Finding our direction may take miles or days, or years.

Detours, disruptions and distractions – no matter how

purposeful or meaningful as they may be – are certain to

prolong our progress. It takes time to know. The journey

is involved. Each step of the path allows reflection. We

are guided by instinct or instruments, our moral compass

not often strong. Finding our true destination will take

years and decades. Or longer. And should I wonder (and

oh, how I shall) how poetry should get the best of me on a

bitter winter’s morn. Even on, or especially on, a brighter

summer’s day where thoughts like common flowers will

blossom naturally, a poem will have its way with me. Some

random poem by one of the greats, Billy Collins, has before

captured both my heart and the times of our lives, as I do.

I have passed through the 2000s, and the ‘90s before (right

back through to the early ‘60s). I remember, poetically, how

it was. Collins himself more articulate than I, although I try.

A random poem, my daily indulgence. ‘Marginalia’ today by

Collins. Yes, I too have always been attracted to words or

messages scribbled haphazardly on the page. A surprise when 

discovered in a text or library book, and how it stains the page 

at any stage of life as we know it. Today, page 94 of Collin’s 

book ‘Sailing Alone Around The Room’ grabbed me and won’t

let go. The poem ‘Marginalia’ spoke to me. I’ll leave it at that.

© 2026 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month