Conversations,
ruminations, noise,
nonsense and
contradictory advice
comes with a price .
What was said
and what was
meant were
two completely
different things.
By all means
say what you mean
but please try
your best to mean
what you say.
12/08/2023 j.g.l.
With the wars, chaos and conflict, and proliferation of hate speech that surrounds all of us right now, it is difficult to subscribe to the familiar mantra espoused in this season:
Peace on Earth, good will to all men.
We can only wonder if this will ever be possible. More so, how have we even believed for so long that it could ever be probable. Globally or locally, peace and good will are notably absent from our lives.
Few of us are even in a position where we can affect enough change, and those who have any sort of ability are caught up in fruitless negotiations within the politics of it all.
Hatred has too much power
Love thy neighbour; who even tries? Locally or globally is anyone attempting? I do not wish to sound pessimistic and know there is nothing I can do personally to resolve the global catastrophes and calamities, but I am going to do what I can to create, or acknowledge, peace in my own little world.
In these coming weeks I intend to connect with family and friends who have been there when I needed them. I will reach out, even to those from a distance, to let them know I am thinking of them and what they mean to me. I should have been doing this long ago, and more consistently. I have neglected thanking people when I should have.
I need to be more thankful. I need to express my gratitude more often than I have been.
We can all do such a thing, even if it is something as simple as sending a Christmas card, dashing off an email, or picking up the phone.
We can all pick up the peace.
Yes, there are big problems on this planet we cannot avoid on the news of the day, but by making a daily attempt to reach out to those we care about our world can become a little smaller.
I believe we can find our own peace even in the absence of probability.
I still believe that peace is possible.
12/04/2023 j.g.l.
Personal accomplishments,
practiced perseverance,
following your own voice
even as it becomes muffled
by the world surrounding you.
Pride is not often easy, but it
is always possible.
12/03/2023 j.g.l.
Winter memories, particularly this time of year, begin with snow.
Growing up on Canada’s prairies, I remember winter weather would arrive as early as late October and hang on until late March or longer. Many years, ice would still be on the lake when May long weekend rolled around and we were beginning to dream of summer.
Spring, most years, seemed a long while coming.
I grew up knowing, and appreciating, four distinct seasons.
Toronto, my home of almost a decade, is not as accurate. Spring, summer, and autumn all seem to take time, often blurring one into the next with few noticeable differences. Winter seems only to find its place when you least expect it.
One of the things I miss most about the prairies is the true, definite seasons. You know when fall turns to winter, and tend to know it immediately. Seasons are too wishy-washy in Toronto. Nobody here seems to realize you must experience, even respect, a cold, harsh winter to truly recognize a gorgeous summer.
Last night’s slight snow startled me on my morning walk, the nightly dip in temperature allowing precipitation to show its true character.
Snow: it probably won’t last long (it rarely does) but is enough, this morning, to bring forth some winter memories.
That itself will warm me up throughout the day.
12/07/2023 j.g.l.
Counting those days to
that one significant date, with
fascination or anticipation
we all can’t seem to wait.
Wishes and prayers, one in
the same, we may bristle with
excitement at the mention
of his name.
The reason for the season. Logic
and lore shrouded in mystery,
questioned by faith, myth, or
legend and history.
The wonder of his existence,
spoken through the years,
becomes even more exaggerated
as Christmas day nears.
A celebration of sorts for
the gifts we receive, all
depending on whether and
what you believe.
12/01/2023 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.
Nightly news ends the day,
high-definition Technicolor sending its shadow
into the night.
Beyond sleep, in dreary dreams, unforgettable atrocities live on.
You can change channels by remote control to
a different perspective on the same scenes of violence,
hatred and heartbreak.
Death defies even the most optimistic insight.
Politics play out in accustomed inferiority.
A stance is only a stance when symptoms
become less obvious than the solution.
Ideology counters idealism.
The ever-present conflict and
humanitarian efforts dammed by inaction.
Nothing changes, if ever. It only grows worse.
Internationally. Nationally. And locally.
Few prospects for peace, one month in,
events of the days accelerate.
How hopeless are we? How hapless?
Each of us; all of us know the cause and effect.
The news reports bring it all home, into
our comfortable bedrooms.
How can we sleep?
© 2023 j.g. lewis
This eleventh month comes suddenly.
You notice the morning chill
but only remembered the night before.
Dawn is the lifeline connecting
what you avoid and all you face.
Daily, hourly, incrementally towards full sun,
or a reasonable facsimile.
Daily it changes, the hour uncertain,
we split our time between the gentle
light of the moon and the day’s reflection
of the silent senseless wonder
Memories capsized, plans revert to
what we don’t know and never expect
Anticipation. The confluence of influence
undeniably intricate.
Once force to another, a morning
monopolizing time. Night a natural
state of wonder, senseless as it seems.
November brings us closer to the edge
of a new year. All we can do is wait.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
In the bigger picture there is love.
In this life there is evil, hatred, and death.
Even greater misfortunes compound and
threaten our existence. Inconceivably so.
Wars rage against humanity, our prayers
for peace continually ignored.
I cannot understand what I can do.
Unfortunate we can’t feel it all, or feel at all,
through the depths of desolation and abomination
we read about or view on technicolor screens
within our comfortable existence on
this side of the planet.
This uncomfortable world.
I feel hopeless when I want to feel love.
Hatred has spread like ash across the globe with
a greater vengeance than the fires that consumed us
throughout the year. Fingertips trace our hopes,
deftly scratching the surface, a dignified definition
we can only dream on. The climate has changed
geopolitically and environmentally.
I can’t understand the cause.
I cannot comprehend the convictions.
Humankind needs to scratch deeper; we need to feel.
We cannot accept that which we do not understand.
I can only want love, even more than peace.
I hear the cries, even from a distance.
Still, we watch. And still we wait, understandably so.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Silently, or suspiciously standing in one place,
in between unsteady steps I take throughout the day.
Waiting, even for a moment. Respite for the time being,
perhaps, not even knowing why. Questioning, unquestionably,
each of us continuously striving to keep moving at our own pace,
Caught up in this human race, surviving, maybe thriving as we try to
determine the flow we know is best. We think.
A little later today, earlier for some, we all have a path; a better way,
leading to better day. Moving in different directions, sometimes hastily,
as required. Some of us are simply limping along.
The weight on our shoulders slows us down. We must, once
in a while, stop and let it settle. Far more than waiting. Unconscious
thinking, our minds move, even if our feet are firmly planted. Progress
not always certain, we can only hope our intentions continue
propelling us further. It has to be more than hope,
yet we still we try to keep it all in stride.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I hear you, more than I listen to myself.
Messages of caution or concern,
statements of grace, sentiment
not fallen on inattentive ears.
The words we can,
the words we must,
the words we say.
The words we trust
And this. And we, are we
even comfortable with our vocabulary?
Do we know or can we tell,
right words from the wrong?
Conversation or confrontation, depending
on your situation, those same words mean
something else to someone else.
It’s becomes even more difficult to tell.
The words we say.
The words we hear,
spell out misunderstanding.
Injustice. Pain or fear
Shared experience, descriptions,
details, doubt and deception at times
difficult to put into words.
Our emotions demand that they must.
Honesty is what it is, as it has
always been, but spoken less and less
more and more. It matters not how you
express yourself, only that you do.
© 2020 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.
