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: November 2018
How are you?
What will you do today?
These are questions mainly
of your self.
Existential or otherwise.
There are answers
we are forced to provide
every day.
Another day, another way.
Another question, in a
day surely full of enquiry
(or inquiries), expectations,
and accountability.
Aren’t they all, really?
Right!
Right?
Each question is
interrogation without
explanation. Like it or not.
Answers are always more
personal than questions.
Questions
seek meaning.
Answers
require believing.
Questions probe,
invasive by nature; who
wants to know, and why?
Questions
are easier than answers.
Answers
are more than replies.
11/09/2018 j.g.l.
11/09/2018 j.g.l.
Posted on November 8, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Identity.
Man, woman, father,
mother,
sister,
brother,
friend or foe.
One or the other.
Who are you?
Co-dependent,
rather questionably
independent, beholden
to no one else.
Do you wonder?
Misrepresented.
Misunderstood, or
mistaken for another.
Image.
Imagine who
you could be.
More than meaningful
interpretation,
we often change
with the situation.
11/08/2018 j.g.l.
Posted on November 8, 2018 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
The Hissing of Summer Lawns.
Scratch of the turntable,
Joni Mitchell.
Playing at 1:14 a.m..
You tried to understand
the passion
of an older woman.
At seventeen,
Mystery was sweet.
Never
would you have dreamed,
and neither would you ignore.
Sometimes
I remember. It was
nothing to forget
j.g.l.
