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.
Month: January 2018
Don’t look for me amidst words I write
between the lines or in the night. My handwriting
always rough at best, the journal is a daily test
not to myself, as much as time.
The pages stained, the thoughts are mine.
Coffee spills or drops of rain, tears
in certain places, among streaks of blood
(paper cuts) are both things I’ve done, and
things I must.
Personal. Private, page after page, book into
book, rarely do I take a second look.
I can, when I choose. I write. Memories now,
or they will be soon, a thought du jour,
there is always room between newspaper clippings
and obituaries, postage stamps and all the necessaries;
the weather, the cities, the price of gas, a few jokes
and then, a certain laugh. I never know what
I will discover, as I fill the space
between the covers.
Inspiration from a tea bag tag, a picture from a
product tag, instructions to a game, a recipe or two,
the phone number of someone I once knew.
Stories of redemption, or reflection, coupons
never redeemed, wishes and promises not once
what they seemed.
Directions to a house I’ll never visit again. Excuses
or reasons I never explain. An expired lottery ticket,
a book mark now, I always wonder the when
and the how.
Concert tickets, and transit passes, accounts of
dreams now only ashes. A label from a bottle
of premium champagne, reminders I’m reminded of,
again and again.
Let’s face it, we don’t always remember, and in years
we never will. You can write them down and still
the history in the making, of interest to myself.
Only once a kiss and tell.
The journal is, essentially, a travelogue: inner thoughts,
outward concerns as I evolve. The pencil continues
to scratch, the words keep running. It’s not
who I have become, but what I am becoming.
©2018 j.g. lewis
Posted on January 9, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
We are all the same, yet different.
Each of us has a purpose, desires,
skills, thoughts and beliefs. We all
breathe, and we all bleed, yet our
concerns will vary, as will our needs.
Many of us are quiet, while some of
us loud, but we can all be ourselves
and still be a part of the crowd.
01/09/2018 j.g.l.
Just because we can, and do, use words frequently (and with the power they are meant to contain) does not mean they come to us easily.
Sentences and phrases seem to float from our mouths, as we breathe life into them. Sometimes we think it is effortless, that thoughts simply appear; but we know it is not true.
Every comment we make has a purpose. Each word spoken contains thought. It may even take days or weeks of inner dialogue before we dare speak our truth. Even then, after all that time, we can surprise ourselves.
Words are spoken for a purpose, how they are heard is a matter of perception.
Words can heal or words can hurt.
Choose carefully what you say, and be prepared for the reaction that comes back your way.
Just because we use words frequently doesn’t mean we have to.
At times, silence can say enough.
01/08/2018 j.g.l.
