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.
It is not what I have done, but what I still must do.
Reminders, lists; they come to you, without warning.
A song. A sound, a scent; shades of the past, of
time long expired or relationships that didn’t last.
Grocery lists of what to get, sticky notes remind you
of what not to forget. Still, I often do. Or I will try.
How can I decide? Indecision pushes it all to the side
or out of sight. Only recall allows it to survive. Inside.
Little bits and pieces of unnecessary nonsense strewn
about the stacks of essential things that must get done.
Amidst the mental clutter, superfluous stuff to be silently
sacrificed. Forgotten, until memories come rushing back.
Trauma will not disappear. It will, over time, dissipate,
but always remains close enough to feel. Unneeded.
Reminders are varied, something that serves to keep alive
clandestine keepsakes. Observed only by yourself.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Victimless crime.
Take what is yours, take what is mine.
Undue violence, the greed, hypocrisy;
what is left behind when
we are only accountable
to ourselves.
Each of us a shadow,
most of us forgettable,
all of us trying
to get by.
Beyond the barking dogs, before
pungent night air strangles any humanity
from vagrants who piss in corners
we never visit.
On the darker side of 3 a.m.
A wrong answer will get you knifed,
the wrong needle will leave you dead.
No one will care.
Fewer will know.
Remind me who I am
before I forget to see.
Just write
my name
in graffiti.
Claim my sins
and transgressions.
I will own up to my responsibilities,
like a prayer
like a poem
like a person.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Final details, a finishing touch, depending on how you look at it.
Layers of inspiration, time between conception and completion.
It does not look how I thought it would before I began. It never may.
How will I know when it is done? Perception varies moment to moment.
I am still not sure. I doubt. I fuss. My confidence is not always there.
My art is an attempt to satisfy my curious creativity in whatever form.
I feel it is better to attempt to create than let all those ideas go to waste.
My restless soul will only allow so much. I am less patient with my self.
Patience is not a paradigm, neither pragmatic, nor practical. Neither is art.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
It is not what I was expecting, and everything I expected, should it happen,
For three years plus I’ve managed to steer clear. I followed precautions, I did what I thought needed to be done, and it still happened.
At first it felt like a strong cold; swift and unexpected, and far too early for the flu. The symptoms, the cough, the headache and chills, had me doubting but was it 12 or 24 hours into it I was sure.
COVID-19 hit me hard.
The fatigue, brain fog, delusional sleep, cough, congestion and headache; my body felt brittle. I couldn’t get up; I didn’t feel like moving and was pretty sure I couldn’t. Then, there was the lack of taste, lack of appetite, total lack of motivation.
A simple at-home test confirmed the reality I had been living with for much longer than I expected.
For months now health officials have been cautioning against the latest strain. Over these past years I’ve masked up, washed and regularly sanitized my hands. I’ve been vaccinated with regular booster shoots as recommended, as available. Actually, I was expecting I would receive my next shot next month, the latest in a series of boosters that would protect me from this ugly virus.
Still it happened.
COVID-19 is still, very much, a reality.
I wasn’t able to do the things I usually do. I didn’t feel much like doing anything. Today might be the first day I’ve really felt like doing something.
It’s an improvement I can only hope will keep me moving forward.
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.
