This morning is
just this morning.
Last night
was only a night.
Where we end up is
as much a choice as chance.
A destination will look different
at the end of the day.
05/14/2024 j.g.l.
destination
Mondays are just young Fridays
This period of organic transformation, as seasons do what seasons have done before, is full of possibilities.
It is only natural to wonder what happens next as temperatures climb and the sun promotes growth, gratitude, and further change.
This is evolution in its most natural elemental. A beauty to behold, daily, hourly, seasonally.
Take the time to notice.
Enjoy it all.
05/13/2025 j.g.l.
human to the core
I have a good memory, one that allows me to disregard occasional unfortunate events and dismal challenges I have faced through the years and — when I need it most –— return to the bountiful periods of youthful happiness.
There I find my mother.
Positively selfless, human to the core, Mom had a practical wisdom that still shines through on occasions when I need good counsel, or if my spirits need a good polishing.
A gentle hand with forgiving resolve, and the most loving heart, my mother was my truest friend. She always seemed to find time for me, and knew when I needed it. My first teacher, the lessons I learned from her allow me to be the person I now am; flaws and all.
I lost my mother too early, and too long ago.
Technically, my mother was with me for less time than she wasn’t.
A mother’s love extends well beyond whom, or where, she is.
Her love is always with me.
I still feel her heartwarming presence, especially on days like today. I miss my mother, more than I admit, and cherish her memory often.
Today, again, I honour her magnificent soul.
Happy Mother’s Day
05/12/2024 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.
Pencils in past tense
Posted on August 10, 2023 by j.g.lewis
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I keep all my pencils, I have for years. I keep not only the long, skinny colourful delights, I save what remains; the nubs and mere shadows of the pencils that have served me well.
A pencil’s life is determined by usage, the firmness (or softness) of its graphite core, and measured by the number of words written on the page. Pressure is always a factor.
I prefer the efficiency of a pencil with an eraser attached. The pencil shows you how you are progressing, its eraser always a sign of how many (or how few) mistakes you have made.
When a pencil gets to a certain length and are no longer comfortable to use, I begin afresh with a new sharp tool.
I used to toss the dead pencils into a box, and then a larger box when it was required. At some point I realized my little friends deserved more than to simply be stowed away in a dark closet.
I now display pencils suspended in past tense in a series of glass jars. An artful display, perhaps, but more a reminder of what the pencils have done.
Don’t we all have a collection of things that matter?
I know many people collect pencils. They keep them whole and proudly marvel at the colour and design, but what’s the point of that?
Pencils were created to create and communicate. If they are safely kept in a drawer they are nothing more than potential.
I believe a pencil is more than that.
for a shadow
dead pencils
still leave a mark
salvaged from the litter bin
gave most of their everything
from within
now surrounded
by cigarette butts
salad oil tuna tins phone
messages hydro bills coffee
grinds orange peel
rotting spinach or kale
broken
shoelaces leftover pain
a sad refrain
still saving a few scant lines
of sentiment
for a man
and a night
and a poem
for a shadow
© 2015 j.g. lewis
