We tire of unpredictable weather, the damp morning chill, wet socks and lost mittens. Winter keeps reminding it is not through with us.
We have suffered long enough.
The streets are tired and dirty and the time change only makes things darker in the morning.
We need a brighter view.
We need, now, the renewal that comes with spring.
03/20/2023 j.g.l.
Progress comes less from planning than participation.
Dreams and wishes require action and attention.
Start moving.
03/19/2023 j.g.l.
If we wait too long
for the stars to align, for
some kind of hope, or
some kind of sign,
if we let our lives hang on
still-bated breath, we will
forever wonder
what is still to come
or what we have left. If we
don’t own the moments,
or make them our own,
will we ever feel like
we’ve made our way home?
If we can’t be honest
with others, and especially
our selves,
can we ever explain why
or how
we once felt?
If we wait too long, it
may never arrive.
Stop waiting,
start doing,
start feeling alive.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
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.
Come under my blanket, literally or metaphorically.
Share my words, and time, beneath this moonless sky. Breathe
deeply. There is warmth here; we have a place to discover,
to dream, and to make this world a little smaller.
You are not like me. Obviously. The voice is foreign. Your skin
is different; or maybe it is mine. But let’s put those differences
on the table and sit, as equals, as strangers, as humans, under
the canopy of night, united by what makes us the same.
How different can we be? You are here. So am I. Should we all
not be allowed a place for art, for dancing, and dialogue, and
just allowing things to happen. Shouldn’t this city, this place
of all places, allow for a naturally-occurring random acts of belonging.
We belong here; we are all here, more likely than not strangers.
Regardless of where we come from, or where we have been,
there are more commonalities than differences. There has to be,
we are the same. We are all right here. Right now.
Can you let go of what you are used to? Can you imagine
becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable? Can we
as a species, as a people, as a force, take back the negativity
that exists outside this blanket? Can we try?
Communication, unhindered by race, or faith, or morals and
mindset, should be the easiest way to absolve the madness
that occurs daily on this planet. If poetry is the language,
it matters less about the accent and more about the intent.
You have a voice, and it is lovely, and unique, and has
a purpose. Speak up. Share, let others know how you feel, and
what you deal with daily, weekly, and now. You belong.
Come under the cover, and make room for others.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
