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.
I could write about
my buoyant mood
or fluctuating state
of optimism. My
will and my wishes
could easily show a
plan or a goal, or
even inner vision.
Yesterday’s gentle
memories or today’s
unattributed sense
of satisfaction, are
considerable enough
to allow the pencil
some action. I could
think of those things,
and cherish them all,
but in simpler form
a flower says it all.
j.g.l.
À la nuit.
Luna radiates stardust and
wonder, sharing the bounty.
Her light bleeds her life
into the leaves and beings,
nourishing all things beneath
her aura. Comfort and peace.
Like a mother. À la nuit.
Through the stillness the
cycle of night continues.
Another phase, full at
this time, intensity shines on
all you wish to see. All those
who feel. Peace and comfort.
Like a child. À la nuit.
Changes soon, another cycle.
The light will fade, but not
the radiance. Or love.
© 2010 j.g. lewis
Mondays are just young Fridays
It’s after the rain, when
the temperature dips
and the raging humidity
slips away, if only for
an hour or two.
The storm has passed
and, for a while, your
troubles have dissipated.
You can breathe.
Even the wet cement
of the city smells sweet
and fresh. Nourished
by the scent of memory,
fulfilled by a sense of hope,
for an hour or two
everything seems alright.
You want to send this
feeling out to those you
care for and remind them
all is good, after the rain.
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.