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.
Devious minds, intimacy in kind, we
struggle with familiar strangers. All of us,
each one of them.
Discomfort is obvious, bewildering.
The greater the distance, the closer
it comes to moral destruction.
Ironically, we have lost so much faith.
Confidence or insecurity, one in the same,
depending on the view.
Wisdom found in the history books; rarely
do we crack the spines. Politicians and thieves now
the easiest marks. Poor excuses.
Everybody wants something, and somebody,
to blame. Vast nations of nobodies remain
unaccountable for perennial shame.
You can’t tell me anything, anytime,
that will make a difference. Why
would I listen?
I can be nothing, or nobody, to you
so I need not provide a reason. Fact.
Few have the information
Nobody knows. Few care. I am silent.
What can I say? Still you ask. Requests
fall on closed ears.
Noise. Always with the queries,
insecurity always there. Ever-present.
We know so little of each other.
I too have questions. Always. I often do
Tell me about your problems,
tell me about you
© 2018 j.g. lewis
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
– Emily Dickinson
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.