Beyond insomnia, no
longer imagination, and
still questions.
The Moon’s mystery
need not keep you awake,
not when there are so
many earthly concerns
to occupy your mind
at 1:18 a.m.
Full Moon illuminates
our world, even through
clouds, even days later,
a sacred glow that sheds
no light on the difficulties
or dilemmas we face
time and again.
Often there are no answers.
The mysteries of the Moon
need not keep you awake,
but they will keep you alive.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
Always words I wanted to say.
Even now, they can’t stain the page.
Whys and whens, I might never know
if I don’t say,
if I couldn’t find the words, or some time,
to ask my father.
Forever a distance I could never cross.
More than a few steps, questions lost,
ifs, ands, or buts, I dared not to mention.
How could I, then?
Or now? If I didn’t find the time, or the words
for my father.
There have always been years, months and days
I never found the time, or the way.
The fault is mine, tongue-tied.
Can I speak, now?
Or ever? Time is a barrier to words
with my father.
A love held back, not purposely so.
It’s my fault, I know it’s there, I’ve felt it grow,
still I can’t, so it seems, make myself known.
How can I, now?
How would he know? Does he? Do I
know my father?
There is a will to utter sentences in my head,
to say what needs to be told, has to said.
I’d like to think he realizes what holds me back.
I understand him less,
than he knows me. How can he?
He is my father.
I was supposed to ask, supposed to say,
but never did. Was it meant to stay that way?
The clock has expired, true nature of time.
Words unspoken.
Unrealized. Thoughts remain mine.
Not my father’s.
Did he know why I needed my time?
Questions then would always remind.
Maybe he thought it best I find the answers
on my own.
It’s probably right, words meant to remain
with my father.
© 2015 j.g. lewis
It doesn’t take Fathers Day
to remind me what I have
that makes life as sweet as it is.
I have a daughter, and every
day I am blessed.
I have only one child and know
not the experience of raising
a son, or multiple children.
I know that I could, easily,
share my love further but,
perhaps, am spared the
decision on which way, or
how my attention would be
divided. I am blessed.
Whether it is a daughter, son,
or any multiple combination
thereof, I hope you’re reminded
of the love you are a part of, and
a love that continues to grow.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
I don’t do umbrellas.
Well, I do… or I have, but it is always a temporary thing.
It seems I can never keep a bumbershoot in my possession.
Who knows how many I have lost, or misplaced, or left behind at unknown points along my journey? I have purchased, been gifted, and found more umbrellas than I dare to count. Many have been abandoned in cabs, coffee shops or cocktail lounges, business meetings, funerals, hotel rooms, or hanging on the coat rack at some soon-forgotten lover’s apartment (I do remember the quick getaway in the pre-dawn hours, only to be reminded by the downpour on the wet tenement steps the moment I got outside).
I will not spend another dollar on something I am sure to lose again, the money far better spent on lottery tickets where there is an even greater chance of a return.
Instead, on those mornings where rain has arrived or is threatening, I choose to don this old reliable Tilley hat that my father gave me some 30 years ago. With an almost umbrella-sized brim (protecting my eyeglasses from errant or evident splish-splash), it is ugly, utilitarian, and utterly useful; with hands-free convenience, it does what it is supposed to do, promises nothing more, and is there when I need it.
I haven’t lost it yet.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
I am broken,
I have been for a while.
Possibly, maybe, I have
never been complete, yet
I am whole
in ways only
my fractured self
can comprehend.
Look within.
It is more comfortable
to understand your self
than to be misunderstood
by others.
Truth.
The whole truth.
© 2018 j.g. lewis