
Finding our direction may take miles or days, or years.
Detours, disruptions and distractions – no matter how
purposeful or meaningful as they may be – are certain to
prolong our progress. It takes time to know. The journey
is involved. Each step of the path allows reflection. We
are guided by instinct or instruments, our moral compass
not often strong. Finding our true destination will take
years and decades. Or longer. And should I wonder (and
oh, how I shall) how poetry should get the best of me on a
bitter winter’s morn. Even on, or especially on, a brighter
summer’s day where thoughts like common flowers will
blossom naturally, a poem will have its way with me. Some
random poem by one of the greats, Billy Collins, has before
captured both my heart and the times of our lives, as I do.
I have passed through the 2000s, and the ‘90s before (right
back through to the early ‘60s). I remember, poetically, how
it was. Collins himself more articulate than I, although I try.
A random poem, my daily indulgence. ‘Marginalia’ today by
Collins. Yes, I too have always been attracted to words or
messages scribbled haphazardly on the page. A surprise when
discovered in a text or library book, and how it stains the page
at any stage of life as we know it. Today, page 94 of Collin’s
book ‘Sailing Alone Around The Room’ grabbed me and won’t
let go. The poem ‘Marginalia’ spoke to me. I’ll leave it at that.
© 2026 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month



