sunlight navigates its way
between
what was and what
is still to come
friday
not just any day
you find the freedom
to notice
transformation happening
as it should
look up
will you see what you should
or observe
all you have neglected
04/26/2024 j.g.l.
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
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.
Poets say
April showers bring May flowers
So too say the liars, the preachers and prostitutes
who come to express what they’ve heard, but not
what they know.
Unlike poets,
the doubtful and the disenchanted
often cry foul as we together mourn the loss of
common sense and decency.
A tarnished soul with a litany of pleas, a poet learns
words are worth little more than sand if not spoken
with wisdom derived from a broken heart, physical
traits of emotional details, and second-hand lessons
from third-rate teachers.
It hurts to bleed.
It hurts to need validation.
Honesty is not worth what it once was, but comes
at a significant cost.
April soon, May will surely follow,
and politicians will say only what they want to hear
(like the prostitutes and preachers). Fraudsters all.
Only the poet sees the crime, unless
you know wherein the message lies.
Society becomes as calm as it is
corrupt, when we take the words of a televangelist or
talk-show host as truth. Moving swiftly through topic
of the day – fentanyl crisis or racial pain – they don’t
know any better when speaking of so much worse.
Nor can they tell the difference between
propaganda and verse.
The poet writes not of spring flowers,
but of the dread instead.
Whom else but a poet (or discarded lover)
would sit in the rain and wait for tulips to bloom?
Other souls think it too impractical, too illogical, or
simply too wet to care.
Them who cannot taste the difference
between raindrops and a salty tear
may never know bona fide honesty
until they read about it.
© 2021 j.g.lewis
April is Poetry Month
all poetry all the time
right here
poetry every day
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.