You wander.
We all do.
Uncertainty can often
blur your surroundings.
Unclear.
The map is always there,
the lines signify the path
you need to follow.
You simply have to find
the direction.
It is all in your hands.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
unclear
gr@ffiti
Anguish or confusion,
sometimes it is the way.
Anxiety takes over.
What else can you say
as you try to put aside all
the feelings that dog you
anyway. No pain today.
Try as you might to
see your way through.
No pain. Not today.
09/14/2023 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
There is very little that can be said about Eric Clapton that hasn’t already been said; except I saw him last night.
I’ve been listening to the musician, in all stages of his career, over the past five decades and he has been around even longer than that.
Through the years I’ve grown to appreciate Clapton more as a performer, recording artist, and as one of the greatest guitarists of all time, but I’ve never seen him live; until last night.
He was everything (and more) that I expected, playing selections from his lengthy career, and paying homage not only the blues artists who have influenced him but also to friends no longer with us.
Clapton and his band kicked of the Toronto concert with a cover of The Band’s The Shape I’m in, a fitting tribute to his longtime Canadian friend Robbie Robertson. Then, later, a tune he once recorded with Tina Turner: Tearing Us Apart.
The show was filled with both popular hits and selections you could tell he felt like playing. With a catalogue like Clapton’s there could have been even more hits, but he did what he had to do.
At age 79, Clapton’s seemingly effortless prowess on electric and acoustic guitar was both mature and effective. There were a lot of “wow” moments.
It was quite an evening.
What else can I say?
09/11/2023 j.g.l.
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.
I Can Smell Spring
Posted on March 16, 2016 by j.g.lewis
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Today’s rain washed away most
of the evidence of winter.
The water has spilled over the river’s banks
but is receding.
The air is fragrant
with the change of season.
Maybe it is because the dust has settled for a bit
but I could smell spring as I walked the streets.
At one point, this afternoon, it was like nighttime
in the middle of the day,
the windshield wipers kept time
to the rhythm of life.
This evening, however, just after the sun had
disappeared altogether, low-lying clouds
hovered just above
and in patches.
Stars shone through the clouds
like freckles on a lover’s skin, peeking out of the
crisp sheets.
Spring brings optimism
and hope.
You hear people on the streets again,
they too are pleased.
Just wait for summer.
I can feel peace,
can you?
© 2006 j.g. lewis
Image: Wet Prairies
Artist: Steve Repa – 1977
Ten years ago, in a journal, I wrote this for my daughter. An early spring then,
as it is now. Seasons may change, but poetry remains, as does optimism and hope.
