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.
Scrappy branches of barren trees
scratch against October’s crisp cobalt sky.
Moonlight
and a mother’s bedroom lamp
paint screaming banshees
across the front lawn.
Winds heighten
to an eerie squeal.
She leans in, pulling a safety pin
from her ear.
Tussled hair, the scent of patchouli
and cigarettes. Her lips
taste of the night.
A safety pin punctures the
denim jacket’s collar.
Forever.
A poignant promise
from a shadow too young to notice,
not old enough to know.
Long ago.
Still, now,
I wear a safety pin on my jacket,
if only to remember the taste of the night,
and the smell of autumn.
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.