The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 j.g. lewis
Slow down: even with the ideas that come to quicky. Take the time to acknowledge the feelings that arrive, as they arrive.
Write it down. How else will you remember what you were thinking?
Print neatly. You hardly understand the thoughts at the time, why make it more difficult to comprehend weeks or years from now?
Follow your own logic; only you need to truly make sense of what is happening, or all that has happened.
Pay attention to the lessons of the past. Be mindful that not all are worth repeating.
Clarity. Make corrections as you go. Flaws become more difficult to correct the longer you live with them.
11/14/2024 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.
My mother passed away 30 years ago.
I almost wrote that I lost my mother decades ago, but in so many ways, she is still with me. I feel her presence now; how could I not, my mother was all about love.
She loved me, I know; she loved all of her children individually and collectively, giving more of herself to each one of us, supporting us, providing for us, giving us the home and the family she believed we needed.
It was a beautiful family. She was the spirit.
My mother was the support system for the entire family. She was from the last generation of homemakers, a time where being a mom meant being at home. She was there for us: my father and his professional life, my brother, my sister, and me.
My parents encouraged involvement and creativity. They were both understanding parents who allowed us to pursue our desires and interests (hell, they allowed a set of drums – mine – into the house).
My mother was happiest when her children were content. She was there for us, anytime, all the time. She was dedicated, to us.
With three children intensely involved in a wide range of activities and competitive sports, my mother and my father involved themselves in our pursuits as a means of being involved in our lives. My mom was the one you could hear shouting the loudest at volleyball games, track meets, and on the ski hill. Yes, even in those -40 degree Manitoba winters, she was the one who was standing out on the course cheering me on, or my sister, or any of our friends. She was the mother who would drive a station wagon full of kids to track meets a couple of hours away on a regular basis.
I always knew she was there for us. My friends always knew she was there for support. She was that kind of mother.
She taught me that being involved in your children’s lives was the most important thing a parent could do. It was a lesson that became so obvious when I became a parent myself.
I always wanted to be there for my daughter. I knew the importance of being there. I was taught well.
When my mother passed away, I remember how difficult it was telling my daughter, barely three, that her grandma has died. My mother had a heart condition.
I ended up telling her that Grandma’s heart was so full of love that it just couldn’t keep up.
My mother had a big heart.
I miss her dearly, but still feel her love; especially today.
01/03/2020 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.