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.
Month: May 2017
Our Mothers form the deepest roots of our memory. A bond like no other, mothers gave us life and continue to nourish our souls with wisdom and words.
I find a poem each year; one that pulls at my emotions and, maybe, calls up my loving Mother’s enormous spirit.
Dorianne Laux’s poetry often speaks to me, and the more I familiarize myself with her body of work, the more I recognize the motherhood theme so deeply ingrained in her poetry. Laux speaks as a mother and of her mother.
I hope you enjoy The Ebony Chickering as much as I do.
The Ebony Chickering
My mother cooked with lard she kept
in coffee cans beneath the kitchen sink.
Bean-colored linoleum ticked under her flats
as she wore a path from stove to countertop.
Eggs cracked against the lips of smooth
ceramic bowls she beat muffins in,
boxed cakes and cookie dough.
It was the afternoons she worked toward,
the smell of onions scrubbed from her hands,
when she would fold her flowered apron
and feed it through the sticky refrigerator
handle, adjust the spongy curlers on her head
and wrap a loud Hawaiian scarf into a tired knot
around them as she walked toward her piano,
the one thing my father had given her that she loved.
I can still see each gold letter engraved
on the polished lid she lifted and slid
into the piano’s dark body, the hidden hammers
trembling like a muffled word,
the scribbled sheets, her rough hands poised
above the keys as she began her daily practice.
Words like arpeggio sparkled through my childhood,
her fingers sliding from the black bar of a sharp
to the white of a common note. “This is Bach,”
she would instruct us, the tale of his name hissing
like a cat. “And Chopin,” she said, “was French,
like us,” pointing to the sheet music. “Listen.
Don’t let the letters fool you. It’s best
to always trust your ear.”
She played parts of fugues and lost concertos,
played hard as we kicked each other on the couch,
while the meat burned and the wet wash wrinkled
in the basket, played Beethoven as if she understood
the caged world of the deaf, his terrible music
pounding its way through the fence slats
and the screened doors of the cul-de-sac, the yards
where other mothers hung clothes on a wire, bent
to weeds, swept the driveways clean.
Those were the years she taught us how to make
quick easy meals, accept the embarrassment
of a messy house, safety pins and rick-rack
hanging from the hem of her dress.
But I knew the other kids didn’t own words
like fortissimo and mordant, treble clef
and trill, or have a mother quite as elegant
as mine when she sat at her piano,
playing like she was famous,
so that when the Sparklets man arrived
to fill our water cooler every week
he would lean against the doorjamb and wait
for her to finish, glossy-eyed
as he listened, secretly touching the tips
of his fingers to the tips of her fingers
as he bowed, and she slipped him the check.
©Dorianne Laux
Happy Mother’s Day
Posted on May 13, 2017 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Absent mind,
rushed with time,
of course
I stopped for coffee.
Mad dash, car splash,
soccer mom
in SUV
rains its temper
all over me;
currency of
the shame I’m in,
payback
for my recent sins.
Bus is late, or
was it me
suffering
in my complacency.
Exact fare,
last of my change,
Thursday
morning,
a royal pain.
Cramped seat, soggy feet,
disgruntled look
on each face I greet.
Mismatched socks,
two shades
of grey, certain to be
that kind of day.
Off to work,
all kinds of fuss,
umbrella left
on the bus.
©2017 j.g. lewis
Poem Kubili is an international
companionship of poets with
a common love of writing and
reading poetry. To read more of
of the group’s collected works
visit poemkubili.com
Posted on May 12, 2017 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
This week a woman reported that she smiled at “a lot of people” one day and it made her feel better as a person.
A friend of mine, yesterday, Retweeted a quote about a smile and, upon reading it, I smiled. It was a Martha Stewart quote, and I’m not sure if the sentiment made me smile, or if it was a thought of the person who Tweeted me, but either way, I smiled.
It felt good.
I’m not sure I smile enough.
I’m not sure, at times, that I . . . or we, as a society, have enough to smile about these days. Or maybe we don’t smile enough, so there is less to smile about.
We’ve all heard the credo that it takes less muscles to smile than it does to frown. Or the phrase ‘turn that frown upside down’.
I’m not going to get into my convoluted theory of emotions when just the thought of a simple smile will do. There is no need to complicate such a wonderful expression, and one of the easiest ways to brighten a day.
A smile is a powerful thing. Simply allowing a smile to grace your lips will change your view of the outside. Inside it will release specially-flavored hormones that will deepen your reflection of the world.
And it will deepen and brighten the lives of those around you, even total strangers.
It’s a reciprocal thing,
We all need more to smile about, thus we all need to smile more.
How about this weekend (like beginning right now) we all make a point of smiling more.
Smile at your family, or coworkers, at the barista, that grumpy IT guy at the office, or the cop on the corner.
Smile at your boss, or her boss, or the panhandler who hits you up every single morning (it might be time to give him something and smiles cost nothing).
Just try, just this weekend, and let’s see if we can spread a little more joy and happiness.
It never hurts to try.
Smile by smile, one at a time,
we can make a difference.
SHARE YOUR SMILE on
FaceBook, Instagram, and
Twitter. Like + share, Tweet
and ReTweet those who will
do the same, tag your friends.
Use the hashtag #smile
(let’s keep it simple)
I’m on Twitter @sayit4word
Add me, and I will be certain
to #passiton
