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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Ask The Impossible

Posted on April 24, 2021 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

Don’t talk to me at dawn. Caught up in whispers
of residual dreams beyond my control,
I’m not always ready for a new day, and
frequently have difficulty comprehending
where the night falls.

Morning is not the time for words
if the night has come before. Every breath
a struggle. I wake. No heartbeat. No. No talk.
Blinded by sight and sound I won’t hear
the meaning, or the message.

Give voice to my days instead, where I won’t
see your reflection, but will feel the wonder above
the cacophony and confusion
that terrorizes an otherwise
monotonous day.

Evening’s long shadow laps up scraps
of humanity. I pay less and less attention as
the planets close in. Considering your many renditions,
I await your arrival. Any night. What shade
will you be this night?

Then is the time, when distance fades, where we tell
each other stories. Little else matters, and we ask
the impossible. Inevitably darkness
consumes me, until you become
less significant.

Through nights, when I’m restless, when dawn
is simply a concept, don’t waste your words on me.
I will not hear them, promises or otherwise,
or find the light, or time, to
see your lips move.

Dawn reveals serious wounds, time misspent
and misplaced words. Where morning hints
of the night before and I may not hear your call,
don’t talk to me at dawn,
or talk to me at all.

© 2015 j.g. lewis

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