Poetry By Lesle Lewis

Hendrik Luup CC



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Sambuca 


You say a thought is not a thing, but it is a thing.

Thoughts have thingness.

They are born and they grow, do things, fade, die.

One drunk thought runs his car into the river and he has to walk home.

One thought has too much to carry.

One thought sings on her porch.

So happy she is!

Sometimes her eyes fall onto the floor.

So sad she is!    

Some thoughts are just rolled up pieces of paper.

Some lie on their backs and contemplate the difficulty of their being.

Once they think about a nightcap, they can’t not have one.





Oh August!


Reality is an obligation.

 I’m quietly resting in it.

I add an ever to a what: life is whatever.  

Also a conundrum.  

And it isn’t even everything.

Opposites rub each other out and then there’s nothing.

Ah, to put even a tiny new thought into the nothingness!

Oh August!​



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Lesle Lewis is the author of six previous poetry collections: Small Boat (2003), Landscapes I & II (2006), lie  down too (2011), A Boot’s a Boot (2014), Rainy Days on the Farm (2019), John’s Table (2026) and two chapbooks: It’s Rothko in Winter or Belgium (2012) and Hydrogen (2025).  Forthcoming collection:  Survival of the Fittest Pronoun in Sept.  She lives in Alstead, New Hampshire.