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
Slow down: even with the ideas that come to quicky. Take the time to acknowledge the feelings that arrive, as they arrive.
Write it down. How else will you remember what you were thinking?
Print neatly. You hardly understand the thoughts at the time, why make it more difficult to comprehend weeks or years from now?
Follow your own logic; only you need to truly make sense of what is happening, or all that has happened.
Pay attention to the lessons of the past. Be mindful that not all are worth repeating.
Clarity. Make corrections as you go. Flaws become more difficult to correct the longer you live with them.
11/14/2024 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.
The city has no direction.
Even the streets take you nowhere.
Sprawling. Stopping. Rethinking, recovering.
A destination as much as a distinction, home
to so many. Honoured by so few.
Only a place, only for a while, only to those
who wish to be somewhere else.
Identity. Community. Immunity for some.
Isolation within a population, advancing beyond
the imagination of so many.
To be a stranger is to remain present.
Loneliness. There is always a place.
This search for significance takes us
to inappropriate places: this city is full of them.
Each street. Every building.
The homes we pass by, the contents of which
we do not know; or understand. Only structures.
Will we find such a place where personal information
remains private property? Is it natural
or even possible?
Overlooking common sense, stigma, and the
interpretation of others, can we arrive at a place where
data does not exist?
How, then, will we document our days?
Who will keep track of our shortcomings?
© 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.