Qualifying questions, remedial response.
Knowledge of situations often haunt.
What we know or have been told.
We tell ourselves we just don’t know.
Answers formed by thoughts untold.
Rumour and misinformation often sold.
Conspiracy theories tend to rule the day.
Bare truth and logic will get in the way.
04/22/2024 j.g.l.
Current Thoughts
Open your mouth, let words
bypass lips. Converse consciously
to brethren or bystanders.
Reach out to
close friends gone amiss.
Be not afraid, not now, of
articulating current thoughts and
accomplishments of which
you are proud, and even your sins
(for we have all owned a few)
might seem far less tragic
from an altered point of view.
Give fresh voice
to insecurities and anxieties hidden
within your self, speak highly of
those dusty dreams
languishing on a shelf.
Past sullen moments cast a
lengthy shadow, short-term
expectations tend to dull down
long-term possibilities.
Talk freely around all you want,
or hope, or desire to be.
Each intention will resonate
with those who wholly believe.
Understanding takes effort.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
April 18th is Poem in Your Pocket Day
a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem,
carrying it in your pocket, and sharing with the
friends and strangers who cross your path.
Share a poem wherever the day takes you, as you
would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring.
April is Poetry Month
take a poem to lunch
Our paths shift, circumstance and
attitude shaping our trajectory.
The company we keep alters both
our outlook and destination.
We are where we are
mainly because of who we are
and whom we are with.
04/16/2024 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.
Old habits die hard, or, rather, they do not die at all.
I glanced up at the Moon last night, late. Actually, it was far more than a glance. I stopped, I stood, and I stared at the ever-changing, familiar sphere as it ushered in a new season.
It was not what I intended to do. I had hoped, or planned (even plotted) to ignore this Moon. A full month ago, truly (in consideration of the precise lunar cycle), I decided I spent too much time watching over, wishing on (even worshiping) this dominant celestial object. I wanted to believe that the Moon has no effect on me, that I, conceivably, was even frittering away this life allowing my mind follow its path, or my heart be swayed by its rhythm.
Always, evermore, a creature of the night, I cannot even fathom how many hours I have written under the power of the Moon. It is, as it is right now, my one consistent muse. I won’t even reckon the number of poems scratched out about this Moon of mine (there, see, I’ve even become possessive of something as common as spit and routinely on display for everybody else to enjoy (we all share the same sky).
I decided I’d been paying attention to the Moon when I should have been in bed or devoting my time to more worthy topics like income tax, the impending global economic impact of Brexit, reducing my carbon footprint, the dramatic healing traits of a Himalayan salt lamp. . . or what have you.
I tried to face facts. The Moon, I convinced myself, was as calculated as it was consistent, as bothersome as boring. I’ve gone about the past month keeping a more regular bedtime. I’ve been eating better, listening to my body more than my imagination, and trying to counter past behaviours that have not served me well.
Yet here I am, on the last night of a weary wicked winter, with clouds as certain as politics, staring skyward at something that both reflects back the light of something else and the feelings of anybody else. How original.
How compelling.
How can you not read something into it? Few symbols have captivated me as much as the Moon, and here we are on the cusp of Spring, wanting to be hopeful or just trying to get by.
Obviously this will be a month of contradictions. It may also be time to rearrange plans, accept familiarity, and not take yourself too seriously.
This is a chance to remember that not all habits are bad.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
“And if the dam breaks open many years to soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon”
– Roger Waters
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.