If you tell me your name
             you tell me a history,
   abbreviated yes, but one
of decisions, dates and
       moments of significance
I know nothing about.
I too leave a shadow.
    My fears may be different
or diluted; this life treats us in ways
   nobody else would imagine,
                          or understand.
        Each of us
    will have questions
   We will always have questions.
It is human to want to know and learn,
    and listen.
    If you tell me your name
            I will tell you mine.
Then we will be equal
    and available to continue
           the conversation.

©2020 j.g.lewis

     Awoken by thoughts
            or a voice shouting on the street below
        or
               nothing

     3 a.m. or later
              window open    comfortably cool

this June rain makes more of an impression
   in isolation
                               silence challenges
both history and the future
   our daily lives and routines

   only a reminder
                   humans need humans

         Craving physical contact
we all need   friendship    security
compassion  and  hope

 We need more meaning on
        how we really spend our lives

The indisputable truth:
        All of us have sinned

Now we realize everyone needs
         Community

crisis or chaos
    we are denied

       guilt will find a place to rest

                  how do you sleep at night?

© 2020 j.g. lewis

George Floyd.

If you don’t know the name, you are not paying attention.

If you are not outraged you are not paying attention.

If you can’t feel the pain, you are not human.

If you don’t see the injustice, you have no hope.

I thought things were changing, but I can see how little they have.

Racism continues to go unchecked, but it is not unnoticed.

It is very black and white.

I’m sickened.

I am sorry.

I can’t say I am speechless, but I cannot find the words.

This was not in my country, but it is my world.

Hesitation is seldom efficient.
Moments become a weakness.
Alone. Struggling with the blur
from one day to the rest. You
try to see the hidden meaning.
Will you write the right words?
Finding certain rhythm, sorting
out time. Each step or notion,
guarded breath or concurrent
emotion. Seconds, then minutes,
comprise a day. No silence with
solitude. No path. Today. Clues,
random dogma, unclaimed truth,
passive aggression, as you work
your way through to the answer
in plain view. Mystery in the grid.
Seeking substance in this puzzle.
Will you look again tomorrow?

© 2020 j.g.lewis

I bought a guitar last week. By no means a spontaneous purchase, I’d been thinking about it for a couple of decades, even more seriously over the past year, or two.

I know myself too well to even think I could rush into a decision like this. A guitar requires commitment, and patience, and attention. You see, I am a Gemini and often plans, goals, or interests can waiver slightly or rapidly move from one thing to another. A passion one day can be a pain in the ass the next week.

A guitar is something to be appreciated.

It’s not that I don’t have some experience with a guitar. I took lessons a few times at different stages of my life. I was keenly interested in the instrument, up until I discovered the drums. After that, my kit was all that mattered.

Drums were the perfect instrument for teenage aggression but you learn, after a while, that they are limited. They are crucial for keeping the beat but require other instruments to be truly effective. Drums, on their own, are nothing but noisy. You can’t take your drums to a campfire sing-along or sweetly serenade your girlfriend. In fact, you can’t just pick them up and take them anywhere. Anytime.

I sold my drums decades ago. I suppose I sold my drums when I grew up. Since then, I’ve always wanted a guitar. I’ve always wanted to create beautiful noise.

I. Have. Always. Loved. Music.

With more time on my hands these days, like everybody else, it suddenly became important for me to pick up the guitar (again). I set a budget and began my search, clicking through the used ads and buy and sell groups. Music stores, or pawnshops, were not an option in these pandemic days.

I bought a German instrument, from the same decade as me. It’s got more than a few scuffs, scratches and scrapes, and needs a couple of adjustments and a new set of strings. But it is, or was, a quality instrument.

In my hands it felt perfect, for me.

I even remembered how to tune it, and most of the open string chords came back to me. Now, my fingers have not stretched like that in years, and the muscle movement (or memory) will take some time. But I, like everybody else, seem to have a little more time on my hands.

This guitar offers a promise. It is an inspiration. It might even be a distraction, but it’s been a long time since I’ve made some music of my own.