What gets left behind
with our unmade minds
forever rushing?
What do we leave behind
if we did not take the
the time to notice?
What is no longer mine
because neither you nor I
could take our time?
12/02/2024 j.g.l.
look around
Be thankful
for what you have, for
what you have to let go of,
and for those who are still
with you. Gratitude comes
in many forms. Look around.
Be thankful.
j.g.l.
cloud songs
It is only silence and only
for now, a minute or three
but who is counting?
Enough, for now.
Slight Repose, a little grace,
enough until you have
found your place. Might be
morning, or the end of the day,
yet it is time to yourself anyway.
For now.
11/29/2024 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.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Posted on May 16, 2016 by j.g.lewis
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When it rains
it pours,
unexpectedly. While
nourishing flowers and
washing away the filth
and debris
of seasons past, a storm
can also offer a new
sense of wonder.
There’s a scent to the air
after the rain,
following
a deluge of personal pain.
You may find rainbows,
and you will certainly
find puddles.
Keep looking up, but
watch where you step.
j.g.l.
