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
Slow down: even with the ideas that come to quicky. Take the time to acknowledge the feelings that arrive, as they arrive.
Write it down. How else will you remember what you were thinking?
Print neatly. You hardly understand the thoughts at the time, why make it more difficult to comprehend weeks or years from now?
Follow your own logic; only you need to truly make sense of what is happening, or all that has happened.
Pay attention to the lessons of the past. Be mindful that not all are worth repeating.
Clarity. Make corrections as you go. Flaws become more difficult to correct the longer you live with them.
11/14/2024 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.
I am not hungry,
but starving; this inner need (or want), a craving
for anything pure, authentic,
and nourishing.
A sandwich or salad, unlike
what I have known, or consumed.
Only after I am sufficiently sated
will I be able to do battle another day, or sleep
without these images interrupting this night.
It is dark.
Ego and emotion command
too much space and mind.
Am I yet another ambiguous miracle, or
just another carney hawking candy apples
and games of chance?
Step right up.
The midway is crammed. Lovers
hand-in-hand. A noisy crowd.
Turn off the music.
I can smell the horse shit between the trailers,
sawdust, and aftershave. I can only
taste warm beer.
I need greater nutrition. I suffer
for having paid my admission.
© 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.
2 replies on “My Admission”
When I awake in the morning and realize that I slept well, without any sleep aid, I know it is going to be a good day.
I feel this one!