Rest your eyes.
You have seen so much
humanity and pain,
happiness or joy.
The eyes strain
to take everything in.
We see what is before us,
sometimes it is not easy.
Sometimes it is not all;
sometimes it is too much.
Our vision is not always clear.
We become weary
of dealing with it all.
Rest your eyes.
Give your soul a break.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
Expression as permanent
as breath on the mirror, but more captivating
when you think of it that away.
You can’t take it back, nor
leave it any longer, as fog on the glass dissipates
you realize another breath will follow.
Optimism reminds you to hold the thought
and not your breath.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I love opinion, even those I don’t agree with.
A good opinion shows character; and I mean a ‘good’ opinion not by right or wrong (or whether I agree with it) but by how it is expressed.
If a point of view is presented succinctly, mindfully, with conviction and personal belief, I can respect it (even if I don’t like it).
It is the wishy-washy opinions — those peppered with anecdote, references to assorted documents and dogma, quoting the views of others or reading off the script — that I have problems with. They are disingenuous, often cluttered, or conveniently slip off-topic by introducing argument and unrelated angles, as if they are not entirely certain.
I would prefer someone express no opinion than one that is half-assed or not fully thought out.
Say what YOU mean, but mean what YOU say: that is opinion.
It says what you stand for.
I’m of the opinion that if you listen to the opinions of others you will learn something.
If you listen to others, your personal point of view will be expanded, maybe even altered, or you will become more certain of your stance than ever before.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
So much is worth less now than it was even last week, or last year. Do we consciously recall interest rates, the power of the buck, or the sliding scale of humanity? Here we are collecting silence without interest or any semblance of knowledge. Our truth seldom realized, we mainly struggle individually, collectively, anonymously, hoping there is room for prayer in the dialogue we create, the stories we tell, and memories we count on to provide some sort of satisfaction to our give-and-take existence. Emotionally depleted, morally depreciated, we learn (or we have learnt) not to count on politicians, talk show hosts, or even your daily horoscope for answers or admonishment. Do we call this survival or another attempt?
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I grew up listening to music. It wasn’t really a choice.
My mother always had the radio turned on, or a record on the turntable. In our home it was her soundtrack that would set the mood of the day. Often I would hear her wonderful voice singing along; she could really belt it out. She was a mother who knew that music was best played at a decent volume.
Most of the time it was the big band music of her youth, and she was especially fond of Sinatra, but Mom would continually pick up popular records of the day and keep up with the times. The copies of The Beatles Blue and Red albums, that I now own, both have her signature boldly written on the front cover as if she was staking claim to the music.
Her tastes were wide and wonderful. I enjoyed some of the sounds, others took me years (or decades) to fully appreciate.
The point is, my mother exposed me to music, encouraged me to listen, to learn, and even to perform (she actually allowed a set of drums into the house). Heck, she even bought me a few albums (of my choice) before I had a job to support my habit.
A love of music was something we shared. It is a hobby/passion/obsession that continues today, long after my mother has passed on.
Mothers do this, and not just with music. It’s your mother who will probably notice your interest in something when you were a kid. It is a mother who will encourage you to take it further. It could be dance, or drama, reading, or hockey, but chances are the hobbies you enjoyed when you were young were supported by your mother.
It really doesn’t matter what that hobby was, what mattered was that your mother gave you a chance to discover, and to explore, an interest. In that way, it did matter.
Thanks Mom, I’ve still got the music in me.
© 2018 j.g. lewis