A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 j.g. lewis
Consider each moment
leading up to now.
Cause and effect
affects where you are,
whom you have been, and all
you are now.
Any possibility sustains every reality.
To doubt is to question;
to ask is to reply.
11/22/2024 j.g.l.
As of late, for reasons as varied as they are non-existent, I have not been writing in the manner of which I have come to expect of myself. I am neither as prolific nor as detailed as, I feel, I usually am.
My poetry, while still insightful, does not command the length or breadth I feel I am capable of. Revisions to a manuscript I have toiled away on for some time have become painful (perhaps a sign that the work is closer to completion than I care to acknowledge), and my mind wanders to another project that requires the same diligence.
My daily writing is less than it once was (I feel guilty about that), and even the scant sentences I jot down in my journal seem to only document my time here on earth. Nothing extravagant, nothing more than a slight glimpse of where I am. Nothing that memorable, sadly.
I’ve been feeling for months that I am ready to embark on another kind of writing but have yet to determine exactly what that might be. I am full or ideas, characters, dialogue and circumstance, but it doesn’t quite feel like it has the backbone it needs to pull me in a certain direction. I even, a few weeks back, bought a fresh new notebook to keep these thoughts separate from all the others. The notes I have included in this book are random, undeveloped, at times personal, and (as of yet) make little sense. I reread these notes, almost daily, and I am inspired enough to clarify or expand on certain streams of thought, but it needs a more definite direction.
Perhaps I do as well?
11/17/2024 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.
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
Each year I try to select a word or phrase to guide me through the coming weeks and months. Some years it is a quote from somebody or another that, for whatever reason, inspires me or causes me to think a little deeper.
Other years it has been a single word.
Whatever I decide upon, I will take those words and affix them to the first page in my dayplanner as a reminder, or prompt. I will look at those words often throughout the year.
I had been wrestling with a few motivating words over the past week, trying to see what fits into my current state of mind. I’ve been restless lately, but in a content sort of way. At times, indecisive is not such a bad way to be, except when you are looking for a concrete direction.
A few days ago, after flipping through notes, newspapers and assorted scraps, the headline of a magazine article captured my imagination; it spoke to me and all that I believe.
Being Human.
As a mantra or a mission statement, I can’t think of anything more important right now.
Human: it is what I am. We all are.
It is something worth aspiring to.
Being human: it is something that should come naturally.
Then again, a deeper question: How can I be a better human?
Or, conversely, what defines a human?
To be a human is to be an individual, but you learn or grow up knowing that all humans function better when not isolated. We need each other.
Expand upon friendships you have earned over time, cherish them for what they are. Find ways to improve relationships that make you feel worthy, find worth in those friendships you have allowed to fall by the wayside. Reconnect, if possible. Couldn’t we all use more friends?
Expect less of others, but demand more of yourself without getting caught up in the anxiety of it all.
Follow through on promises you make, make less if you are not able to fulfill them, and appreciate any pledge offered or intended.
Offer help when you feel it is needed, accept what is offered, and try not to overlook the efforts of others. Charity flows both ways.
Be humble.
Be mindful of the state of this planet. Recognize the aggressions many people face, but also realize that many of those battles are internal. You yourself seek balance in your own mental health.
Show compassion, be less judgemental.
Be more forceful with your intentions and recognize limits need not be boundaries but goals worth striving for.
Don’t let life pass you by; participate in that which brings you joy and invite others along.
Realize we all need company or consideration.
Humanity cannot be forced, but it can be improved upon. Isn’t that something to work towards?
Strive not to be something you are not but be all that you can.
Being human is a good place to start.
“To be human means to care for one another.”
-Pope Francis
© 2024 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.
