What gets left behind
with our unmade minds
forever rushing?
What do we leave behind
if we did not take the
the time to notice?
What is no longer mine
because neither you nor I
could take our time?
12/02/2024 j.g.l.
look around
Be thankful
for what you have, for
what you have to let go of,
and for those who are still
with you. Gratitude comes
in many forms. Look around.
Be thankful.
j.g.l.
cloud songs
It is only silence and only
for now, a minute or three
but who is counting?
Enough, for now.
Slight Repose, a little grace,
enough until you have
found your place. Might be
morning, or the end of the day,
yet it is time to yourself anyway.
For now.
11/29/2024 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.
unforeseen origin
Posted on April 3, 2024 by j.g.lewis
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The greater the body of water,
the more questionable where a wave comes from.
Pebble in a puddle, a most obvious start,
a drip from a drop. Ripple resonates, doubles, then triples.
Evermore a pattern.
The bigger the lake, the more we can see.
Surge and swell on a monumental ocean
changes with the sunset, seaside tide, or a notion.
It ends on the shoreline,
from where does it come?
Unforeseen origin, man-made or natural?
On the stillest of days, wind hardly a whisper,
you will notice a rhythm but rarely the source.
Undertow and currents may alter your course.
True flow you may never know, shining surf leaving you
in its wake. What will it leave behind for another day?
© 2024 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
you will notice a rhythm
