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.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 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.
Edge of darkness,
dusk signals the forthcoming night.
Fears settle, or are intensified.
As a child, my Mother called out my name;
a sign the evening was done.
City streetlights had just come on,
it was time to come home.
Dusk, then, signaled security
Twilight marked the beginning of the night for a teenager.
Time to spread seeds, share youthful conquests.
Adolescent dreams came alive.
Turn off the headlights.
We grow up at night,
learn the pleasures of another human’s body;
young women (or older)
who will, in many ways, turn you
into an man.
By nature, and by choice, you discover how
your body fits into another.
After dusk you learn
the secrets of the night. And responsibility.
Morning’s light will bring a new reality.
It was not always what your mother said it was.
© 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.