January 2018
j.lewis
jim.lewis@jimbabwe.com
jim.lewis@jimbabwe.com
I write, compose diagnose, and photograph. Who needs more than that? My book of poetry and photography “a clear day in october” (http://www.egjpress.org/products/a-clear-day-in-october ) was published in 2016 by E&GJ Press. A chapbook is forthcoming from Praxis Magazine.
Author’s note: My niece is a student at a high school where there was a recent shooting. In the chaos and hurry of getting to safety, she and a number of her classmates had to step over the bloody body of the shooter, who had just killed himself. I wrote this to help her cope with the mental trauma of the situation.
when the world stops being real
for jazmen
hope lives in every tender heart
that life will be gentle and kind
that even the hardest times
won't be so bad
and even if tears flow
they will be few and quickly dried
such quiet hopes don't always last
and when the world stops being real
when disbelief will not allow
a heart and mind to grasp
what someone so young
should never have to see
remember this
we who know and love you
have walked our own painful roads
stared into the deepest abyss
been torn by doubt, been lost
cried in the darkness for light
carried at times by nothing more
than the legacy of family
who did hard things
who had burned into their dna
the determination to go on
always on
that legacy is also yours
the strength to take another step
and still another forward
to calm your heart and mind
with heaven's peace and then
to share that peace with those
still struggling through their pain
in praise of autumn
in winter's cold i was conceived
announced in spring and nourished
through the fiery days of summer
until with blood red leaves
autumn and i dropped
ripe-fruited into this world
tradition would have me rejoice
with greening new growth
emergence from nights of snow
resurgence from sleep-
type and shadow of the rise
from a freezing tomb
i do not sing that hymn
like a ruby leaf from the tree of life
i have grown from bud to full glory
waiting to descend and rest
patiently on gentle grass
below the sacred symbol
when God, the great gardener comes
collecting his harvest
i will jump, exuberant
at the touch of his rake and broom
exactly as the autumn leaves
fly before my shepherding strokes
not celebrating death
but singing an autumn anthem
of life well-lived
and safe collection home
full of the cold
i am full of the cold
internally snow, infernally slow
ice in my veins and a frozen heart
casually sculpted by her unkind hands
into a caricature of caring
i am full of the cold
numb past recovering
dumbfounded at the ease of the freeze
the offhanded way she took a little
here and there until my icy stare
suited her fancy for crystals
i am full of the cold
head to toe quiescence
the very essence of winter
no hint of spring
no sign of anything higher than zero
entropy fading, leaving no heat
no hope
when the world stops being real
for jazmen
hope lives in every tender heart
that life will be gentle and kind
that even the hardest times
won't be so bad
and even if tears flow
they will be few and quickly dried
such quiet hopes don't always last
and when the world stops being real
when disbelief will not allow
a heart and mind to grasp
what someone so young
should never have to see
remember this
we who know and love you
have walked our own painful roads
stared into the deepest abyss
been torn by doubt, been lost
cried in the darkness for light
carried at times by nothing more
than the legacy of family
who did hard things
who had burned into their dna
the determination to go on
always on
that legacy is also yours
the strength to take another step
and still another forward
to calm your heart and mind
with heaven's peace and then
to share that peace with those
still struggling through their pain
in praise of autumn
in winter's cold i was conceived
announced in spring and nourished
through the fiery days of summer
until with blood red leaves
autumn and i dropped
ripe-fruited into this world
tradition would have me rejoice
with greening new growth
emergence from nights of snow
resurgence from sleep-
type and shadow of the rise
from a freezing tomb
i do not sing that hymn
like a ruby leaf from the tree of life
i have grown from bud to full glory
waiting to descend and rest
patiently on gentle grass
below the sacred symbol
when God, the great gardener comes
collecting his harvest
i will jump, exuberant
at the touch of his rake and broom
exactly as the autumn leaves
fly before my shepherding strokes
not celebrating death
but singing an autumn anthem
of life well-lived
and safe collection home
full of the cold
i am full of the cold
internally snow, infernally slow
ice in my veins and a frozen heart
casually sculpted by her unkind hands
into a caricature of caring
i am full of the cold
numb past recovering
dumbfounded at the ease of the freeze
the offhanded way she took a little
here and there until my icy stare
suited her fancy for crystals
i am full of the cold
head to toe quiescence
the very essence of winter
no hint of spring
no sign of anything higher than zero
entropy fading, leaving no heat
no hope
© 2018 j.lewis
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