what if I told you
it is not what it seems
supposing I said
it is not all you believe
important information
difficult to tell.
what if you told me
you think for yourself
09/19/2024 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
The sun is just coming up, the weather is especially pleasant for this time of the year and the 10-day forecast indicates it will stay that way for quite some time.
Not a drop of rain is expected for the foreseeable future and these summer-like temperatures, even through the nights, will continue.
There are better days ahead.
My morning coffee is bold and sweet — sort of like me — and, for the most part, my schedule is clear enough to allow me to take advantage of where I am. It’s a good place to be.
I have a few things I need to do but, more so, I have a lot of things I want to do. I hope this mindful mood will allow me to get them done.
Optimism is a wonderful thing, and it is easily obtained if you permit yourself to believe it is possible.
09/16/2024 j.g.l.
we can’t remember
We won’t admit
we share the pain.
We tell ourselves
again and again
we are different.
We don’t know
what anyone feels,
or how anyone
deals with this now.
We can’t remember.
We don’t know
how to behave
like we used to.
© 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.
concrete in her ways
Posted on May 16, 2024 by j.g.lewis
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Windswept soil and worry
damper weathered wings. Decades of dust weigh heavily
upon her shoulders, Angel watching over dandelions and
discarded needles on the church lawn. Too early for
spring cleaning, as if nobody cares to notice.
She has seen better days,
long-time caretaker of a street corner where the discarded
and deviant line up weekdays for nutrition, attention
or companionship; someone who will listen
when words are hard to come by.
Without a prayer, or hope,
faith eludes the less fortunate, even under watchful eyes.
It became worse during pandemic days where souls lay about
our streets like Styrofoam and cardboard containers that
once contained lunch. Now litter, useless to anyone.
Heartache by the day, a dose
of prevention one trick away. Beggars and choosers, mothers
and losers. No one sets the table when there is nothing left to eat.
Sole angel, concrete in her ways, is always there,
for those who choose to notice.
© 2024 j.g.lewis
