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.
Month: June 2018
Does he have a daughter?
I said.
I asked.
He spoke of technical items
in nonsensical terms, jargon, perhaps,
familiar to those who may possess
such instruments, I suppose.
And he talked of both the large and
the small dots in an atlas, the rivers
that ran through them,
or sacred places nearby,
as if he had visited
to each one of them.
He prattled on about romance;
not the type written in pulp fiction,
or an epic Victorian tale
that captures all sensibilities,
but more that of
a television gum commercial.
She shrugged
her shoulders.
I noticed.
When he articulated his feelings,
common emotions were described
with plagiaristic hyperbole,
the air laden with hollow words
tangled up in metaphor and
complicated thesaurian terms
that took up so much space,
but really meant little.
Even less
than brittle excuses.
I know nothing
of his family, she said,
a reply that seemed
more proper
than obvious.
The parlour continued to fill
with a one-man chorus
holding court among the gadflies,
gumshoe grifters, monomaniacs,
and mealy-mouthed mavens
brandishing insecurities
over intellect, as they offered
comment and critique, a want to
ever so badly be included
in the conversation.
He doesn’t,
I said.
My confident reply.
I knew.
Should he have a daughter,
he would know
how to properly speak
of wonder,
gentle understanding,
or incidental beauty
and of love.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
POEM KUBILI
International Poetry Collective
poemkubili.com
This morning; a new day; another day.
I wrote first thing this morning, a few words in my dayplanner, my daily thoughts.
I chose to write with a Kate Spade pencil. I have a thing for polka dots (or pokka dots, as my daughter used to call them).
Anyone who knows me, knows I have a pencil obsession. Besides being the most practical, and purposeful, writing instrument, I see the pencil as a thing of beauty both by design, and for the words they generate.
The words I wrote this morning were long before the world knew of Kate Spade’s death. Now, as I read my thoughts, I can only see a certain irony. I chose to write with something that was, to me, a little bit of beauty, something created by a person who, in her own way, brought a little bit of joy to the lives of people who cherished items she created. Possessions.
Sadly, today, Kate Spade could not see that joy.
Tragically, she could not feel her own joy.
06/05/2018 j.g.l.
Posted on June 5, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
What it costs you financially,
mentally, or spiritually, is
fundamentally an internal debate,
free of logic and accompanied by
a five-page disclaimer where you
agree to pretty much anything
someone else decides.
Written or implied.
Take a deep breath before you
sign on the line, or mark an X
on the ballot.
06/05/2018 j.g.l.
