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.
What do you have that you would share
with a stranger, to blank page of stationery?
Is it confidence or curiosity? Query
or confusion. In your letter, will you say
most of your dreams are shaped like clouds,
or ask how the rain tastes
on their side of the shadow?
We all lead different lives, tempered
by second-hand knowledge, first-person
accountability, and animal instincts.
Watermarks across our silken soul.
Experiences: we have them all, at any age.
What will you write about as you
commit your life to paper.
You could always enthusiastically
talk about the weather, but
isn’t that what old men do, as they recall
the summer of ’67, and the rain.
Remember, they will say.
Older women, instead, will write
of more significant memories, like
the scent of patchouli or
heartfelt bewilderment, as their clothes
dried on the back of wicker chairs.
Dare they share the details, or will you?
Will you make sense of the emotions?
Trapped in this fluctuating state of grace
we all try to understand. We all try
to survive in a world messed up
by assholes and algorithms.
What will you share that might
help a stranger cope more contentedly,
or smile a little deeper?
What will they write back?
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.