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.
Movement, not always motion. Steadfast in
my intentions, I will seek a deeper understanding,
not always evident, or available, in the moment
Somewhere not far behind these sullen thoughts,
materialities of bygone days will eventually creep
into patterns I wish to avoid.
I have been here before, mentally or spiritually.
Geographically it does not matter.
The streets continue to blur on by.
Alone with my consideration or apprehension,
I can only try to look beyond the days, behind
shadows of the ever-present aftermath.
I am trying not to do anything I have done.
Before. All of this. Still constant conviction
haunts me, as it often does.
Why should this evening be any different?
Only the direction has changed.
I am going to, instead of coming from.
© 2024 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.