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 . . .

Mondays are just young Fridays

With the wars, chaos and conflict, and proliferation of hate speech that surrounds all of us right now, it is difficult to subscribe to the familiar mantra espoused in this season: 
Peace on Earth, good will to all men. 
   We can only wonder if this will ever be possible. More so, how have we even believed for so long that it could ever be probable. Globally or locally, peace and good will are notably absent from our lives. 
   Few of us are even in a position where we can affect enough change, and those who have any sort of ability are caught up in fruitless negotiations within the politics of it all. 
   Hatred has too much power 
   Love thy neighbour; who even tries? Locally or globally is anyone attempting? I do not wish to sound pessimistic and know there is nothing I can do personally to resolve the global catastrophes and calamities, but I am going to do what I can to create, or acknowledge, peace in my own little world. 
   In these coming weeks I intend to connect with family and friends who have been there when I needed them. I will reach out, even to those from a distance, to let them know I am thinking of them and what they mean to me. I should have been doing this long ago, and more consistently. I have neglected thanking people when I should have.  
I need to be more thankful. I need to express my gratitude more often than I have been. 
   We can all do such a thing, even if it is something as simple as sending a Christmas card, dashing off an email, or picking up the phone. 
   We can all pick up the peace.
   Yes, there are big problems on this planet we cannot avoid on the news of the day, but by making a daily attempt to reach out to those we care about our world can become a little smaller. 
   I believe we can find our own peace even in the absence of probability. 
   I still believe that peace is possible. 

12/04/2023                                                                                          j.g.l.


be proud

Personal accomplishments,
practiced perseverance,
following your own voice
even as it becomes muffled
by the world surrounding you.
Pride is not often easy, but it
is always possible.

12/03/2023                                                                                                 j.g.l.

tis’ the season

Make this a month
of substance. Sparkle
with the season. Reflect
back the light of those
who make all our days
a little brighter.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
other times
dull or
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

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No Warmth No Welcome

Posted on February 3, 2016 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

_MG_3424 - Version 3

Eyes wide open
in the dark, blood rushing, pounding heart. Still I cannot see.
Can you believe, will you find relief
walking down once-familiar streets?
Before light to the darkness of the dream, or the dawn,
or the dread,
now only streetlights. I wake. I walk, I wonder.
Halogen hum overhead, the only sound, above scorched earth
or snow-covered ground.
Only one reason for being here, everything else
is gone.

Let me sleep.
Let dreams whisper. I’ve got thoughts, which must come out,
I shouldn’t need to shout. I cannot listen.
Below a moonlight serenade, the homeless search
for shelter and sustenance, while new lover’s trade
behind the door. Promises not shared before.
Not with each other.
I wander. These were once streets, bursting with kindness.
The sidewalks, now, little more than foreign, there is no welcome here.
Not in the way it was, as I left it.

Do you take
what is there, take the care, or do you wait to lay your heart
before the soul who once listened to all you know,
and found comfort. In my voice there was enough,
yet now it is torn with edges
What was still is. Or is it? There is value in a thought.
A struggle with contempt
of dreams I might have spent, but not wisely.
There is no warmth. I will go back from where I came,
my presence will remain.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

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