I set the wristwatch each morning.
I notice
time calculates the depth of distraction.
An adjustment,
simply a few minutes.
In the digital realm consistency is provided.
Analogue time needs to be acknowledged.
A favourite watch keeps track of the nostalgia.
It is not always accurate,
but true.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I can’t be the only one who notices the stray flashes from car headlights, shadows, and shifting colours of traffic lights mirrored in the morning’s gentle rain. Can we think of another way to describe time — the moments we live – as it routinely happens, as it so often does, and we pay such little attention to sidewalk snow as it melts, obscure reflections in storefront windows, a continual din of morning traffic or children making their way to school. Do we notice parents seemingly focused more on take-away coffee? Observations. Baseball caps and yoga mats, packsacks stuffed with what is required to make it through the day, this procession moves forward (as do I) of little consequence with the canopy of night shape-shifting into reality. A yappy attention-seeking puppy breaks up the minutes and seconds that have passed without notice. The animal barks like nobody is paying attention.
I am.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
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
We cling to memories, even
subconsciously. Certain days,
and not always, continually play
with our unruled emotions.
Incidents of bliss, specific sorrows
or worse, leave lasting impressions.
It cannot be helped. We live through
experience: yesterday and today.
Reflected in our fragile faith is
a greater hope. We often do not,
or cannot, see past our cold,
current, restless reality.
It is not the truth that provides
our answers, but an unclear
deception of the question
lingering in our consideration.
Us fractured selves, not always
strong and stable, survive by
constructing our foundation of
what we see and how we know.
Hindsight is not honestly accurate.
May your need for yesterday
be slightly overshadowed by
the wistful wonder of tomorrow.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I wrote myself a letter yesterday, as I do each year. Like all letters, to anyone, it is a way of keeping in touch. We don’t write enough letters, often enough; especially to ourselves.
This year I wrote a simple letter, a basic list. Two lists actually.
Beginning with a sheet of paper, I drew a thick line right down the middle of the page. On one side I scribbled down the things I felt I had accomplished over the past year.
On the other side of the paper I listed things I needed to complete, projects or concepts I had begun or given thought to, and reminders of what I still needed to do.
I’m not sure if it was disappointing, or surprising, that I have more things left undone than what I have done. It did open my eyes. I wasn’t sure, when I looked at the page, whether it was a review or a reminder. As obvious as it was that I had accomplished a few things (some kind of major, others very minor), I realized that many of the items have been hovering around for years.
I have several manuscripts in various states of undress, and poems (or skeletons thereof) that don’t quite say what I want them to say and the ambiguity itself is uncertain.
I have worthy projects to which I have only given considerable thought and some of the ideas are only, at this point, honest intentions. The list(s) themselves are, perhaps, nowhere near complete. It is what it is and I chose to make it inspirational. I thought mainly of the things I think I can do.
When the lists were as complete as my attention allowed, I took the paper and tore it down the middle.
The one side of the page, the items I listed as accomplishments, will sit on the stack of papers that seems to grow upon my desk. The other side of the letter was tucked into an envelope, sealed, stamped and addressed, and will make its way to the post office today (or tomorrow) to be mailed to myself.
When it arrives, presumably next year or next week (which, in reality, is the same thing) it will be tucked into my journal unopened.
Some day (or some year) when I am uninspired or feel I have nothing to do, I will open the letter and again review my actions (or inaction). At that time I may cross off some of the things I have done, or be reminded of what I still have to do
Don’t we all need reminders of where we are?
Shouldn’t we all acknowledge our intentions and get to work on taking an idea from concept to completion?
© 2022 j.g. lewis