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 . . .

pocket poem 2024

                 Current Thoughts

           Open your mouth, let words
   bypass lips. Converse consciously
   to brethren or bystanders.
       Reach out to
   close friends gone amiss.
       Be not afraid, not now, of
   articulating current thoughts and
   accomplishments of which
   you are proud, and even your sins
   (for we have all owned a few)
        might seem far less tragic
         from an altered point of view.
               Give fresh voice
   to insecurities and anxieties hidden
   within your self, speak highly of
      those dusty dreams
            languishing on a shelf.
   Past sullen moments cast a
   lengthy shadow, short-term
   expectations tend to dull down
   long-term possibilities.
      Talk freely around all you want,
   or hope, or desire to be.
      Each intention will resonate
      with those who wholly believe.
   Understanding takes effort.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

April 18th is Poem in Your Pocket Day
a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem,
carrying it in your pocket, and sharing with the
friends and strangers who cross your path.
Share a poem wherever the day takes you, as you
would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring.

April is Poetry Month
take a poem to lunch

cloud songs

        Our paths shift, circumstance and
              attitude shaping our trajectory.
   The company we keep alters both
       our outlook and destination.
           We are where we are
        mainly because of who we are 
                          and whom we are with.

 

04/16/2024                                                                              j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

A wish for words more delicate and 
refined will only lead to
an unnecessary edit, constrained curiosity,
and a smudge of indifference.
Emotions scoured from the page,
its patina reflective now of a chaotic mind, 
you are no longer (or never have been) 
satisfied with what is there.
Speaking freely, nowhere near the truth, 
a humane reaction may not be soothed.
Not always. No matter what.
No longer plain and simple. Perhaps
it never was?
You question the questions.
The flaws in your self can only add up
to a greater expression of your being.

04/15/2024                                                                                       j.g.l.

 

April is Poetry Month
flaws and all

 

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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Between The Covers

Posted on January 10, 2018 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

Don’t look for me amidst words I write
between the lines or in the night. My handwriting
always rough at best, the journal is a daily test
not to myself, as much as time.
The pages stained, the thoughts are mine.
Coffee spills or drops of rain, tears
in certain places, among streaks of blood
(paper cuts) are both things I’ve done, and
things I must.
Personal. Private, page after page, book into
book, rarely do I take a second look.
I can, when I choose. I write. Memories now,
or they will be soon, a thought du jour,
there is always room between newspaper clippings
and obituaries, postage stamps and all the necessaries;
the weather, the cities, the price of gas, a few jokes
and then, a certain laugh. I never know what
I will discover, as I fill the space
between the covers.
Inspiration from a tea bag tag, a picture from a
product tag, instructions to a game, a recipe or two,
the phone number of someone I once knew.
Stories of redemption, or reflection, coupons
never redeemed, wishes and promises not once
what they seemed.
Directions to a house I’ll never visit again. Excuses
or reasons I never explain. An expired lottery ticket,
a book mark now, I always wonder the when
and the how.
Concert tickets, and transit passes, accounts of
dreams now only ashes. A label from a bottle
of premium champagne, reminders I’m reminded of,
again and again.
Let’s face it, we don’t always remember, and in years
we never will. You can write them down and still
the history in the making, of interest to myself.
Only once a kiss and tell.
The journal is, essentially, a travelogue: inner thoughts,
outward concerns as I evolve. The pencil continues
to scratch, the words keep running. It’s not
who I have become, but what I am becoming.

©2018 j.g. lewis

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