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.
Category: A daily breath
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
One year since. . .
The death toll rises each day in this certain uncertainty. A geopolitical conflict, its consequences spilling out across this planet and onto the streets of my city. Distanced from the direct atrocities of another war, it is more than tension we feel in the neighborhoods where we live.
Every day the headlines speak to me. Every day there are more questions than answers.
How many bombs?
How many dead?
How many prayers?
How many times, in my lifetime, have I heard about the possibility of Middle East peace?
I, still, can only try to understand.
I too live with the fear, the grief, and the polarization of it all.
10/07/2024 j.g.l.
Posted on October 5, 2024 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
I would like to think it is nothing, at least I’d like to try. I know I can’t, but I will fool myself into believing it was less than what it is (I’m gullible that way).
Still I know, deep down, it was more than what I was expecting. Certainly it was more than what I was prepared for.
It’s always something; really, anything is.
There is something in anything, worthwhile or not, that captures your imagination or sends your soul circling.
Nothing matters then.
It is always more than what you were counting on, even when there is nothing to compare it to.
Always unlike anything else, you try to twist and turn it into something familiar, or something you can relate to, all the while knowing that nothing has been like that, or felt like this: ever.
Yeah, it’s like that.
It’s not nothing, but it can’t be everything. . . or maybe it is.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
