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.
Fear, overwhelmingly, an
immediate response. Anxiety,
internally, and eternally now
the reaction to the ever-increasing
random acts of hatred.
Undue violence, a surprise,
but not. Not now. Not again.
Just another headline.
Just another day. Death doled out
in syncopated sound bites,
images flooding our screens
between messages of love
on Valentine’s Day, snapshots
of sunsets, carefree kittens,
and a selfie of somebody trying
to make it through another day.
Again. Of course we ask why,
and then remember the last time.
Was it seventeen or eighteen?
Again. Not again.
The outpouring of emotion,
global grief. Hardened hearts
giving in to anger at the event,
and the hypothesis of why, but
mostly the calculated misgivings
of those who know better,
but refuse to express the cause
of their inaction. Again.
Troubled times; that was long ago.
This is more. Greater. Further.
Deeper. We’ve lost life, and most
everything else a just society is
capable of. We cannot lose hope.
Not now. Not yet. Not again.
Prayers go unanswered, laws
remain unchanged, and this
dark shadow obscures our vision
as we watch. As we grieve.
Just another headline. Another
image. Not another life. Not again.
What have we learned? Questions
will form, and answers will follow,
but when?
©2018 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.