Today might not be what it is 

without yesterday being all 

that it was.

In a succession of events, 

unplanned or programmed, 

rarely do we consider 

what has happened, 

as it happens. 

Sometimes we speak less 

about things that matter 

as we think we have 

more time, as such. 

Oftentimes 

we do not speak of 

things we should 

as they are happening, 

in the time that remains. 

In the time we are given,

the present persists.

10/15/2024                                                                                                  j.g.l.

Pick up what’s left of the shadow that has been trailing you for a week or three, the one you have noticed even when the sun hasn’t been shining as it should.

   Of course there have been distractions (there always is), even as your nerves are beginning to fray, and all those anxieties still follow you, surprisingly so, on any old day.

   Intermittent rain washes away hopes and plans dreamed on and diminished now. Still, you have the time and, more importantly, you have the mind to make it all happen. You’ve got something more important to say.

10/14/2023                                                                                                                               j.g.l.

Poetry is power, and poetry is
a weakness, as much cowardice
as courage. A delightful
contradiction, it sucks at your
soul, and, like a fussy infant,
cannot wait to be fed. More.
Not to be silenced until sated.
Nourished then,
it so slips into gentle slumber,
life’s rhythm allowing dreams and
sweet solace, only to wake soiled
and screaming. Comfort comes
with a soothing voice, gentle touch,
and reassurance. Flesh and blood,
innocent for only a while, it grows
alongside you, until it stands
on its own.
Poetry.
You give it life, then it to you.

© 2016 j.g. lewis