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.
From whence we came and where we go, landscapes
follow, flashbacks flow from childhood homes so far-away,
to skeletal evidence of sorrows, secrets, and songs of yesterday.
Weather-beaten dairies or deeply-faded photographs hrdly hold
mere traces of what was truly there, our minds rush over details
and dialogue of kindred spirits found,
then left along the way.
Do people come and go, or do we?
Faulty fragments of what we have collected
travel with us. Destination to designation; another apartment,
another home, immemorial addresses on report cards, bank
statements, divorce certificate, a parent’s obituary.
Disappointments remain undeniably present and unaccounted for.
Our recollection of fact and fiction, over time, is rarely as accurate
as what it once was. We remember our first phone number, but
must think hard to recall the ones that followed. Even now,
area codes blur from one city to the next.
Where am I now?
Impending move to a familiar place, months away but still
a trace of anxiety. Or is it apprehension?
What will be there when I return?
© 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.