Clarity

03/17/2022

The view remained the same
for most of the day.
Yesterday.
Clarity never quite came.
Like darkness holding back
reality, morning will come
naturally.
When the fog lifts, will you
see the truth or the deception?

03/17/2022 j.g.l.

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j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

all right here…

Day by date, month into year, each letter adds up. Photography, poetry, fortune cookie philosophies, concepts, observations, unsolicited advice, messages of peace and simplicity; all right here. Daily, weekly, randomly demonstrating where I have been as much as where I will go and beyond.

04/02/2026

one into another

softly

snowfall

suddenly

coming to rest

stopping

silently sitting

a reminder

soon

it will melt

seasons

one into another

there

will be more

© 2026 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month

Leave a comment: one into another
03/30/2026

Mondays are just young Fridays

The ice and snow of the past season melt slowly, opening paths we have avoided through the winter or passed over anyway.

The ritualistic sounds of Canada Geese returning home become more obvious each day.

We pull lighter jackets from the back of the closet and might not even bother with winter mitts and hats.

Our landscape’s lifeless trees now seem to offer possibility as we wait for buds to form, the appearance of leaves, and then the full-on foliage of the canopy that will shelter us from summer heat still months away.

We notice these habitudes and happenings.

We follow these patterns like a promise.

Spring itself is a promise. Hinting of better days ahead, more daylight and an increase in temperatures, there is a resolve to make us feel better about ourselves.

Spring, right now, is the promise we need.

j.g.l.

Leave a comment: Mondays are just young Fridays
03/28/2026

fallow

Barren trees.
  The day’s rain now watermarks through dust on the hood of a car, unremarkable as the clouds.
  A Robin lands on a skinny limb, surveys the fallow for nutrition or nesting material, and then flies off. A pair of tiny Swallows flit across a lawn devoid of colour, last year’s leaves pressed into the surface.
  It is as much evening as afternoon. Daylight offers no real answers. It must be Spring.
  Hope is in the wind.
  We don’t notice the absence of birdsong until it returns, then wonder how we made it through the Winter. We long for warmer mornings when you sleep with an open window and wake to the joyous sound.
  We should make a point of listening, closer, to the birds. We should notice when we lose the sound to chilly winds, knowing hope will return.
  Pay attention.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

Leave a comment: fallow

03/31/2026

simple or complex

Is poetry written, or does it

write itself. Mysterious and

measured words lay plainly

on the page, further pulling

you into the curse, by line or

stanza or by verse. Poem or

prose; emotion flows naturally

from the shadows of birth and

death, in memory or breath.

April is Poetry Month

A cause for celebration or pause,

a month for thinking as, day by day,

it draws us closer to life’s meaning.

As simple or complex as you allow

it to be. Take some time to read,

to feel, to believe and see.

Mythos & Marginalia

fresh poetry every day

j.g. lewis

Leave a comment: simple or complex
03/29/2026

for a time

Last night I stepped back in time, an amazing opportunity that took me to music that was the strongest part of my youth, The timeline was all over the place (as were my teenaged years) but memories were vibrant, reassuring, and oh so inspiring.

Drummer Stewart Copeland brought his act: The Police Deranged for Orchestra, playing with the full Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra, local guitar god Joey Landreth, and three amazing female vocalists.

The music’s arrangement (or derangements, as Copeland puts it) totally captured the essence of The Police, the three-piece band he was part of into the ’80s for a seven-year history that saw it become the biggest rock band in the world, for a time.

The concert hall was packed. It wasn’t the same as when I watched The Police perform in this city more than 25 years ago, but I’m sure many of the other balding or grey-haired heads bobbing to the rhythms took in the same concert.

The music seemed to fit in with where I am now; I listen to more classical music than I do “new wave” or “post punk”`or whatever we called it then.

It was proof that great songs, performed in any genre or style, are still great three decades later.

I was right there. Remembering. For a time.

j.g.l.

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03/27/2026

dialogue

Leave a comment: dialogue