original content and images ©j.g. lewis
a daily breath...
A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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logical and chronological
Don’t talk to me at dawn. Caught up in whispers
of residual dreams beyond my control,
I’m not always ready for a new day, and
frequently have difficulty comprehending
where the night falls.
Morning is not the time for words
if the night has come before. Every breath
a struggle. I wake. No heartbeat. No. No talk.
Blinded by sight and sound I won’t hear
the meaning, or the message.
Give voice to my days instead, where I won’t
see your reflection, but will feel the wonder above
the cacophony and confusion
that terrorizes an otherwise
Evening’s long shadow laps up scraps
of humanity. I pay less and less attention as
the planets close in. Considering your many renditions,
I await your arrival. Any night. What shade
will you be this night?
Then is the time, when distance fades, where we tell
each other stories. Little else matters, and we ask
the impossible. Inevitably darkness
consumes me, until you become
Through nights, when I’m restless, when dawn
is simply a concept, don’t waste your words on me.
I will not hear them, promises or otherwise,
or find the light, or time, to
see your lips move.
Dawn reveals serious wounds, time misspent
and misplaced words. Where morning hints
of the night before and I may not hear your call,
don’t talk to me at dawn,
or talk to me at all.
© 2015 j.g. lewis
Independent, a loner, or
part of a community.
Enabler, imbiber, victim
or survivor. How do you
Me, myself, or I.
She, them, or why? People.
I am human.
What are your pronouns?
Occupation or gender, by
country, religion or race;
it’s not all black and white.
Questioning or queer?
Who we are
is how we deal with
what happens every day.
It changes along the way.
Do you consider yourself
a consumer or a provider?
If you can fool others, are
you not then deceiving
Who are you?
I come about my inadequacy
naturally. What I feel is like
nothing else. Honestly.
I am nobody. We all are.
Even when we are something
to someone else.
I am somebody. Like you?
I‘m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
‘If you want to win the teddy bear, you have to break the rules.’
Advice from a panhandler, a regular,
outside one of two coffee shops. People come and go,
tedious ebb and flow of those getting by; life in this city.
Daily she is here or there, barely warm coat,
hands clasped in prayer, paper cup and her frowzy blanket.
Where she sleeps is often a wonder;
women’s shelter a block over, or congregated
rooming house. Downtown. There are many not far away.
‘Any spare change, anything helps.’
Passersby, some smile, others won’t. Many don’t
look down. Not everybody stops, not everybody walks on by.
A quarter or two, a coffee or crumpet. Here and there.
More or less.
Sight smile from an everyday face that has braved cold
winter winds, scorn and rejection. Her life harder than
the dirty concrete where she sits. Every day.
Empty stomach. Little promise. Few possibilities.
Some other day.
Some other time, the world was different.
So was I.
So was she.
Society does what it does.
We rarely know
who breaks the rules and do not question those who make them.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
all poetry all the time
poetry every day