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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Anything Anymore
Posted on April 30, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

Silence amidst the screams, vacancy, space between darkness and dreams
beyond paisley skies, red velvet mistakes, and muddled remnants of
happenstance and half-lived Tuesdays.

Neverland tenements where landlords fail to repair cracked windows,
broken pipes, and the noxiously rhythmical drip, drip, drip of the sink.
You don’t care anymore.

Deadbolt locks designed to keep your self safe from yourself, or
your type. It gets harder to have faith when held sway by misfortune and
the troubles you create.

Awake, if hardly asleep. Ridiculous notions, infractions on lustful wishes
meant to placate the mind during desperate times or validate your existence
as a lover, has-been; one or the other.

Somewhere in this middle-of-the-night existence, 4:23 slips away, as
only 4:24 can. Time less subjective than one can imagine. Down the hall
the television knows only one volume.

Unfettered anger thrives in this sort of dive, trash bins overflow with
long-forgotten get-rich-quick schemes, recycled promises, and the pursuit
of happiness. Or something like it.

Consumption remains a tireless game, complete with ill-conceived products
and yesterday’s shame. Tomorrow (really today) won’t promise anything anymore.
Less to discover outside any door.

Black noise in a white noise sort of way. Continual reminders of not being alone in
this awkwardness. You hear the echo of booty-call passion in the bedroom above.
It doesn’t mean anything. It never is love.

Sunrise, even sunset, less reason to see. It keeps you awake for another day. Time
even less subjective than it was an hour ago. Close the door on a short night, look
for another reflection in the mirror.

Underneath the pizza crusts and bad fast-food choices, empty calories and
abandoned wine bottles, a Bible sits in a box you never look in. You can’t deal with
the guilt. Or the lies.

©2017 j.g. lewis


poem in your pocket
Posted on April 29, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

                  a thought

       abstract thoughts
                       infinite time
         or is it

               the space between

      now and when

         the last time
   we spoke or touched
                 or smiled

   do we grieve

           the space between

     then and when
                 we manage to

        avoid each other
   not by fault
   not without blame

       nor lack of trying

       just a thought
   for this time
         to get past

           the space between

       you and I

©2022 j.g. lewis

April 29th is Poem in Your Pocket Day, a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem, carrying it in your pocket, and sharing it with the humans who cross your path daily.
Share a poem where ever the day takes you, as you would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring, and we could all use a few more caring thoughts (and poetry).

April is Poetry Month
sharing is caring



Your Cluttered Thoughts
Posted on April 28, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

How many relationships
have been remembered, or explored,
in the attempt to forge a perfect poem?
Memory reminds you of your place.
It doesn’t matter, now or then,
who devised your initial reaction
to the many sorry mistakes.

How many regrets,
how many evil thoughts, forsaken
sentiments or countless untruths
have you counted on, or encountered, in
an effort to scratch out your prose into
a form another human may accept, yet
allow you to go on living?

How many mornings, how many
pencils, how much coffee, has been wasted
trying to find the right word?
Each purposeful letter you surrender to
a page has been there, here, or
elsewhere before.
If only your cluttered thoughts.

No poem is perfect, even those from bards
you envy or admire. They too had faults
as countless as your own.
It is through collective imperfection that
we learn and continue learning.
Without flaws we have so very
little to write about.

© 2022 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month
we’ve been here before