Winter arrives unexpectedly, as it always seems to do.
We shouldn’t be surprised, but we are.
It is, after all, mid-November. This is Canada, and morning’s early chill should have been reminder enough to pull gloves, scarves and hats out of storage.
But winter is not a feeling; even less it is a date.
Winter truly begins with the first snowfall.
Yesterday morning it was only a few flakes.
Then it was flurries, and soon the rooftops below were covered in white. You could hear the slushy sounds of cars eleven stories down as the wet snow continued to accumulate.
Of course, soon, you were caught up in the cross-town traffic. Driving is not easy in the first snowfall; it never is, as restless cab drivers recklessly swerve in an out of the steady traffic with unsteady drivers getting the feel of the slick roads. Slow and steady are the rules of the road; drive with the conditions if not the confidence.
Freezing and melting, the unpredictable temperatures will be here for a while and all we can do is live with it for however long it takes.
Winter arrives, almost unexpectedly, and takes over our lives for months at a time. The first snowfall has a way of reminding us of a new reality.
Winter has this way of slowing us down.
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Live With It
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Adding Insult To Illusion
Turn it off. Weary the mind. You’ve had your say
now allow time for those working, or trying, and
believing there may still be opportunity, perhaps
prosperity. If allowed. Can the dream still exist?
More and more it becomes less and less important.
I will not listen; or cannot, a more apt description,
to the incessant ignorance spilling from your lips.
My ears bleed, my heart aches, among this crush
of bigotry, inequality and blind trust misplaced.
I put on my headphones commanding ear-splitting
silence to shut out the numbing narcissistic diatribe
with its women-hating violence. You’ve said all that
you needed to get what you wanted, you bullied,
and prophesied, and threatened and taunted. Now
perpetuating insult with that firm hypocritical
stance, adding insult to illusion, capitalizing on
chance. It’s less about being chosen, and now
what you choose, because my motherhood issues
are a far cry from your motherfucking truths.
© 2022 j.g. lewis
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Desire To Stay
We come and go, as routinely or as
regularly as we have before. The days
and destination vary, as expected, by
month or year, by happenstance, fate,
or intention. Our paths will cross with
others on a similar plane, acknowledge
our purpose, again and again, it is that
which is common we all wish to show.
We all want to belong. We wander, as
do so many lost souls, as purposely or
as randomly as it seems, Thoughts of
where, or why, cross our minds, so we
think more of the reasons than of the
time, a critical factor to common minds.
While where we go is as relevant as
why we stay, for how long remains the
bigger question. More a feeling than a
purpose, comfort comes when you least
expect it. Do we share the desire to stay
as deeply as we must? Or, are we more
influenced by wind direction, curiosity
or trust? We still want to belong. We
will stay when we feel welcome, often
accepting what little we know, always
uncertain when, or why, we have to go .© 2022 j.g. lewis
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uncomfortable truth
He wants to be forgiven
for memories he may only possess
of moments not shared, not
obviously or intimately.What never was
just might have been the
principle or pastime
that caused this unorthodox pain.He finds it easier to write
a common third-person narrative
than to admit my faults, my
needs or my struggle.His search for wholeness is
an unforgiving quest to find a
semi-natural state in a world of
compromise and deceit.My self, my view, my impulse
or intention goes long beyond
what I am or have now.
Deeper thought; a deeper longing.An uncomfortable truth of
which has been comprised of
falsehoods. What is behind his
flawed and fragile shell?What I don’t often ask is
often what I will not say and if
you do not address this dichotomy
you will end up going silent.It is not obvious, nor is it
intentional. It is self-preservation
and so much easier than
having to admit this shame.© 2022 j.g. lewis
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What Else Do You Need?
Is this yours
this memory
a shard of remorse
a paper moon forgotten of course
lessons learned
Wound beneath the skin
pain requires a destination
spirit within
without a body outside of time
common sense disabled
wisdom left behind
What else do you need?© 2020 j.g. lewis