Who can you blame?
Are the feelings unjust when a decision is a matter of knowing you must find fault or favour with the ill winds of change?
It is never enough to simply rearrange plans or predicaments. It is like making a prediction of all my flaws with my faith as fractured or fragile as it is, or has been.
Far easier to see what I haven’t been doing.
03/24/2023 j.g.l.
We tire of unpredictable weather, the damp morning chill, wet socks and lost mittens. Winter keeps reminding it is not through with us.
We have suffered long enough.
The streets are tired and dirty and the time change only makes things darker in the morning.
We need a brighter view.
We need, now, the renewal that comes with spring.
03/20/2023 j.g.l.
Progress comes less from planning than participation.
Dreams and wishes require action and attention.
Start moving.
03/19/2023 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.
Devious minds, intimacy in kind, we
struggle with familiar strangers. All of us,
each one of them.
Discomfort is obvious, bewildering.
The greater the distance, the closer
it comes to moral destruction.
Ironically, we have lost so much faith.
Confidence or insecurity, one in the same,
depending on the view.
Wisdom found in the history books; rarely
do we crack the spines. Politicians and thieves now
the easiest marks. Poor excuses.
Everybody wants something, and somebody,
to blame. Vast nations of nobodies remain
unaccountable for perennial shame.
You can’t tell me anything, anytime,
that will make a difference. Why
would I listen?
I can be nothing, or nobody, to you
so I need not provide a reason. Fact.
Few have the information
Nobody knows. Few care. I am silent.
What can I say? Still you ask. Requests
fall on closed ears.
Noise. Always with the queries,
insecurity always there. Ever-present.
We know so little of each other.
I too have questions. Always. I often do
Tell me about your problems,
tell me about you
© 2018 j.g. lewis
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
– Emily Dickinson
