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.
Little bird: sparrow, starling,
wren, or any such tiny creature.
Existing within the concrete
and clutter of the inner city,
seeking seeds, shelter, and
a place to call home.
Like all of us.
A song sounding familiar, a
story often told, it wants to
be heard. Shouting out to its
peers, or strangers passing by
on the sidewalk below,
it wants to be noticed,
like all of us.
Tiny birds, common but not
indistinguishable, some have
braved the elements. Struggling
through an honest winter,
patiently waiting for calm days
and the warmth of summer.
Like all of us.
06/06/2022 j.g.l.
I look up to the little bird
That glides across the sky
He sings the clearest melody
It makes me want to cry
It makes me want to sit right down
And cry, cry, cry
-Annie Lennox
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.