Mondays are just young Fridays

09/30/2019

We can do more
than we think we can,
more than they tell us.
We can be more
than what they
expect from us.
We are more than we
expect from ourselves,
and so much more
than we allow
ourselves to be.

09/30/2019 j.g.l.

5:23 a.m.


Often early, I arrive.
Morning provides the time it takes
for my mind to come alive.
Coffee helps. 

Here I will write. Or try.
Depending on the day, and what I
have to say; my journal holds poetry,
incomplete thoughts.

At times I could use a muse. Company
I would not refuse, a smiling face or 
another point of view. Mostly it depends
on circumstance.

The chairs now empty, there is space 
for thought or conversation. Would 
you care to join me to see what that
could be?

April is Poetry Month

the enormity of circumstance


The nature of our being, poetry allows
expression of obvious and, more often,
subtle thought.

Emotions felt and reflected like sunlight
on trees; the enormity of circumstance
growing like leaves.

Naturally we know, not always with care.
Our words cast a shadow; life lived here
and there.

j.g.l.

enough


Teased, we were, with a few days 
of warmth, optimism, enough to melt away 
most of winter’s remains.

But then today, with plans in place, 
more unexpected snow or freezing rain.
Will Spring not ever arrive?

We need a break; we require the sun. 
We count on the seasons, yet we are shunned.
Again. Enough is enough

So, I will hang up my packsack, much to 
my dismay, and again leave my adventures for 
another day.


j.g.l.

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04/13/2026

familiarity

Ideas change, like

the places, like the faces.

   Much like me; different,

each time the mirror

looks back.          I can see

lines on my face becoming

deeper as the years progress,

altering a view I only think

I have witnessed

          in the past.

   Do I see my father, or my

mother in me? Familiarity.

A resemblance; always

meant to be.

© 2026 j.g. lewis

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04/11/2026

gr@ffiti

Independent, a loner, or
part of a community.
Enabler, imbiber, victim
or survivor. How do you
identify?
Me, myself, or I.
She, them, or why? People.
I am human.
What are your pronouns?
Occupation or gender, by
country, religion or race;
it’s not all black and white.
Questioning or queer?
Who we are
is how we deal with
what happens every day.
It changes along the way.
Do you consider yourself
a consumer or a provider?
Be honest.
Painstaking label-making
gets complicated.
If you can fool others, are
you not then deceiving
yourself?
Who are you?

I come about my inadequacy
naturally.    What I feel is like
nothing else.           Honestly.
I am nobody.          We all are.
Even when we are something
to someone else.
I am somebody.       Like you?

© 2021 j.g. lewis

I‘m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

-Emily Dickinson

April is Poetry Month

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