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.
Category: Uncategorised
by Denise McQuiston
In my town the hillside
is graced with a Gothic Church designed in stone.
I walk the winding streets into the hills
and see the panorama of my town below.
This town was my destination and discovery
from 3000 miles West.
The 4 seasons pass here
in colors and seasons of their own time.
The days begin in rain, fog and forested mountain mists
just before traffic hits and coffee is poured to the masses
while trains rumble through.
This town is my element.
An old house, apartment or New England Victorian might sustain me
it’s the elements that call out to me and touch my heart
that are the comforts of what I call home.
by Carrie Hura
It’s the warm light pouring onto the lawn from a lightly curtained window
The sky just turning azure
Crescent moon hanging low but rising
A few bright stars sparkling even higher
As crickets chirp their last autumn sounds
The people inside are comfortable
moving about
Their evening routine
Thinking of nothing outside that window
The neighbors all doing the same
Down that block of Ford built bungalows
Some darkened windows
Not even home
Some out back, smoking in the open garage…a moment’s silent peace
Even the teenager in his first car coming home
music rocking
All in their safe space
Carrie Hura lives in the metro Detroit area.
Posted on October 2, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
We take this life not for granted, but one hour,
one day, moment by moment, not knowing when we
will no longer count. Displaced, you in your wisdom
continue the route among daily delusions and
deep-seated anonymity. Colours change,
green to amber, we rush ahead, instead of slowing
or stopping for the red and allowing traffic
to move along its hurried way.
Seldom still, we balance our lives on myth,
emotion and complications. The things we carry
become a burden.
Not often enough do we remove ourselves from the
concrete and corruption of a common urban existence
to seek comfort elsewhere; away
from city sounds we have become accustomed to.
Far away, there, where noise is noticed for
what it is, and mostly silence. Natural.
Birds, however small and hardly noticed, cry out
with intention and command our attention.
As autumn passes swiftly.
We take this time not for granted, but one hour,
one whisper, moment to moment, not knowing when
we began counting. At any point the weather will
take away the splendor we barely find space to absorb,
though we know we must.
Cold winds have been hesitant of late.
Call us fortunate, for now, yet not entirely.
We watch the sky, waiting for a sign, or a message;
one we may have been too stifled to observe.
Maybe the moon, as it shifts, with you beneath it, has
captured your fancy. You notice it more
in a nocturnal setting away from the day in
day out clamor of life, as you know it.
Each day given, each day taken,
should be an opportunity or reminder
there are lessons beyond this meaningful sky.
You pay less attention to the intangibles
and shadows of former thoughts.
We take this life not for granted, but one breath,
one season, moment upon moment, not realizing
how much it counts. We drift, not alone,
but separate among others.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
