The flowers concern themselves
with only today. Another night
without frost, or the sprinkling
of rain, is not a celebration but
a reason to do it all over again.
With unknown consequences,
each day becomes each day; it
will anyway. Make the best of it.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
What is looking back
at you today?
Can you find the words
you meant to say?
Is this morning
just another day?
Can this mirror look
the other way?
© 2018 j.g. lewis
we see only
what we expect
when obstacles
prohibit us
from seeing what
we wish to see
our vision
only allows us
so much
still
we want
to look further
conceivably for
what we expect
might be there
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Do you prefer pencil with, or without, an eraser?
For me it is an easy answer: I prefer the eraser attached.
I know I make mistakes and admit it freely; an eraser gives me the opportunity to catch them when I can. I believe a pencil with eraser qualifies as the original word processor, allowing for convenient and effortless correction without losing the flow of your writing. Having to put down the pencil to pick up an eraser is an interruption, and who has that time when writing a heartfelt poem, love letter, or shopping list?
I will still use a pencil sans eraser, but my writing is more timid and less carefree. It’s almost like writing with a pen (where your mistakes will live on forever).
Just as there is a certain charm to a pencil, there is a certain magic to an eraser.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
We probably don’t need to be reminded,
every day, people in this world, in this life,
are hurting. Even yourself.
You can feel it, some days more than others.
Most times you are able to
get past the doubt and delusion
for a little while. Most times. It comes back.
You know. You don’t need to be reminded,
but you are. Often.
A scrap of paper, a certain date, a song
from a passing car, can easily evoke
feelings of anger, of discontent,
of a pain greater than discomfort. It’s there,
in the pit of your being. Cracks flow
deep beyond the surface. It is ugly,
and unwanted. A true hurt. A scar slices deep
into the marrow of your existence.
Fractures and faults. You know hurting,
or inching your way through the pain,
can make you stronger. You are not sure
how. Or when.
You do not know why. You know it hurts,
and you hate to be reminded.
How strong do you need to be?
How do you find empathy?
How is it you can see
circumstances have changed over the years,
but not the cause of the pain.
All that remains is the hurt.
© 2017 j.g. lewis