Morning observations rarely register
as we wake and wander our way
through infant hours.
It takes a moment for
the mind to come alive while
the gravity of the day settles in.
We fail to notice little things,
considerably more substantial days ago,
perhaps once meaningful or spiritual,
now displaced as the second hand
of the wristwatch sweeps onward.
Afford yourself opportunity
to be distracted by butterflies, soon
a scent of lilacs, freesia, even the taste of
spring rain or requisite morning coffee.
In days so rent with common
occurrences, look beyond
what is there.
05/02/2024 j.g.l.
cloud songs
Mondays are just young fridays
This search for wholeness, an
unforgiving quest to find a
natural state in a world of
compromise, deceit, and fate.
My self, my view, my impulse
or intention too far beyond
what I am or have now.
Deep thoughts, a deeper longing
for an uncomfortable truth
mainly comprised of falsehoods.
What is behind this fragile shell?
What has it done to protect me?
04/29/2024 j.g.l.
by any other name
More obvious than DNA, presence
or personality: identity. Individually,
names are given out by someone else,
by family or memory. Titles awarded
before character is developed,
without our knowledge.
A voice we live with. Should you
call out, what will you hear? A name:
in the end, all we are left with. Goodbye.
What you remember and often forget.
Introduction requires random thought
of specific examples.
Fingerprint fact and interpretation, a
name, birth date, statistics, history always
living proof of every step taken, up until
now. Evidence you are all you believe in,
selfish presentation of self-image, under
circumstances that change along with us.
Do you represent what others might think?
How well do they know you? Would you
be any different under any other name?
Will that person remain the same as you
if it were true? Hello. Ask yourself.
It is a hard title to live up to.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
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
A holiday Monday: the final day of a much-needed (and much-appreciated) three-day weekend.
We need more days like this, a day where nothing is as it usually is and we can use the time to do the things we’ve been trying to do but haven’t been able to make the time to do them.
I’ve got a desk that needs more than a simple uncluttering (in fact, an entire office that needs more than a little organization), more than a few chores, but most of all, I have several letters to respond to.
It seems, these days, I can’t find the time during the week to reply to letters from regular letters writers (certainly more regular than I have been lately), so given that today is a free day, I shall do just that.
I am a letter writer, I like to say, but lately haven’t been writing as many as I should. I got a start on one letter yesterday, but yesterday (like so many other days) turned into a day where I didn’t do what I intended to do. It was another day of incomplete intentions and, in reflection, I’m still not sure why.
So today is that day, unplanned or not, that I shall write about what’s been going on to the people who took the time to write and tell me what is going on in their lives.
Letters are a wonderful way to share thoughts and tales of the now and then, and a joy to read, especially when you take the time to read and respond.
Today is that kind of day and I’ve got so much to say.
02/20/2022 j.g.l.
