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.
I hope this finds you well; it has
been a while. Far too long.
These days, it seems we all have
something else to do with so little
time to ourselves. It is as it is.
I am wondering (I often do) how,
and where, you are. I have
misplaced your address;
(I’m like that, you probably know)
if you remember I’m disorganized
at the best of times. Why don’t you
send me a letter; an open-ended
conversation with a friend who
wants to know how you are being
treated in the only life we have.
Fill your cup with tea, sink into
a comfortable place, let the pencil
guide you across the vacant page.
No doubt, things will come to mind
you never meant to mention.
Let me know where you have been
or what you have done. Let me know
you are safe. Fill a page with everyday
thoughts (even those not so chaste).
Do you ever get lonely? Do you still
do what you used to do, now you
have changed? Remember when we
wanted to change the world? Did we
make a dent? (I think I am still trying).
Tell me your story in as much detail
as you wish. There is always
something we are dying to say. It is
not always easy. It’s not always clear
(I know). Maybe, by writing it down
you will feel that freedom (again).
Never before had we had difficulty
communicating, then it all stopped.
Give me a few moments of your
precious time. Share with me a letter;
I can only promise I will reply.
04/29/2019 j.g.l.
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
it is as it is
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.