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.
Today’s rain washed away most
of the evidence of winter.
The water has spilled over the river’s banks
but is receding.
The air is fragrant
with the change of season.
Maybe it is because the dust has settled for a bit
but I could smell spring as I walked the streets.
At one point, this afternoon, it was like nighttime
in the middle of the day,
the windshield wipers kept time
to the rhythm of life.
This evening, however, just after the sun had
disappeared altogether, low-lying clouds
hovered just above
and in patches.
Stars shone through the clouds
like freckles on a lover’s skin, peeking out of the
crisp sheets.
Spring brings optimism
and hope.
You hear people on the streets again,
they too are pleased.
Just wait for summer.
I can feel peace,
can you?
© 2006 j.g. lewis
Image: Wet Prairies
Artist: Steve Repa – 1977
Ten years ago, in a journal, I wrote this for my daughter. An early spring then,
as it is now. Seasons may change, but poetry remains, as does optimism and hope.
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.