Qualifying questions, remedial response.
Knowledge of situations often haunt.
What we know or have been told.
We tell ourselves we just don’t know.
Answers formed by thoughts untold.
Rumour and misinformation often sold.
Conspiracy theories tend to rule the day.
Bare truth and logic will get in the way.
04/22/2024 j.g.l.
Current Thoughts
Open your mouth, let words
bypass lips. Converse consciously
to brethren or bystanders.
Reach out to
close friends gone amiss.
Be not afraid, not now, of
articulating current thoughts and
accomplishments of which
you are proud, and even your sins
(for we have all owned a few)
might seem far less tragic
from an altered point of view.
Give fresh voice
to insecurities and anxieties hidden
within your self, speak highly of
those dusty dreams
languishing on a shelf.
Past sullen moments cast a
lengthy shadow, short-term
expectations tend to dull down
long-term possibilities.
Talk freely around all you want,
or hope, or desire to be.
Each intention will resonate
with those who wholly believe.
Understanding takes effort.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
April 18th is Poem in Your Pocket Day
a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem,
carrying it in your pocket, and sharing with the
friends and strangers who cross your path.
Share a poem wherever the day takes you, as you
would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring.
April is Poetry Month
take a poem to lunch
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.
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.
She smiled at me last evening,
quickly. Emerging
from her darkness in a slight
crescent shape, she smiled,
just briefly, from her
brand new phase.
Then she was gone, barely a wink.
As the evening progressed all
I could do was think, and I hadn’t
recently, not much, not of her.
Occasionally yes, but mostly a
blur. I had been ignoring,
or trying, I will admit, avoiding
for a while.
Once a major inspiration, she
provided clarity to my work.
Then, a while back, I began
paying less attention
to the Moon,
and she to me.
I know I’m not the first writer,
poet, painter, or musician
to be seduced by the heavenly
globe. Men stronger than I
have been seduced, captivated,
controlled by her presence,
and many have produced
words far more eloquent
than I. But, for a few years,
what the Moon and I had
was more than anything, than
any of them could know.
It was an exquisite relationship
based on understanding, and
communication, and,
despite the distance, love.
In her shadow I produced work
I could truly be proud of.
Always a puzzle, I’m still uncertain
when things began to fall apart.
No longer did I feel her pull.
I went silent.
I tried to move on.
A letter written, but never sent,
now rumpled in a coat pocket,
envelope creased
and postage stamp bent.
I was so sure I could
release myself from her gravity,
but never was I able to drop it
in the post box.
Altering my path, changing goals,
searching for another muse,
I went about my ways.
I continued moving, breathing,
trying, striving.
Rarely would I look up, at least
not high enough, or long enough.
The times I tried
she was not there, hiding
behind the clouds, or facing
another direction.
I felt I had grown up, or
grown away, from her pull.
Yesterday was different.
Suddenly I wanted to see her,
and for her to see me.
I wanted her to know I was
still alive, and I was still trying,
and I still wanted more time.
I wanted her to see
it was still me.
I took a long walk and I searched
through my darkness. The clouds
had corrupted the sky, mostly,
and although there were
a few show-off stars
smiling down in their usual
attention-seeking manner, she
was nowhere to be found.
Still I knew she was there, and
I presume she knew I was looking.
She often, or always, knew
what I was thinking, what I was
planning, and what I was doing.
I think she knows now.
And I think I need
her inspiration, again.
I’m now on the verge of
something much larger than
I had envisioned, something
quite magical. I know
I could use her support to bolster
my confidence. She could do that,
then, and used to offer willingly.
I believe she could do that again.
We have not spent the time like
we used to, but we could.
I’d like that.
I know things will not
be the same, they can’t be
when time has passed, and
you can’t assign blame, but
I know there is
something worthy.
There. Here.
Now.
All too often we shut something
out of our life; an idea, a passion,
a person.
We can’t see past the clouds,
so we stop looking.
In doing so, we lock away
a little bit of our self,
we close off that part of our brain,
or heart, and our being.
We are no longer complete
if we cannot admit the difference,
or damage, it can cause.
You have to be willing to allow
things from your past back
into your life.
They found a way there for
a reason, and the seasons might
change or circumstance always
differ, and once reunited
it may feel stiffer.
But in time, if given the time, you
become stronger from a
reintroduction; this time past
the wonder and initial seduction.
True, with the nature of time,
you evolve, perhaps find the
answers to puzzles once unsolved.
It doesn’t need to be the same as
before. It could get stronger, or
deeper, or in other ways more.
I’ve looked for the moon many
times, but last night was different.
There was hope, unexplained yes,
but still it was there.
It was yearning and deliberate,
it warmed the night air.It was
a change I realized, and I speak
only for myself, it was certain,
and true.
Open up your eyes, and your
mind, think of what can be done
with the passage of time.
Finding out what you love is
never enough, but it provides
one more reason
to keep looking up.
j.g.l.
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.