You wander.
We all do.
Uncertainty can often
blur your surroundings.
Unclear.
The map is always there,
the lines signify the path
you need to follow.
You simply have to find
the direction.
It is all in your hands.
© 2017 j.g. lewis
unclear
gr@ffiti
Anguish or confusion,
sometimes it is the way.
Anxiety takes over.
What else can you say
as you try to put aside all
the feelings that dog you
anyway. No pain today.
Try as you might to
see your way through.
No pain. Not today.
09/14/2023 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
There is very little that can be said about Eric Clapton that hasn’t already been said; except I saw him last night.
I’ve been listening to the musician, in all stages of his career, over the past five decades and he has been around even longer than that.
Through the years I’ve grown to appreciate Clapton more as a performer, recording artist, and as one of the greatest guitarists of all time, but I’ve never seen him live; until last night.
He was everything (and more) that I expected, playing selections from his lengthy career, and paying homage not only the blues artists who have influenced him but also to friends no longer with us.
Clapton and his band kicked of the Toronto concert with a cover of The Band’s The Shape I’m in, a fitting tribute to his longtime Canadian friend Robbie Robertson. Then, later, a tune he once recorded with Tina Turner: Tearing Us Apart.
The show was filled with both popular hits and selections you could tell he felt like playing. With a catalogue like Clapton’s there could have been even more hits, but he did what he had to do.
At age 79, Clapton’s seemingly effortless prowess on electric and acoustic guitar was both mature and effective. There were a lot of “wow” moments.
It was quite an evening.
What else can I say?
09/11/2023 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 September 7, 2020 by j.g.lewis
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I ended up in a used bookstore on Saturday, as much by chance as on purpose.
I don’t need any books right now (not really); I’ve got a few too many on the go and a stack waiting patiently on the night table. That, of course, doesn’t mean that I’m not open to a new read; like if a friend’s suggestion captures my gaze, or if a classic that needs another look just happens to be sitting there and calling out to me.
Lately, I haven’t been reading as much as I should (or as much as I’d like), but I received a letter on Friday from a faraway friend who tells me he is reading more than he may ever have.
He’s been feeling poorly over the past while (I’ve noticed this from previous letters), and coupled with his isolation during this whole pandemic lockdown, and disruptive sleep patterns, he has more time on his hands than ever.
So he has been reading, and reading a lot.
In his letter, which I intend on replying to today, he mentioned rereading books by his favourite author and I could not help but think of one of mine.
I also thought how he might enjoy a certain book that is totally Canadian, and was one of the books that got me reading voraciously back in junior high school. I’ve actually reread this particular book a couple of times and decided I would set out to find it on Saturday.
And I did (along with a few others I couldn’t live without).
Now, it’s a rather old paperback, but is the perfect size for mailing overseas (which I intend to do today). I hope, or I’m pretty sure, my friend he will enjoy it as much as I have.
I’m hoping the novel will lift his spirits. Books, like friendship, can do that.
09/07/2020 j.g.l.
