original content and images ©j.g. lewis
a daily breath...
A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .
Gentle thoughts, harshly
written on whatever
scrap of paper available.
This is your life.
This is an attempt to
make sense or make do
with the scattered bits of
information that float
to the surface of a
What is of one’s concern
need not translate into a
narrative easily understood
by others. You may not
fully comprehend its true
meaning yourself, at least
not in one sitting.
Give yourself the time.
You need to find the clarity
you need. A daunting task…
you need not ask for any
opinions from others, Each
of us sees things differently.
Today I sit with a stack of blank holiday cards in front of me, and a dog-eared address book full of names, phone numbers and/or addresses from across the globe.
The names are familiar, and the extent to which I know each person varies in time and in depth. Yet, with each name, there is a friendship shared but not acknowledged as often as it should be.
A Christmas card allows me an opportunity. I will write messages of varying length to the people on my list to acknowledge the season as well as the person.
The true meaning of friendship goes beyond words.
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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logical and chronological
than cash . . .
why can’t our lives be guided by poetry?
a more consistent thought lately.
I’m reading more, I’m writing more,
I’m believing more. Lately.
It is poetry month.
Why now, I don’t know, and why just one month?
Why not every month?
It matters not; but it does.
Here, as well, people are sharing their work, their words,
and people are talking about their favorite
I am not sure if most people talk
Doesn’t it have to rhyme?
Not all of the time . . . not for everyone.
If not a poem, then
is mainly misunderstood.
But how? The language is so direct,
it cuts out the crap, rarely are there ums and awes,
any hesitation is purposeful.
Poets do not stumble on words. Poets respect words, poets
Words are currency, for a poet. Why not for everybody?
celebrates language, any language . . .
I must admit envy as, recently,
two people, here on this screen, shared a poem
(in fact, a poem about poetry) across the ocean,
in the language in which it was intended.
Okay, it wasn’t envy. It was jealousy: pure and simple.
For I have always enjoyed Neruda,
(I keep a small volume on my office desk to remind myself, in the middle of
the day, when I’m infected by the banal corporate culture [an oxymoron?]
I open the pages to remind myself how words are to be used, correctly).
I enjoy Neruda, in the only language I know.
I read translations.
what is lost in translation?
How much more wonderful are his words
in his native tongue?
Perhaps I should learn Español?
Or maybe I can be satisfied in knowing
I don’t really know,
(and they really know not each other)
took a few sentences,
to share, both a language
and a poem.
Separated by an ocean, and time zones,
and communicating not with lips, but through a screen,
two people shared something in common.
That is how powerful poetry
and should be.
It should bring people together.
Lovers, warriors, politicians and their prey
might better understand themselves and each other
if they thought more in poetry, than in whatever else
they might be thinking.
This is not a poem.
This is simply
caffeine-free morning thoughts,
nothing more really,
than a long-winded statement
I like poetry
(in April, or any month)
and maybe why
you do too.
@2014 j.g. lewis
Originally published on Rebelle Society, September 2014 www.rebellesociety.com
Above photograph features EPITHALAMIUM by Pablo Neruda