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 . . .

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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Posted on April 3, 2019 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

Coffee, fresh shirt, plans and rationalizations
see us through another day. So it goes,
each day commences with hope.
It has to. Something has to.
Deadly sins we keep within; bigotry, dishonesty,
infidelity. Silently, we weather a toxic environment.
We live. We learn. How long
until the coffee becomes bitter,
or cold? When will a shirt
become creased, or stained? Which knowledge is lost
and what remains? When do old habits return
as mistakes? Again.
Have we become complacent to lies we are sold,
or those we spit out? And we do.
Rarely do we say what we mean. Each sentence
a vapour trail. The previous, the past,
or the pathetic catches up by three, or by five.
This is how we live, or how we will die.
No aspirations. No sorrow.
Dawn to dusk, twilight then starlight. weary
or resentful, we will rest and repeat tomorrow.
Again. Hope returns. It has to. Faith.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

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Posted on April 2, 2019 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

We fall into the darkness
as we fall out from the womb:
naked, screaming, bloodied
by all that comes to us
as the light flows
off the Moon

Significant, simple conditions
keep us holding on: protection,
our Mother’s warm embrace.
Grace. Under pressure,
we are often lost,
we are not alone.

04/02/2019                     j.g. lewis

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Mondays are just young Fridays
Posted on April 1, 2019 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

And I,
without a pencil,
thought of myself
as weak.
I, without a pencil,
have lesser goals
to seek. Still I,
without my pencil,
hold a desire
to disclose thoughts,
decent or deviant,
depending on mood
or misfortune,
gains or loss.
Without a pencil
in hand, my
mind remains a mess,
though not enough
to permit me
to forget
a day, a scoundrel,
some lover, another
night or the one
to follow.
My shortcomings,
or solitude, I,
with or
without a pencil,

04/01/2019                                    j.g.l.

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