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.
A bouquet of the day,
but which day? At 2:37 a.m.
the only sign of life amidst
confectionary snacks, day-old
donuts, wiper fluid,
potato crisps and magazines.
Newspapers are day old,
headlines no longer bold
or relevant. Nothing
is fresh at half past two,
especially not the coffee. Yet,
here I stand beneath this brutal
florescent light, colours scream, a
psychotropic dream. A mind
numbed by promise. There
is only one purpose for
gas station flowers, the
only beauty available
at this God dammed hour.
Until I show up at your door.
Beauty is where you find it, but
I want more.
@ 2016 j.g. lewis
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
fresh poetry any time of day
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.