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: August 2021
I sat by a lake last night and
I listened.
I watched the sun dip below
the horizon, and I listened
a little longer.
I listened to the lake lapping
lightly against the shore,
and I could hear a chorus of
crickets, but there was not a
whisper of a breeze through
the many, many trees.
It wasn’t silence, but it was
not the city sounds I have
become so accustomed to.
I was so peaceful.
The city is hours away.
For a while I sat and thought
of nothing in particular, the
natural sounds not even
registering, but they were there.
I felt it. What a wonderful way
to end the day.
I believe tonight will end
much the same way.
Some Mondays are even
better than I say. Enjoy your day,
and tomorrow too.
08/16/2021 j.g.l.
Posted on August 15, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
A getaway.
A few days away
from the everyday,
is a needed change
of pace. It takes you
out of the human race,
in so many ways.
Do your self a favour.
Go away.
08/15/2021 j.g.l.
Posted on August 14, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Nothing is closer than it appears,
anxiety reminding me of threadbare fears,
debt and delusion won’t find me here;
night driving takes it away.
I do not look back, but glance
at what I’ve passed, headlights meet my eyes
at the mirror, time has lapsed,
rear view explains I won’t see them again.
From where to there, somewhere,
then back again. I drive.
Beyond the highway, white lines, traffic signs,
eyes align, taking it in and ignoring it all.
If you can see past the sunset
you will always believe
life sorts itself out at any speed.
Streetlights shed halogen haze,
bleary-eyed travellers flowing either way.
Cars, end to end. Hypnotic blend,
eyes fixed, eyes focused, straight ahead.
Night driving leads me away and returns,
again. Depending on the view.
Spit-second living, rarely comprehending.
Where is everybody going; not always home,
not always knowing. Destination uncertain,
we are all passengers
of our own accord. Mistakes,
complications and reparations.
It’s taking and giving and letting it flow.
Driving. Night has no secrets.
Night always knows.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
