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
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.
A poem must be more than simply words on a page; a parking ticket or the label off a soup tin would qualify, if that were the case.
That’s not to discount legalese or test-kitchen directions, for those printed words are wholly purposeful and necessary. But, like detailed instructions for assembling a bicycle or preparing a box of macaroni and cheese, the words lack feeling and flexibility.
Poetry, whether freeform or doled out in strict sonnet, sentient stanza, or curious couplet, is not written in observance of language as much as in defiance of it. A poet sets out to produce something uncommon using common words made up of the same 26 letters everybody else uses. In doing so, life is filled with words that move and words that matter.
Poetry is the currency of emotion in a fickle economy that encourages consumption and produces mass waste. Poetry is efficient, not affluent, and does not require a full page (or span thereof) to fill a heart with joy or a mind with questions.
Poetry takes the effort to do what mere sentences can’t, and it does so freely and for the benefit of everybody and, perhaps, nobody in particular.
Poetry is about inclusion, but it is certainly not the democratization of language, but rather a liberation of ideas from which mortals can step forward with greater humility, increased purpose, and freedom from the mundane or impervious thought which tends to label, discriminate, and stifle.
It does so without complexity and without contradiction.
A poem means what you want it to mean, yet never is it simply words on a page.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
APRIL is POETRY MONTH, a reason and season to celebrate the language we all may take for granted. Whether you read it or write it, take extra time this month to soak up some poetry. Dig out a familiar poetry volume or, better yet, buy a new book. Find some new favourites.
Check back often. Each day this month there will be new poetry right here.
04/1/17 j.g.l.
#NPM17 #poetrymonth
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.