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.
You never know when the spirit of
the season will arrive.
It could be while strolling through
the mall as you participate in the
commercialized craze Christmas has
become, or it may turn up in a card
from a long-time friend you’ve lost
track of over the years. You may hear
a song that triggers memory.
It’s highly personal, and varies with
the way each of us celebrate.
The spirit rushed through me Saturday
night, in a church, during a wonderful
choral performance. Now, barring the
occasional funeral, I haven’t been to
church much lately. There has not been
the calling, and I may well have lost my
religion, but certainly not my faith.
I hadn’t intended on going to the
performance, but a ticket was available,
and somehow it seemed like the right
thing to do. I love music (pretty much
any type) and the reputation of this
choir was sound.
We were welcomed into the church
with a glorious prelude by Bach, the
pipes of a beautiful organ resonating
throughout the environment. The
church was full, all ages, and we were
fortunate to find a good seat on the
cushioned pews. Immediately it brought
back childhood memories.
I used to enjoy Sunday morning services.
I always enjoyed listening to my Mom
sing; she wasn’t in the choir, but would
have been if three active children hadn’t
taken up all her spare time.
The evening was full of memories, of
my mother, of my former minister (and
later school guidance counsellor) who
always had the right words for a teenaged
boy who could occasionally find a little
too much trouble.
I also thought deeply of a young man,
my friend, who passed away under
horrible circumstances. Isn’t any
circumstance horrible when an
18-year-old is involved?
Feelings, many hidden for the longest
time, began pouring out of me. My eyes
and my head filled with a complete range
of emotions. I was both joyful and
saddened. I’m not sure if the music was
doing it for me, or the setting, but I was
overwhelmed with the spirit.
I even stood up and sang with everybody
else when the time was right, my seldom
used, but once-trained, voice was strong,
powerful and on-key. I was caught up in
the moment.
There is something about organ music
and a wonderful community of voices
that can stir up some amazing memories,
and the spirit of the season.
I found my spirit Saturday night. I hope
you find yours among the music and memories in
the days to come.
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.
One reply on “Mondays are just young Fridays”
This is a wonderful type of experience J.G., sweet and cathartic. Glad it came to you. ?✨?