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 . . .

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.

Mondays are just young Fridays

We tire of unpredictable weather, the damp morning chill, wet socks and lost mittens. Winter keeps reminding it is not through with us.
   We have suffered long enough.
   The streets are tired and dirty and the time change only makes things darker in the morning.
   We need a brighter view.
   We need, now, the renewal that comes with spring.

03/20/2023                                                                                          j.g.l.


Progress comes less from planning than participation.
Dreams and wishes require action and attention.
Start moving.

03/19/2023                                                                                                         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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Tea and Dust

Posted on April 9, 2022 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

I am old, he said,
not in regret but as fact.
Tea splashed on the table as
he tried to offer hospitality. All
he could afford. Too many days
between pension cheques,
not enough time to enjoy them.
His smile was genuine,
teeth brown or broken.
I have no milk. His head shook.
His hands shook.
I take it clear, I replied.
A smile again, not as long
but very real.
revolved around
a story he heard
on talk radio,
or memory.
More tea?
He spoke about dust, as if
it meant something; where
it travelled, why it settled.
Everything begins in the wind,
he paused to catch his breath
or to let the words find
a more profound meaning.
It never lets up.
He was old.
His small room smelled
of cheap aftershave,
stale cigarettes, and loneliness.
He welcomed me, regularly,
as he would anyone
with time to spend.
It was all he could offer.
Tea and dust.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

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