space collide,

The point at which my heart is beating,

Where past and future coincide

With one oncoming, one receding.

In each breath I stand astride

The many ways that open wide

Beyond the moment – here I must decide.

 

This poem focuses on an idea that I've explored before, at least a few times - the idea of the present as this confluence of everything that's come before and all the possibilities that could come after. In every moment, we have an opportunity to adjust the likelihoods of those possibilities a little bit, depending on the choices we make and the ways in which we decide to move forward. I'm certainly not the best at being this thoughtful in the moment all the time, but it's something I try to remember, at least every once in a while.

Mosquito Bites

Red spots dot my feet,

Minor bites where slight mosquitoes creep.

The evening hours before I sleep

Are spent in swatting night’s chaotic fleet,

But every one I hit

I watch as it descends, no more to be –

Perhaps an end not fair nor fit

For what its little hurts had done to me.

 

Unfortunately (for me at least), I've been pretty lazy about posting poems recently. Hopefully, this one will help to get me back into a regular rhythm. Right now in Nairobi, we see a relatively high number of mosquitoes in the evenings. I occasionally look down at my feet and see a few little bites that I hadn't even felt. This poem starts with this idea of mosquitoes as annoying and troublesome creatures for us as humans, but in the end, it wonders if we truly have a right to try to reduce their population.