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: January 2023
Please leave behind all
that has arrived, as we slept, our
minds impervious to the overnight
intrusion on a landscape we have
come to accept.
We have conceded, even enjoyed,
light rain to now. Shielded by
umbrellas (if available), we have
gone many days without sunshine,
yet this winter’s warmth has
allowed no accumulation of
precipitation.
Until this morning.
Now the slush, sidewalk salt and
simple inconveniences will
follow us everywhere. Leave it
outside, where it belongs.
As you enter, stomp off your boots
in that long-familiar dance favoured
by rosy-cheeked children and elders
not as nimble but more experienced
with a lifetime of harsh winters.
Remove your boots or
those sopping sneakers and socks
and come inside. By all means
you are welcome, but leave the snow
where it belongs and let our troubles
accumulate out of doors.
Surely there will be more.
01/13/2023 j.g.l.
Posted on January 12, 2023 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
we only want
we only wait
wondering if
it is possible
we only will
until we try
we are only
human
there are only
possibilities
01/12/2022 j.g.l.
Posted on January 11, 2023 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Not a true day of sunshine since
the twenty-first day of December.
Three weeks since winter’s arrival with its clouds
of dysthymia and discontent.
A grey day, darker than most, today is
another period of insurmountable sadness.
Maudlin melancholy; I cannot say it doesn’t affect me,
as I know it does, as I know it must.
It is seasonal, this daunting depression,
days like today make you appreciate the otherwise.
© 2923 j.g. lewis
