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 . . .

Which way are you going?
What route will you follow?
Where will it take you?

03/31/2023                                                                                                      j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

The clock and the calendar move
forward incrementally, naturally
(as it should be) from a darker
winter we can’t leave behind to
something resembling spring.
In-between our seasons we take
whatever we can, where we are.
We have little choice.
A less-than-enthusiastic forecast
glares at me from a mobile device,
with greater chance of soakers
more than once or twice in the
week ahead as atmospheric rivers
come down to earth (a convenient
excuse for all it’s worth).
April showers still to come, as it
happens, as it is always done, we
keep moving forward step-by-step
mainly in spite of the weather.

03/27/2023                                                                                                             j.g.l.

of interest

your knowledge is
your currency

save up for what
you need or desire

there is interest
in your wisdom

03/26/2023                                                                                        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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April is Poetry Month

Posted on April 7, 2016 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

 

Enlight1

Only Beauty

 

A bouquet of the day,
but which day? At 2:37 a.m.
the only sign of life amidst
confectionary snacks, day-old
donuts, wiper fluid,
potato crisps and magazines.
Newspapers are day old,
headlines no longer bold
or relevant. Nothing
is fresh at half past two,
especially not the coffee. Yet,
here I stand beneath this brutal
florescent light, colours scream, a
psychotropic dream. A mind
numbed by promise. There
is only one purpose for
gas station flowers, the
only beauty available
at this God damned hour.
Until I show up at your door.
Beauty is where you find it, but
I want more.
@ 2016 j.g. lewis

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