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.
Should I stumble, as I am most certainly to do, pay no attention
to the rip on my trousers, or swollen bruise on my knee. I have many
more scars, and they have become a better part of who I am. As if
character marks on the surface of the antique table, or the
cumulative incidental nicks and scratches on a ’61 Telecaster
lessen the intended beauty and purpose.
If I fall, and you discover me in the gutter, I will not need assistance
returning to my feet, but would appreciate
a hankie to dust off my skin, and perhaps a fresh bandage
to mask the blood spilling from within.
When, at a street corner, I seem stalled or uncertain, please
pass me by. There is no need for directions, as
I am probably just deciding if it is choice or a chance. We come
across many paths, and they all move forward. I have an idea
where I am going, and might later become sidetracked,
or choose a cross street. You would be best thinking
I will someday find my destination, than feeling you had led me astray.
It’s not that I am above asking if uncertain, but
I would find it more purposeful
to step ahead unknowingly, than to have you feel a burden
or responsibility.
Should we cross paths again, and you find me in repose, or
a terminal state of confusion, you would be better off continuing
along the cracked sidewalk. It is not that I wouldn’t enjoy the company,
it’s just that I cannot answer your why. Share a smile, however.
I do collect moments, as souvenirs,
and what better way to remember anybody
than to know you shed a little light.
Later, when you catch sight of me in a park; on the bench;
under a tree, near that fountain, with my camera, or a journal,
please leave me to my silence. Know that poetry
is having its way with me, and I have already shared
the crusts of my sandwich with the pigeons. Generosity comes
in many forms, and I am grateful for each of life’s experiences.
As you take in this fresh autumn chill, do not be concerned
for my welfare. I will find the warmth, as I always do.
Yet, should you feel cold, or uncomfortable, do not hesitate taking
my sweater to cover your shoulders. The garment,
like me, may be tattered and frayed, but in it you will find comfort.
Return it to me when it is no longer useful. I have others.
If I were to unexpectedly bump into you at the market,
and we are as surprised then as we had been when,
remember how we once shared something,
and we are both better off because of it.
We were not strangers, not then, not now.
© 2016 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.