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.
Plans, projections, anticipated
results or expectations don’t
always happen when or as they
should (or at all for that matter).
Who knows why, or how, but
on any given day, without notice,
you are going to fuck up.
It happens.
Repeat after me:
shit happens.
You can question why, rage at
the moon, or have a good cry,
but none of that is going to correct
what has happened.
Yeah, you might learn a lesson
or three, but lessons don’t help
unless you put them into practice.
So try again.
It’s. That. Simple.
You’ve already made the major
mistake(s), so what else can go wrong?
Dry your tears, take a deep breath,
and try again. If you want to rage,
tonight’s moon gives you a great
big target, but let it out and
be done with it.
Rest up and try again tomorrow.
It’s that simple.
© 2018 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.