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.
Have you written your saddest story,
or are you living it now?
Do you keep track of days in a diary?
Does the ink run like rain, entries full
of temptation or pain that upsets the
balance of this so-called life?
When you reread the words, can you
recall emotions that cut like a knife
through the bullshit and bafflegab
you have continually endured.
Does it still hurt?
Does it settle on the page in the
form of a poem, will it forever remain
a secret never to be known to those
who inspired feelings you simply
cannot forget?
Can you wear the scars with pride,
or will you always regret?
04/21/2024 j.g.l.
April is Poetry Month
it is all about emotion
Who will write the eulogies
for those taken far too early? Too
young, unsuspecting, trusting
it was just another day.
Cheeks flush with joyous youth
never again revealed. At seventeen
you never know what lays ahead;
still once they had a chance.
How will we write the eulogies
for those now reported dead?
Where will we find the words
lost in prayer, ignored in protest,
or excuses plentiful as guns;
empty as a classroom desk.
We know, only, we never know
when we will last inhale.
Who will write the eulogies
for those left behind. Will they
remember the despair of that day,
or will it be forgotten as we deal
with yet another tragedy, another
unscripted war on a world long ago
stripped of its innocence, grasping
now to any shred of benevolence.
© 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.
hugs and kisses
and more
flowers chocolates
words of endearment
or romance
for those so inclined
love is expressed
in so many ways
today above any other day
(though every day counts)
some days more than others
show your love
like it matters
it does
© 2024 j.g. lewis
I like to say I collect postage stamps but dare not call myself a “stamp collector”.
I’m not that organized.
I don’t have numerous albums sorted by year, country, and issue date, and rarely do I study the catalogues or updates from Canada Post to remind myself when the next issue is released.
The term “philatelist” does not apply to me. I am more of a casual collector, tearing the circulated stamp off the corner of a letter or postcard and tucking it into one of several envelopes where stamps accumulate until I decide to do something with them. When I’m motivated, which is not often enough, I glue them into whatever journal I happen to be working in.
I enjoy the art of, or on, the postage stamp that signifies a person, event or some significant piece of history.
I know that a black history month stamp will be issued any day now, and that the post office will issue a new floral collection as it does every spring (we first must get there). The flowers are always favourites of mine. There are many other releases throughout the year to satisfy collectors, and I pick them up when needed. I correspond regularly with friends and family across the globe (some more often than others) and prefer to use the “special’ stamps” as opposed to the common issue.
I enjoy sending and receiving letters, I always have. Part of the enjoyment of a letter is not only news from others contained within, but first seeing the stamp and the postmark. It started when I was a kid, and I still get excited — it is one of my few geeky traits — when a letter arrives. It seems there are less and fewer letters arriving now than there was before.
I suppose electronic communication has a lot to do with it; it is more convenient and less costly. But, a handwritten letter provides the kind of communication you don’t get from an email.
A letter, with a stamp, is far more personal.
And appreciated.
Over time, the written words and stories told in letter form become less relevant or memorable, but the stamp and postmark always remind you how important letters are.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Movement, not always motion. Steadfast in
my intentions, I will seek a deeper understanding,
not always evident, or available, in the moment
Somewhere not far behind these sullen thoughts,
materialities of bygone days will eventually creep
into patterns I wish to avoid.
I have been here before, mentally or spiritually.
Geographically it does not matter.
The streets continue to blur on by.
Alone with my consideration or apprehension,
I can only try to look beyond the days, behind
shadows of the ever-present aftermath.
I am trying not to do anything I have done.
Before. All of this. Still constant conviction
haunts me, as it often does.
Why should this evening be any different?
Only the direction has changed.
I am going to, instead of coming from.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Words that were there, affixed
to a streetlamp or storefront window.
A public notice. Not a poem
with words as bold as Neruda, or as cynical
as Bukowski. Perhaps pro-Palestine proclamations,
explanation or justification of a conflict
on the other side of this world.
Political turmoil, opposing views attempting
to indemnify culture and common cause.
Inhumanity’s debate seeps further into our space
here in this country or city, then removed
Torn away from the realities we face.
We cannot understand the sentiment;
even a sentence. Nary a word is now
comprehendible, but it meant something
to someone. Defenseless. How can we
explain what was there when you, yourself, cannot
understand your own thoughts.
Yet you do know the need for expression,
communication, even protest.
We have all left words behind for somebody else
to read or relate to. Unappreciated offerings.
Like a poem, protest has
so many meanings and misunderstandings.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
At times your vision is blurred.
Your thoughts howl with the velocity of uncertainty.
Sometimes the going gets tough, or you become stuck in traffic on the way to where you need to be.
You stall, or may have to pull over and get your bearings, but you know, deep down, that you need to keep moving forward.
Yes, the weather, your wisdom or wherewithal, may slow impair your efforts.
A detour may send you off in the wrong direction, but you do have the capability of turning yourself around and getting back on track.
You know how to do it, and may need to be reminded from time to time, but you will get there.
Keep trying.
You are not here to watch life pass you by.
You are here to continue moving at the speed of life.
© 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.
