Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a daily breath...

A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .

damn truth

We do not touch the money, now
only digits on a screen. Ingredients
in our foods unknown, or what
scientists contribute to the scheme.
Price at the pump keeps going up,
still our cars can’t seem
to get enough.
Politicians are not worth knowing, or
deeds in which they partake, sin or
scandal widely-known, we
elect them anyway.
Damn truth be told,
between utter lies; they won’t salute
the dead, so many innocents die.
We won’t wash our hands, but
still waste the water
and share the blame.
We don’t care if we don’t want to,
our days continue just the same.

© 2018 j,g, lewis

sins and sorrows

04/11/2024                                                                                            j.g.l.

April is Poetry Month

Mondays are just young Fridays

Waiting for the darkness, but
not from the night. Waiting
for darkness to squelch the light
of the day.
Rare and strange and still
somewhat familiar, the Moon
caught crossing a path,
expectedly today.
Vision enigmatic, but solemn
and static. Naturally occurring.
We live with the darkness
however unnerving.

04/08/2024                                                                                   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.

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A Stinging Silence

Posted on July 29, 2015 by j.g.lewis // 1 Comment

_MG_8656

The radio no longer crackles
as it used to do
with
the lightening,
as
it happens.
Through the darkness
a voice calls out, Pagliaro singing to the broken and the lame.
                                                                                              Rain, rain,
                                                                                        rain showers.
The radio crackled in the night
sharp-edged static
then a stinging silence
before the thunder,
not but a few heartbeats.
The sky
opens up.
Thunder and lightening, touches the earth, as you feel shame.
                                                                                                Rain, rain,
                                                                                          rain showers.
The radio plays to the lonely
as it always has.
The moon
cowers behind vengeful clouds.
She, partially broken, is vulnerable
like you.
Still not there.
Unable to protect, as you thought she could, from all the pain.
                                                                                                Rain, rain,
                                                                                          rain showers.
The radio no longer crackles
across the airwaves.
Emotions, still fragile,
shatter
in the rain.
No one is to blame.
Strengthen my faith.
Let me live again. No longer broken, no longer tame. Not again.
                                                                                                 Rain, rain,
                                                                                           rain showers.
© 2015 j.g. lewis

They don’t make radios, or write songs, like they did in 1971. Michel Pagliaro still rocks.

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