Our paths shift, circumstance and
attitude shaping our trajectory.
The company we keep alters both
our outlook and destination.
We are where we are
mainly because of who we are
and whom we are with.
04/16/2024 j.g.l.
A wish for words more delicate and
refined will only lead to
an unnecessary edit, constrained curiosity,
and a smudge of indifference.
Emotions scoured from the page,
its patina reflective now of a chaotic mind,
you are no longer (or never have been)
satisfied with what is there.
Speaking freely, nowhere near the truth,
a humane reaction may not be soothed.
Not always. No matter what.
No longer plain and simple. Perhaps
it never was?
You question the questions.
The flaws in your self can only add up
to a greater expression of your being.
04/15/2024 j.g.l.
April is Poetry Month
flaws and all
We do not touch the money, now
only digits on a screen. Ingredients
in our foods unknown, or what
scientists contribute to the scheme.
Price at the pump keeps going up,
still our cars can’t seem
to get enough.
Politicians are not worth knowing, or
deeds in which they partake, sin or
scandal widely-known, we
elect them anyway.
Damn truth be told,
between utter lies; they won’t salute
the dead, so many innocents die.
We won’t wash our hands, but
still waste the water
and share the blame.
We don’t care if we don’t want to,
our days continue just the same.
© 2018 j,g, lewis
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
just a boy
it was his eyes
versions of them
staring out
or lashing out
from various points
of his
short-lived career
a few photographs
still move me
like his music
rarely-seen glimpses
of a boy
struggling to be a man
fighting an image
of what people wanted
him
to be
he was
just a boy
his lyrics spoke to
a generation much younger
and they spoke to me.
he was
not much younger
than i
he will never grow to be
as old as me
he will not
grow old
as I will
he was
as strong as
he could be
not strong enough
to deal with
a 24-hour news cycle
still in its infancy
as much as he
obtained fame
he fought to dismiss it
he could not have lived
in a world where
each phone was a camera
each person carried a camera
like a gun
he was just a boy who could
not have taken
more attention
he was fragile
he could not handle
all that he had
he was
a poet
lived his words
and died
among them
music always lives on
not the musician
he
made us think
we still do
“I really miss being able to blend in with people.”
Kurt Cobain
February 20, 1967 – April 5, 1994
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.