How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
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.
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.
Two Characters
It mattered not
that she was naked
or vain,
whether her flesh held
a starburst
of freckles
or was rough, and creased
and old.
Wealthy, brunette
and fat,
or
poverty’s daughter,
it did not matter.
Only that
she
was allowed to live
on a vacant, white page.
It mattered only
to him.
For he, himself, knew
of her vulnerabilities
and,
of his.
That she would breath
his thoughts
did not matter to
him.
For when she could
stand alone, even
awkwardly, on the page,
haute couture
or otherwise,
she would find her
independence, from him.
©2014 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.