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

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.

all my flaws

Who can you blame?
Are the feelings unjust when a decision is a matter of knowing you must find fault or favour with the ill winds of change?
It is never enough to simply rearrange plans or predicaments. It is like making a prediction of all my flaws with my faith as fractured or fragile as it is, or has been.
Far easier to see what I haven’t been doing.

03/24/2023                                                                                                         j.g.l.

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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My January Breath

Posted on January 29, 2022 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

   Snowflakes. Only movement.
        Twilight comes until twilight goes.
      Daylight leaves too early. Swiftly.
      The deeper the night, the colder
           the darkness.

My January breath suspended,
         my thoughts wishing to go
    somewhere. Anywhere, other
        than here. A deafening
           winter silence.

       The air is slow. Still. Almost.
            Alone, even in the shadow
            of the streetlamps. Nobody to
                shield your ears from the cold
          or dampen the inevitable.

Pointless the task, reviewing patterns
    and paths carved into the cartography of
      the ego. Realization. What once was
            may never be. This season
               stays the longest.

Even with full sunlight. The wind,
    should it decide, rips through me.
Harsh. I am not here. Not really.
            Permanent as my
                 January breath.

Flurries obscure constellations and
the Moon. Isolation. The circumference
         of my being is reduced, Limited.
            Blinded by temporal beauty,
         or tears.

   Nothing has happened, or is
        happening. The brazen chill
   clashes with body heat, the atmosphere
       the victor. Obvious. The world
              still gets in your eyes.

Time agape with a grey known only
      to the night. A solitary trek through the
      ordinary. Undisturbed. Each step resonates
           the soul-crushing scream
   of a thousand snowflakes.

      Beneath winter’s fickle façade, the ice
   cracks, The fragility of the planet apparent.
Vulnerable. Each season has precious moments.
            Gone. Time stands still. This is
                   my January breath.

©2015 j.g. lewis

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