I am trying.
to look for colour
in a black and white world
where everything seems
grey, muted, tired,
or threadbare.
I’m trying to be optimistic.
Even the tulips are trying
to shed some light over
the cool, wet earth.
Even they have
taken time to bloom.
Even I took my time
to notice.
© 2020 j.g. lewis
Soft voices. Gentle expression.
Grief fastened to each whisper,
ever the sentiment.
This is not the first time.
Sympathy flows, reservoir of
emotion. Kindness embraced.
Soothing words
the placebo effect, for nothing
replaces what you know.
Nothing exists now
to compare it to.
This is not the last time.
Ever the thought, ever
the imperative. Before, of course,
we had the time.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Perspective,
perception, space
between each line.
The subject
bare, a body
in its most poetic form.
Two-minute sketch,
a pose,
little time to see behind
the image.
Like any other person,
a life, nobody truly knows.
Exposed. Angles and
curves, skin, illustration,
details, expression,
impression
of all that is there, and
what is accounted for.
Here. Now.
Depiction of a moment,
reality marked
by seconds.
A figure captured
on paper. Briefly.
Deliberate, though
inconclusive, pencil stroke
softening, straightening,
shading, sorting out
what is on display.
Temporarily.
Art is not
what is there,
rather what you see.
Time defines authenticity.
Another page, a different pose.
Two minutes; all you know.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
We have faith.
We have doubts,
commensurate
with
unknown fears and
undetermined factors.
That which you feel
I see as well,
differently.
We pretend
we belong.
In many ways
we share the same grief.
We are afraid of
all the wrong things.
We doubt
our faith.
Everything is temporary,
even our fears.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
