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: April 2019
trust spoken
on bated breath
the colours are about us
there is
no in-between
lives you never lived
words
often whispered
we reflect on the art
that gives us something to see
casualties
on the pavement
lump in our throat
it was everything
it is now
it is not
this bloodsport
we call survival
in a city we call home
© 2019 j.g. lewis
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
each and every damn day
Disarmed by disagreement,
same conversation
over and over
again. Our nature to
seek resolution, even
an aura of understanding,
controls every discussion.
War of words,
repercussions.
Think about and talk it out
until there is little left
to salvage.
What remains
when hope is lost?
Attempts to mend our ways
at all costs. Unnoticed.
There is only
the self to blame,
the one that wavers yet
remains the same.
Unchanged. Unmoved
by even logic.
04/11/2019 j.g.l.
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
read and believe
Eye-catching immediacy,
pamphlet affixed to a bus shelter wall;
below twilight drunks piss on the sidewalk
with all the other animals in the cold dust
and recycled sentiment of this city.
Where Are You
Going To Spend
Eternity?
Weekly sermon tacked up
by an anonymous preacher. Or disciple.
Reality, rhetoric, cut-and-paste spirituality
sprinkled amongst Biblical evidence.
‘As it is written.’
Cowardice under nightfall. Honesty by dawn.
A believer more than I.
‘For by grace are ye saved through faith;
and that not of yourselves.’
How long have I been sleeping,
dreaming I could
make it on my own?
‘It’s only by faith in the only savior.’
Have I have lost my place?
God: a reason or an excuse. I have fallen short
of his glory. We all have, apparently; morally,
truthfully, decently, cruelly.
‘Look at the world today! Crumbling!’
Headlines scream even louder each day.
I know. I know
I do not meet God’s requirements; owning
my sins as much as I care to.
‘To be saved, you must admit
that you are a sinner.’
My pride prevents me from opening up,
from believing in eternity, my trajectory,
or most efficient route there.
‘Dear Soul, if you were to die right now,
do you know whether you would go
to heaven or to hell.’
© 2019 j.g. lewis
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
fresh poetry served every day
