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: November 2022
A slight slip of the wrist, or
an accident or mistake, sure
to curtail all those immediate
thoughts or intentions.
Is it one of those days?
Humbly acknowledge your
predicament, wipe away the
residue of your most recent
mishap, turn the page, and
find yourself another space
where you won’t have to
maneuver around the detritus,
dampness, and disintegrated
dialogue that you doubted.
You have things to say.
Make your self the priority.
There is always time and a
destination for clarity and
clear thinking. Write on.
It is one of those days.
11/21/2022 j.g.l.
Posted on November 20, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
The hints of winter remind us what is to come: snow squalls, icy storms, those horrendous wind chills and descending temperatures.
We can only imagine what is ahead of us, our fears augmented by seasonal memories of the coldest nights, frostbitten fingers, slipping and slipping on highways, and slip and falls on neglected sidewalks.
Our minds can go way back in time documenting wicked winters, but we still must think of the present, and the future, and the vulnerable. The unhoused and the hungry will struggle with what is ahead: the birds and the people.
Is it within our humanity to find simple charity, a gesture in kind, shelter, food when required, a hand up to those who need it?
It is the season to feel more than the frigid temperatures.
11/20/2022 j.g.l.
Posted on November 19, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
I wish to leave
my shadow behind,
no longer
do I require a reminder
of where I am.
Translucent darkness
with rough edges, its ability
to stretch the truth
serves no purpose.
I am tired of its lazy ways,
the constant need
for attachment
and a deviant reflection
of where I stand.
Never knowing
its own direction, this shadow
has seen too much of me,
hiding when I could
use support,
believing it knows me
all too well, and carrying
the scent
of my scattered past.
A shadow only follows,
more suitable for
someone else to hide away.
Darkness,
I’m not going there.
I see the light.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
