Yesterday did not go as planned.
   I had things to do – things I needed to do – that simply did not get done.
   Lately, many days have been like that. More than I care to admit.
   Some days I fail to see all that I have.
   Other days I’m unsure where I am going, even when I try to adjust my
way of thinking or alter my direction.
   When I struggle with all this negativity, I don’t (or can’t) take into
consideration the many good things that I possess.
   I’m too caught up in the emotional traffic and feelings of anger that
rise up from the disappointment that I can’t focus on the task at hand.
   I don’t think I’m unique.
   I believe we all have things we want to accomplish.
   We don’t all struggle. Few of us admit we are nowhere near where
we need to be. None of us are perfect.
   I am flawed.
   Some days I can’t quite see past all the imperfections, but still
   I will keep trying.
   I don’t want today to simply turn into yesterday.

Warning signs, dashboard indicators, red flags,
continual reminders of what is ahead, or
what follows at breakneck speed. Too fast; 
too busy, too confused, we yield not to the signals,
but push ahead, our direction, our intention,
our destination more important
than anyone else. Even suspended in traffic,
all four lanes, our refusal to allow others in
is more than stubbornness. Sharing neither
caution or common courtesy, we will not alter
or acknowledge our route.
To do so is to admit less power, or that we may
have lost our way. Distance and time
the only measure of where we are going, or
how we will get there. We navigate the commute
between the reality we live with, and that
which is expected, our individual emissions
contributing to the noxious fumes we ingest. Daily.
Driving forward, but not ahead, running on empty,
through a cracked windshield we see, or believe,
nothing will harm us. Road rage, we curse
under our breath. or shout foul-mouthed insults
at those behaving as we are, refusing right-of-way.
To anybody. Self-motivated or selfish,
it makes little difference at any speed. We fail
to notice a world that passes us by. Look,
perhaps a shoulder check. It may take a glance
in the review mirror to remind us life is precious.
Slow down. Pay attention. Let others in.

©2016 j.g. lewis

 

One last burst of courage
shocking beyond definition
                       for only a time.

A few moments into November, a few months
before a new year when January’s breath arrives
with darkness.

                       A bleak forecast.

Temperatures drop slowly
each night as days shorten;
notably noticeable in November’s most gradient scale of time.

We wake to this splendor only for a few days,
each sight promising more again next year.

Until then, more grey before winter white or worse.

©2021 j.g. lewis

I light a candle to illuminate
thoughts this world holds. Some
I cannot understand,
others simply trying to land
but hover instead. And this song
keeps playing in my head.

I can’t find my way home.

I feel there will be no peace,
not now, not among this culture
of shame and blame.
Not when you question others,
but refuse to question yourself.
Still I light a candle.

I can’t find my way home.

Just beyond the candlelight, I
watch days slip into night, amidst
a maelstrom of discontent,
you never know what is meant.
Look over your shoulder. Look
further through your past.

I can’t find my way home.

Fistfuls of violence, mouthfuls
of reality escape. Thoughts which
should not be free, peace
should not be a luxury. I strike
a match to light up a candle,
to shine a light for hope.

I can’t find my way home.

©2017 j.g. lewis

 

 

 

We exist within a conundrum: a hollow promise,
less than a guarantee, with far too much fine print
and hyperbole disguising immodest claims by the
local chamber of commerce.
              Selling features surpass the benefits
             of living there or here, or wherever.

Often we question why we live
                                  where we live.
     It is greater than geography,
     more than an address or identity.
Our company of cohorts and companions
changes over time.
                            We move, as do they.

                                How do we settle?

Location, location, uncertain destination,
what you see in the rearview mirror will
likely greet you further down the highway.
                    They say you can’t go back.
                                  Yet, you usually do.
    City to neighbourhood, dwellings or
    simply shelter, we seek comfort. Or
    contentment.
        A place to sleep, to eat, or ignore
        what goes on outside the window.

Across the street or 27 stories down below.

High-density urban sprawl, demographics,
economics, overpopulation, the mechanics
of increased consumption of once-precious
resources. We are all what we are made of.

Humanities: the quality or state of being.
Home is what, home is where, we make it.
                          Home is a place you accept
                    more than you will understand.

 

© 2021 j.g. lewis