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.
The shifting landscape
within our grasp, shoe-shine paradigm
of yours and mine, has got to change.
Little by little by little by little
spoken truth used, raped, abused.
Time heals no wounds (rarely)
within the politics of emotions.
No sacred cow, not here not now,
askance, perchance, how will you know,
you know (all too well), you know
step by step by step by step
rhythm obscured by what is heard.
Hike up the skirt, a little wiggle
in your walk won’t hurt.
They won’t know what isn’t there,
yet I don’t care. Of course I’ll watch, I
always do. We’ll both reveal (a little more)
bit by bit by bit by bit
it comes with trust, it may, it must,
go beyond all the bruises you feel when
one suddenly loses what is real.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Poem Kubili
CASTING SHADOWS
poemkubili.com
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.