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 June 6, 2022 by j.g.lewis
Leave a comment
Little bird: sparrow, starling,
wren, or any such tiny creature.
Existing within the concrete
and clutter of the inner city,
seeking seeds, shelter, and
a place to call home.
Like all of us.
A song sounding familiar, a
story often told, it wants to
be heard. Shouting out to its
peers, or strangers passing by
on the sidewalk below,
it wants to be noticed,
like all of us.
Tiny birds, common but not
indistinguishable, some have
braved the elements. Struggling
through an honest winter,
patiently waiting for calm days
and the warmth of summer.
Like all of us.
06/06/2022 j.g.l.
I look up to the little bird
That glides across the sky
He sings the clearest melody
It makes me want to cry
It makes me want to sit right down
And cry, cry, cry
-Annie Lennox
