I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: October 2022
Gardens across the city are looking tired.
The flowers and foliage have for months been growing, blooming, celebrating the glorious sunshine and making our days on this big, beautiful planet ever more enjoyable.
But, come October, even the most curated gardens and manicured lawns are showing signs of wear and tear from the dipping nocturnal temperatures, lack of rain, care, or even neglect.
The cycle from spring, through summer, and now autumn, becomes more obvious each day. Daisies, Black-eyed Susan, Echinacea, once-boastful geraniums and hydrangeas are giving into time.
I can’t even find a dahlia anywhere.
Our landscape is getting darker.
The colours of flowers we count on to fill our lives will soon only be available in photographs, florist shops, or bouquets of the day at the market. We take it wherever we can, whenever we can, but we will wait patiently for next year’s gardens to bring back the everyday joy as the cycle will begin once again.
10/02/2022 j.g.l.
Posted on October 1, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Even my name will carry forward
to years I will not touch. This certainty remains
as truthful as it is obvious. We exist
in this fractured reality.
We all will die.
Admit that and you will move
more freely in this world.
Journey or adventure.
Most of us, week to week, are not aware
of a destination or even our path.
This has been my familiarity.
No other person’s experience can be
compared to your own experience.
We know various versions of the truth.
Time is tactile.
My hand will cup a breast only while my lips
have a taste to be quenched by lust,
or temptation.
Others will touch, or wish not to be touched.
Morals coat any decision made.
Experience tells us so.
Any human connection is hard; even harder
is loss of connection. Emotions are a commodity
shared with few, expressed by even less of us.
Trust.
The mind is never vacant, but a room muddled
by darkness. This space hosts a scent
I will remember after I
am left for dead.
We will all die; most of us alone.
Admit that, and you will move
more freely through this life.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
