poetry

poems for the revolution

Launched during the tumultuous events of 2020, the “Poems for the Revolution” series explores the duality of hope and despair inherent in justice-centric activism, reflecting on the coexisting feelings of wonder and woe experienced when looking at the world.

poems for the revolution

The Day the Sky Fell

On the day the sky fell And life turned to rubble I looked around and cried.

My soul whimpered "It hurts."

My heart whispered "I know."

"What do I do?" my soul asked. "Sit", said my heart. "Sit, and I shall sit here with you."

"But it's broken," my brain wailed. "We need to fix it."

"We will," assured my heart.

"When?" accused my brain.

"When we can see through the pain," my heart replied.

"We cannot fix what we do not understand. So for today, come. Sit with us. Feel. The pain will help teach us what we need to know."

My brain sat. And after a few moments, whimpered "It hurts."

Reaching out its hand, my soul whispered back "I know."

Holding them both, my heart pointed out "It should."

On the day the sky fell And life turned to rubble I looked around and cried.

In Between the Explosions

I’m tired.

I am so, so tired, looking around at the world.

The hopeful voice in me says “THIS is the world”, looking at a child laughing a tree dancing a whale breaching

The somber voice in me says “no, THIS is the world”, pointing out a labor camp a forest fire an oil spill

And I scream and curse, cry and sob, rant and rail as the optimist and the pessimist within me do battle

Until the timeless voice in me, made not of joy or pain, but simply the wisdom of the ages, speaks up:

“It is ALL the world This beautiful ugliness This glorious tragedy This fragmented unity”

Life started with a speck of dust on fire It has been a series of messy outbursts ever since What a privilege, to make love in between the explosions

I do not come in peace

I do not come in peace I come in righteous anger the fury of ages past pounding in my blood

I do not come in peace I come in weary sorrow the anguish of endless sobs lumping in my throat

I do not come in peace I come in abject horror the echo of tortured screams ringing in my ears

I do not come in peace but peace is where I want to go and so

I come in steadfast resolve the demand of equal rights sounding in my steps

I come in open protest the tension of deferred dreams thumping in my chest

I come in hopeful yearning the promise of future days singing in my soul

I do not come in peace but peace is what I mean to build

Dissent

On the day hope died, she whispered a benediction: "They are writing not for today, but for tomorrow."

Do you know the way to the revolution?

Excuse me, I’m looking for the revolution.

Do you know the way?

I trained all my life, eager to vanquish foes defeat evil fight injustice.

When I was fifteen, a cousin invited me to a poetry slam sharing the story of their pain. “No, I can’t go to that. I'm training for the revolution. Do you know the way?”

When I was twenty, a friend invited me to a concert singing the song of their hope. “No, I can’t go to that. I'm training for the revolution. Do you know the way?”

When I was thirty, a colleague invited me to a play telling the tale of their history. “No, I can’t go to that. I'm training for the revolution. Do you know the way?”

“Do you know the way to the revolution?” I asked this of everyone I met.

Then one night, a man overheard my question Called over to me “Yes! I know the way to the revolution. Follow me.”

Excited, I went with the man Finally, I would join the revolution

He led me down a road toward noisy clamour and loud footfall

My heart raced

A door opened.

I rushed my way in Sword drawn, ready to take on all comers.

Came to an abrupt halt. Confused.

The clamour was joyful music and the footfall was not made by soldiers at war.

I looked around suddenly realising I spent my life training to fight when what was asked of me was to dance.

The poetry slam. The concert. The play. Time and time again, I had been invited to the revolution. Ignored it. Too caught up in my own fantasy of what the revolution should look like.

I stood frozen terrified ashamed No idea what to do next.

A woman walked up to me smiled held out her hand “Want to dance?”

“I... I don’t know the steps.”

“That’s okay. I do. Follow me.”

The End of the Universe

The books we read as teens didn't make us think the end of the universe would start with a whisper.

We sat waiting for the earthquake, the alien invasion, the nuclear bomb.

But life is not like the movies And this is always how it has begun.

With a whisper here a lie there The slow creep-in of hatred and control becoming so pervasive it targets us too.

And so history sits Cassandra in the corner pleading over and over

This is always how it has begun, Warning signs everywhere.

You wanted your epic trilogy But those movies never start at the beginning of the story.

The end of the universe starts with a whisper.

Does the revolution?

Fairy Tale

On the day the sky fell
And life turned to rubble
I looked around and cried.

My soul whimpered
"It hurts."

My heart whispered
"I know."

"What do I do?" my soul asked.
"Sit", said my heart.
"Sit, and I shall sit here with you."

"But it's broken," my brain wailed.
"We need to fix it."

"We cannot fix what we do not understand.
So for today,
come.
Sit with us.
Feel.
The pain will help teach us what we need to know."

My brain sat.
And after a few moments,
whimpered
"It hurts."

Reaching out its hand,
my soul whispered back
"I know."

Holding them both,
my heart pointed out
"It should."

On the day the sky fell
And life turned to rubble
I looked around and cried.

The hopeful voice in me says “THIS is the world”, looking at
a child laughing
a tree dancing
a whale breaching

The somber voice in me says “no, THIS is the world”, pointing out
a labor camp
a forest fire
an oil spill

And I scream and curse, cry and sob, rant and rail
as the optimist and the pessimist within me do battle

“It is ALL the world
This beautiful ugliness
This glorious tragedy
This fragmented unity”

Life started with a speck of dust on fire
It has been a series of messy outbursts ever since
What a privilege, to make love in between the explosions

I do not come in peace
I come in righteous anger
the fury of ages past
pounding in my blood

I do not come in peace
I come in weary sorrow
the anguish of endless sobs
lumping in my throat

I do not come in peace
I come in abject horror
the echo of tortured screams
ringing in my ears

I do not come in peace
but peace is where I want to go
and so

I come in steadfast resolve
the demand of equal rights
sounding in my steps

I come in open protest
the tension of deferred dreams
thumping in my chest

I come in hopeful yearning
the promise of future days
singing in my soul

I do not come in peace
but peace is what I mean to build

On the day hope died,
she whispered a benediction:
"They are writing not for today,
but for tomorrow."

I trained all my life, eager to
vanquish foes
defeat evil
fight injustice.

When I was fifteen,
a cousin invited me to a poetry slam
sharing the story of their pain.
“No,
I can’t go to that.
I'm training for the revolution.
Do you know the way?”

When I was twenty,
a friend invited me to a concert
singing the song of their hope.
“No,
I can’t go to that.
I'm training for the revolution.
Do you know the way?”

When I was thirty,
a colleague invited me to a play
telling the tale of their history.
“No,
I can’t go to that.
I'm training for the revolution.
Do you know the way?”

“Do you know the way to the revolution?”
I asked this
of everyone I met.

Then one night, a man
overheard my question
Called over to me
“Yes!
I know the way to the revolution.
Follow me.”

Excited,
I went with the man
Finally,
I would join the revolution

He led me down a road
toward noisy clamour
and loud footfall

I rushed my way in
Sword drawn,
ready to take on all comers.

The clamour was joyful music
and the footfall was
not made by soldiers at war.

I looked around
suddenly realising
I spent my life
training to fight
when what was asked of me
was to dance.

The poetry slam.
The concert.
The play.
Time and time again,
I had been invited to the revolution.
Ignored it.
Too caught up
in my own fantasy
of what the revolution
should look like.

I stood frozen
terrified
ashamed
No idea what to do next.

A woman walked up to me
smiled
held out her hand
“Want to dance?”

“I...
I don’t know the steps.”

“That’s okay.
I do.
Follow me.”

The books
we read as teens
didn't make us think
the end of the universe
would start with a whisper.

We sat
waiting for the earthquake,
the alien invasion,
the nuclear bomb.

But life is not like the movies
And this is always how it has begun.

With a whisper here
a lie there
The slow creep-in
of hatred and control
becoming so pervasive
it targets us too.

And so history sits
Cassandra in the corner
pleading over and over

This is always how it has begun,
Warning signs everywhere.

You wanted your epic trilogy
But those movies
never start
at the beginning of the story.

The end of the universe
starts with a whisper.