How It Felt

April 17

Enchanting distractions
conjured up in adolescent fantasy
or tremendously tedious math classes,
albeit fascination.
Initial attraction. Opposite sex.
     You begin to notice.
     Long ago.      Remember?
We run through images at night,
even a month ago. recalling wet dreams,
Ninth Grade goddess, slight overbite,
and a couch in the basement, after
a junior-high school dance.
Waltzing then,
     holding another body
     as close as you could.
Nights In White Satin
Stairway To Heaven
The longer the better. Fumbling
with opportunity, taking liberties
as much as chances.
After the dance. Each of us.
     Feeling. Like it mattered.
Permission denied, then granted.
Breath of consent with closed eyes,
nervous smile.
     Teenagers. Enthusiasm greater
than experience.
We didn’t know what romance was, or
the meaning of sensuality, or ecstasy.
Or lust.
     But we knew how it felt.
As we grew older, did we forgot?
     Except in our dreams.

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
let the soul wander

our experience

More of a feeling, we see ourselves from
the inside. What does the mirror reflect?

Do we see ourselves as we see others?

Only will we know our experience, yet we
all experience the same seven deadly sins.

Some more than others.

How do we deal with knowing as little
as we do about how someone else feels?

Do we truly know how we should feel?

Of course there is pride, as sure as there
is greed; or envy and the wrath of all that.

There is no delicate balance in this life.

We lust for others. We live for ourselves.
Do you see others as you see yourself?

What do you feel today?

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January 2

too much to live for

As we tear the cellophane off a brand new year and look forward to what will come in the weeks and months ahead, it’s only natural to set goals and intentions. It is what we do as a society; common practice for our lives and times.

We make resolutions to find deeper sleep, exercise more, eat better, save more money, and complete all those things we have started. Often, in doing so, we set ourselves up for disappointment.

I’m not going to make any resolutions this year. Yes, I’ve got things that need to be tended to, and so much stuff in a perennial state of ‘almost done’, but I’m not going to make an exhaustive list and cave under the pressure of expectations.

Instead I’ve set a motto I hope will carry me through the year: Try to live tomorrow a little better than today.

It seems pretty simple to me. Each day I will try a little harder to get stuff done, I will try to communicate better than I have in the past, try to be a little kinder, and I will try to enjoy things that come my way without overthinking how they came to be.

I will try to make each day a little better.

Now, I’m not sure there is a quantitative method of measuring my progress, and I’m not really going to look for one. Don’t we already have enough checks and balances built into our lives? And as soon as you attempt to put some system of metrics in place, it just becomes a numbers game.

I am going to let my emotions and feelings determine how the day has been, or will be. I will make an honest, authentic attempt daily in some way. I will try because trying is the only way anything will happen.

The moment you stop trying is the moment you begin dying, and I have far too much to live for.

We all do.

01/02/2017

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January 8

impractical imagination

Left brain. Right brain. A delicate balance.
A left-handed Gemini; no stranger to controversy, but
I can’t take sides. I dart back and forth regularly between
a practical reality, where I must live,
and the fractured imagination where
I want to be. And I, a dreamer, know this. We all dream,
of course we do; there you find other people, and you.
Déjà vu.
We’ve been here before.
Pyjamas in bed, most of the time. Insomnia.
You question the whys.
Never settling for the answers, there is always another way.
Another sleep (when else would we dream), another day.
Imagination can soothe.
Practicality will confuse.
My imagination is as practical as my every day is creative.
This is my choice, my voice, and where I choose to live.
I’ve been here before.
I will come back often.

“An idea is salvation by imagination.”
-Frank Lloyd Wright

© 2018 j.g. lewis

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January 5

the ugly truth

We can listen, now and again, and believe the answers and the reasons (or the truths) are right there, caught up in the commotion of the daily dread or tangled with the rancid emotions of what was said.

Between the multiple-choice answers laid out, the excuses we make up, and a whitewashed history reformatted by ever-changing algorithms, we struggle with undisputed ignorance, illusions of someday, and the pumpkin-spiced-reality of all that is wrong with advertising.

We try to take precautions because we have all become accustomed to impositions, disappointment, continual infringements on our privacy, and the errors of the day.

The expansive nature of circumstances beyond our control have whittled down our objections to the lucid facts of fake news, arbitrary transgressions of those who should know better, and the next new thing.

The ugly truth is that we follow certain hypocrisies and condone behavior that insults our fellow beings, and ultimately ourselves.

01/05/2018. j.g.l.

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January 3

like this day

Sixteen times per minute,
twenty-two thousand breaths
in a day. No time
like the present.
There are no other excuses, but
there are always other ways.
Breathe. Choose today
to speak up when you can,
push out the latent sorrow,
guilt, and anguish
only you can understand.
Inhale. There is no life, no
oxygen, like this day. Despite
our selected perceptions,
there is not a
single breath to waste.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

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