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.
You can see the stars
hundreds of millions of miles away,
the light of years past flashing each day,
yet you can’t see the bomb blasts
on the other side of this earth.
Thunder may take the time
to memorize the sound, and we will
hear it as spring rain changes from gentle
to worse, but will we know the pain
it has caused?
The dead bodies, civilians, knew the
sounds at close range, even by surprise.
For many, it was the last noise they heard.
Others heard the cries, perhaps
their own voice.
Mass media images and scenes
tell the heartbreaking atrocities of
the invasion of Ukraine. Far enough
that you don’t hear it, close enough
that you feel the pain.
If you think of the breathless bodies
as human beings, as people; mothers
or children, even soldiers, it hurts
a little more – today, tomorrow
and for years to come.
© 2022 j.g. lewis
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.