What gets left behind
with our unmade minds
forever rushing?
What do we leave behind
if we did not take the
the time to notice?
What is no longer mine
because neither you nor I
could take our time?
12/02/2024 j.g.l.
look around
Be thankful
for what you have, for
what you have to let go of,
and for those who are still
with you. Gratitude comes
in many forms. Look around.
Be thankful.
j.g.l.
cloud songs
It is only silence and only
for now, a minute or three
but who is counting?
Enough, for now.
Slight Repose, a little grace,
enough until you have
found your place. Might be
morning, or the end of the day,
yet it is time to yourself anyway.
For now.
11/29/2024 j.g.l.
last night
I have heard it before;
shouting on the street.
Total darkness.
It could be
3:46 a.m.
in any other city.
The violence of silence
is not unique
to downtown Toronto.
When I hear bottles smash
in the night
I try not to think of
human bones.
Fragility, and
all of the pressure
we are under.
For what?
To live? I don’t know.
To try?
We are all trying
to live.
To breathe. To sleep
3:54 a.m.
12/03/2024 j.g.l.
preparing for change
I felt the chill this morning. I’d forgotten the gloves I meant to find last night after those first snowflakes starkly reminded me of a change in the weather.
Realistically, almost chronologically, we are on the cusp of winter here in Toronto; I’ve been progressively reminded over these past few days as the pleasurable autumn temperatures have waned. The festive music in the shopping malls kept singing of the winter wonderland that has not yet arrived, so I haven’t really been feeling it.
Until this morning.
I like mornings, even cold ones.
Mornings, daily, give me the opportunity to start afresh. Each day I am allowed to leave yesterday behind and get on with life. It’s like a new beginning, every damn day.
It is a change. Change is good.
Much like the weather, I am undergoing (or in) a period of change. At least, right now, I am preparing for change.
Next month, just after the calendar shifts to a new year, I will be moving back to a more familiar city; one I have lived in for a good chunk of my life. It will be a good move, I know it. I feel it.
It will be a welcome change and, in many ways, a new beginning. A new home, and a new attitude.
It will be, in so many ways, a new beginning.
New beginnings are all about change.
Change is good, even in the weather.
12/01/2024 j.g.l.
we do not know
Continually we check the skies.
It is the waiting for the waiting.
Plans we make become plans we made.
Opportunities forsaken or forgotten.
Unfortunately, it is always the way.
Anxiety distracts us from the days.
The uncertainty goes on, unnoticed.
We cannot avoid what we do not know.
11/26/2024 j.g.l.
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.
My January Breath
Posted on January 7, 2015
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My January Breath
Snowflakes. Only movement. Twilight comes until twilight goes. Daylight leaves too early. Swiftly. The deeper the night, the colder the darkness.
My January breath suspended, my thoughts wishing to go somewhere. Anywhere, other than here. A deafening winter silence.
The air is slow.Still. Almost. Alone, even in the shadow of the streetlamps. Nobody to shield your ears from the cold, or dampen the inevitable.
Pointless the task, reviewing patterns and paths carved into the cartography of the ego. Realization. What once was, may never be. This season stays the longest.
Even with full sunlight. The wind, should it decide, rips through me. Harsh. I am not here, not really. Permanent as my January breath.
Flurries obscure constellations and the moon. Isolation. The circumference of my being is reduced. Limited. Blinded by temporal beauty, or tears.
Nothing has happened, or is happening. The brazen wind chill clashes with body heat, the atmosphere the victor. Obvious. The world still gets in your eyes.
Time agape with a grey known only to the night. A solitary trek through the ordinary. Undisturbed. Each step resonates the soul-crunching scream of a thousand snowflakes.
Beneath winter’s fickle facade, the ice cracks. The fragility of the planet apparent. Vulnerable. Each season has precious moments. Gone. Time stands still. This is my January breath.
Only Wednesday
Posted on December 31, 2014
// 1 Comment
Only Wednesday
Wednesday sits naked and ordinary waiting
between the bookends of social Saturday
and restive Sunday. The day is little more
than a cluster of hours or a stop on the treadmill. Indecisive and lonely
nobody chooses a Wednesday. Nothing happens on a Wednesday
and it’s the same each week.
Sept 11/01, a Tuesday. London Subway bombings: July 7/05, a Tuesday, also July 21/05, and also a Tuesday. Assassinations: John Lennon on a Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. a Thursday, and John F. Kennedy a Friday. Kurt Cobain’s body was discovered on a Wednesday, but he chose his way out three days earlier. Nothing happens on a Wednesday.
There are fewer concerts mid-week, and opening night is never a Wednesday. They never open the Olympics on a Wednesday. Nobody gets married on a Wednesday.
Yet I will choose Wednesday, or I will start with a Wednesday. I’ll begin with a page, a place where I can plant my thoughts. I have many thoughts, each week, every day (even on Wednesday), but I will commit to posting something once a week. There are seven days to choose from, and I chose Wednesday.
Now I may post something else on some other day, I’m like that (a true Gemini). If I am moved or if I have time, if the stars align or the moon gives me a nudge, or if something is really bothering me, I won’t wait for Wednesday. But I will post something each Wednesday.
Something will happen each Wednesday, every week. Right here. If you want to see, or wish to be reminded, sign up. There will also be a daily breath (usually 140 characters or less) and it will not be limited to Wednesday, but will, or should, arrive every day.
Until Wednesday . . .
-j-
