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: April 2018
Nothing like it,
even when
it is not there.
Not found in
any specific way,
what is there
remains in place.
Mother’s love,
a lifelong bond,
outlasting life itself.
Mother’s love,
It is still there.
Mother’s love.
You still care.
04/30/2018 j.g.l.
The month of May is about Motherhood.
In the days leading up to Mother’s Day, I have invited writers I respect to share thoughts on Motherhood and what it means to them. Something new every day.
Poetry is not meant to be anything
other than what you read. Mood
or mantra, independent conscious
behavior, a distraction, unexpected
reality and unknown salvation.
What do you expect in this world
of heartbreak and happenstance?
How will you see beyond current
tragedy or circumstance? Always
there are questions. Inquisitions.
Interrogations. Stale blood on the
sidewalk, fresh tears on the cheek
of a passerby; our response is not
immediate. Our actions muted by
culpable noise and utter silence.
Poetry is as passive as it is reactive.
You may know where you are go,
yet a poem will tell you where you
have been. What do you hear?
04/29/2018 j.g.l.
Wander past protest. Diligently
steer clear of subversive sideshows,
empty calories of high drama
choreographed by pitiful politicians,
misdirected clergy, and brothers who
should know better. Question
assumed authority; freaks and geeks
who covet anomalous theories and
ignorant examples of formless function
offered by so many,
of use to so few.
Succumb not pellucid attempts
to possess precious thought,
initiative, or flesh. Unwarranted wisdom
improperly proffered remains
obvious. Out of context, out of order,
outwardly impotent. Bartered blood boils
for many reasons, least of which
this demoralizing atrophy of
a placid pay-as-you-go society
living on credit,
but offering none.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Poem Kubili
Casting Shadows
poemkubili.con
