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.
Month: April 2020
Coordinates unclear,
the first wonder of a new day.
Open your eyes,
light diffused, a little confused,
gradually you wake. Go slow.
Morning coffee:
is there a better type
to wash away remnants
of the darkness that exists?
A cloudy day any way,
No need to rush.
You sit and settle
into this reality, every cell
of your being readjusting.
Recalibrate your emotions.
Don’t rush it.
No need today.
Yesterday no longer matters.
j.g.l.
05/22/2017
Posted on April 12, 2020 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
She first held my hand
five delicate fingers, swallowed up
in my palm. Fingers grasping
at my fingers.
Tiny.
No indication of such a big life.
There was comfort.
Reassurance.
A small hand, I thought I could
hold it forever.
Tighter
to keep it there.
Stop it from growing
The hand has grown, still delicate
there
in my palm.
Now that of a woman
like no others
a part of me.
Like
no other woman.
She is full with
room to grow
to emerge.
She is what I have, and
the one who is
always there.
As I have tried to be.
A strength more than physical
difficult
to comprehend.
A gentle patience, a
small hand,
wisdom larger than
life itself.
I want to hold her hand
a while longer
to reassure
I have done something right
in this world.
When there
I have no questions.
None of myself, as a human being
or otherwise.
I host
too many doubts
which have withered
my ability
to see.
In her I see what I am and
what I could be.
If nothing else,
the one good thing
I can be
and will always be
to her.
j.g. lewis
04/29/2015
We exist
suspended between delay and
that future we are told
is ahead of us. Little advances humanity.
We rush too much, as if it is demanded.
Each of us controls our pace,
or attempts to.
We are here,
bounded by missed connections
and unfortunate
misunderstandings. Nostalgia is not often
favorable. Blind curiosity. We fail to recognize
where we are.
We seek faith.
We do have
the communal capacity, but resist
assistance or the
temptation. Recycling our sins, striving to
keep up with the morally reprehensible,
we try to find
our own Jesus.
j.g.l.
02/21/2018
