It is vast, and unblemished, maybe even uninteresting, at first.
At the beginning of the day, to the naked eye, it is nothing more than a vacant page, or space between the lines. Upon closer inspection, it is anything but.
A page lies as open as an eye. This is my landscape. You see white space; I see themes and dreams, and possibility. The view changes, as does my mind, by the minute, moment-to-moment, year to fear, as each day becomes each day, and I am still here.
The landscape changes, oft times like a blur through a car window. It’s like that when you travel forward. Look closely at what you see, take note of the spared indifference to what is, and what could be. This is more than my breath, voice, thoughts, leftovers or left behinds. It is more than indulgence and possessions.
It is there for a reason.
This is a world of secrets in a universe of sounds. It contains sins and silence, handily left for obsessive thoughts, and action. I know no discomfort, or a source for objective reasoning, so it should be as it flows, and like any great adventure you are never aware when it stops. There are no endings.
It is not about anything, or could be about everything. It is my landscape.
As permanent as chalked messages on a sidewalk, as indelible as DNA, there is something here than need not be understood, but it can be. And should. If you take the time, take what is mine, and read between the lines to see what might matter now to you, or me.
This is my landscape. It may not all be personal, but it is intimate, and available. It is not a complete picture, but it is honest. It is here to entertain and inform, even advise, but take my words with a grain of fault, for there is nothing more human than a human being struggling to exist. I do both; struggle, and exist.
This is my landscape, even when it is all mixed up. I might say some things now and then I am now only trying to comprehend, and admittedly there is naivety, as I want to learn, to know, to understand. So it goes from society’s distinct or damaged black and white to every Kodachrome colour that is, sadly, missing in this day and age. I use the past only as a reference, and not a regret; I have none; I can’t, at least not yet.
Judge me not by my words or what I believe, take nothing for granted, if you know what I mean. Beneath all adventures, or even my stillness, is a strong inner voice. Not by purchase and not by choice. My blood boils with anger, and terror, and compassion. And love. I have a purpose, with promise, thoughts ever full of hope, evermore. Finding momentum to even my most dormant dreams I break it down again, and again.
Again. These are my eyes.
There is no revolution, not right now. Perhaps, maybe, there will be, for someone, somewhere else, a person to show something new about you, or your inner being. It may not be me, but keep reading, to see.
This is my landscape. These are my dreams.

© 2016 j.g. lewis

          

         If you tell me your name
             you tell me a history,
   abbreviated yes, but one
of decisions, dates and
       moments of significance
I know nothing about.
I too leave a shadow.
    My fears may be different
or diluted; this life treats us in ways
   nobody else would imagine,
                          or understand.
        Each of us
    will have questions
   We will always have questions.
It is human to want to know and learn,
    and listen.
    If you tell me your name
            I will tell you mine.
Then we will be equal
    and available to continue
           the conversation.

 

©2020 j.g.lewis

         

 

     Awoken by thoughts
            or a voice shouting on the street below
        or
               nothing

     3 a.m. or later
              window open    comfortably cool

this June rain makes more of an impression
   in isolation
                               silence challenges
both history and the future
   our daily lives and routines

   only a reminder
                   humans need humans

         Craving physical contact
we all need   friendship    security
compassion  and  hope

 We need more meaning on
        how we really spend our lives

The indisputable truth:
        All of us have sinned

Now we realize everyone needs
         Community

crisis or chaos
    we are denied

       guilt will find a place to rest

                  how do you sleep at night?

© 2020 j.g. lewis

George Floyd.

If you don’t know the name, you are not paying attention.

If you are not outraged you are not paying attention.

If you can’t feel the pain, you are not human.

If you don’t see the injustice, you have no hope.

I thought things were changing, but I can see how little they have.

Racism continues to go unchecked, but it is not unnoticed.

It is very black and white.

I’m sickened.

I am sorry.

I can’t say I am speechless, but I cannot find the words.

This was not in my country, but it is my world.

Hesitation is seldom efficient.
Moments become a weakness.
Alone. Struggling with the blur
from one day to the rest. You
try to see the hidden meaning.
Will you write the right words?
Finding certain rhythm, sorting
out time. Each step or notion,
guarded breath or concurrent
emotion. Seconds, then minutes,
comprise a day. No silence with
solitude. No path. Today. Clues,
random dogma, unclaimed truth,
passive aggression, as you work
your way through to the answer
in plain view. Mystery in the grid.
Seeking substance in this puzzle.
Will you look again tomorrow?

© 2020 j.g.lewis