hugs and kisses
and more
flowers chocolates
words of endearment
or romance
for those so inclined
love is expressed
in so many ways
today above any other day
(though every day counts)
some days more than others
show your love
like it matters
it does
© 2024 j.g. lewis
I like to say I collect postage stamps but dare not call myself a “stamp collector”.
I’m not that organized.
I don’t have numerous albums sorted by year, country, and issue date, and rarely do I study the catalogues or updates from Canada Post to remind myself when the next issue is released.
The term “philatelist” does not apply to me. I am more of a casual collector, tearing the circulated stamp off the corner of a letter or postcard and tucking it into one of several envelopes where stamps accumulate until I decide to do something with them. When I’m motivated, which is not often enough, I glue them into whatever journal I happen to be working in.
I enjoy the art of, or on, the postage stamp that signifies a person, event or some significant piece of history.
I know that a black history month stamp will be issued any day now, and that the post office will issue a new floral collection as it does every spring (we first must get there). The flowers are always favourites of mine. There are many other releases throughout the year to satisfy collectors, and I pick them up when needed. I correspond regularly with friends and family across the globe (some more often than others) and prefer to use the “special’ stamps” as opposed to the common issue.
I enjoy sending and receiving letters, I always have. Part of the enjoyment of a letter is not only news from others contained within, but first seeing the stamp and the postmark. It started when I was a kid, and I still get excited — it is one of my few geeky traits — when a letter arrives. It seems there are less and fewer letters arriving now than there was before.
I suppose electronic communication has a lot to do with it; it is more convenient and less costly. But, a handwritten letter provides the kind of communication you don’t get from an email.
A letter, with a stamp, is far more personal.
And appreciated.
Over time, the written words and stories told in letter form become less relevant or memorable, but the stamp and postmark always remind you how important letters are.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Movement, not always motion. Steadfast in
my intentions, I will seek a deeper understanding,
not always evident, or available, in the moment
Somewhere not far behind these sullen thoughts,
materialities of bygone days will eventually creep
into patterns I wish to avoid.
I have been here before, mentally or spiritually.
Geographically it does not matter.
The streets continue to blur on by.
Alone with my consideration or apprehension,
I can only try to look beyond the days, behind
shadows of the ever-present aftermath.
I am trying not to do anything I have done.
Before. All of this. Still constant conviction
haunts me, as it often does.
Why should this evening be any different?
Only the direction has changed.
I am going to, instead of coming from.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Words that were there, affixed
to a streetlamp or storefront window.
A public notice. Not a poem
with words as bold as Neruda, or as cynical
as Bukowski. Perhaps pro-Palestine proclamations,
explanation or justification of a conflict
on the other side of this world.
Political turmoil, opposing views attempting
to indemnify culture and common cause.
Inhumanity’s debate seeps further into our space
here in this country or city, then removed
Torn away from the realities we face.
We cannot understand the sentiment;
even a sentence. Nary a word is now
comprehendible, but it meant something
to someone. Defenseless. How can we
explain what was there when you, yourself, cannot
understand your own thoughts.
Yet you do know the need for expression,
communication, even protest.
We have all left words behind for somebody else
to read or relate to. Unappreciated offerings.
Like a poem, protest has
so many meanings and misunderstandings.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
At times your vision is blurred.
Your thoughts howl with the velocity of uncertainty.
Sometimes the going gets tough, or you become stuck in traffic on the way to where you need to be.
You stall, or may have to pull over and get your bearings, but you know, deep down, that you need to keep moving forward.
Yes, the weather, your wisdom or wherewithal, may slow impair your efforts.
A detour may send you off in the wrong direction, but you do have the capability of turning yourself around and getting back on track.
You know how to do it, and may need to be reminded from time to time, but you will get there.
Keep trying.
You are not here to watch life pass you by.
You are here to continue moving at the speed of life.
© 2018 j.g. lewis