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 . . .

to be shared

traditions
family customs
recipes passed on
one generation to the next
memories
gifts from the past
to be shared
in the present

03/29/2024                                                                          j.g.l.

cloud songs

    Kismet, naturally or unexpectedly,
holds sway on this or any other day.
       If we choose to notice.
       If we permit ourselves to linger
a moment or three in a transitive state 
between elements of darkness and bright, 
           morning quells emotions and
   disruptive thoughts we once embraced.

03/26/2024                                                                                     j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

Dented, bruised, scuffed up and circumstantial, the imperfections are obvious.
   It goes past superficial.
   Seeking more than a cover-up, healing is necessary.
   Hope is less than present but needed, so I try to do what I need to do. Each attempt to repair the damage that is done — the day-in-day out flaws that have become ingrained in my psyche — is another step.
   It takes effort. It takes encouragement, and it takes understanding even if I can’t completely comprehend the history that led up to the marks on the façade.
   I need to do the work.
   At times trying is the best I can do when I know I want to do better.

03/25/2024                                                                                                  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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Where Is Here

Posted on November 26, 2022 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

In any language, a scream is a scream,

a cry is a cry, and a tear

a tear.

At a sidewalk café or concert hall,

laughter should be laughter, and music

should be heard. In a civilized nation,

life should be lived without fear,

and with the freedom

to enjoy simple pleasures,

to give, and to love, as we do.

 

Think not of them, idealistically, but

of you and of me. Life, and our

civil lives,

now compressed to fight or flight.

In any language, on any night,

thoughts remain

bursting with pain, the

shadow of terrorism rising

again. In every country, our hearts

have been crushed.

 

Restless night, clouded by sorrow and

the news. The images, and views,

the questions,

the why, and why there. Again,

why? Knowing, without question,

it could be anywhere. The streets are

not safe, not tonight, in any country.

Where is here. You cannot see, or

comprehend inhumanity. Not on

that scale, or of that type.

 

In every language, evil lurks, unexpectedly

displaying its brutal cowardice. We cannot

be shocked,

for it happens, on so many levels,

in so many countries, to many people

on too many streets. Blood is blood.

Knives at home, elsewhere guns

or worse. We see it. We know it.

Yet, on a global scale, our minds

are numb.

 

Hatred begets violence, justice benign

against those who chose to

use themselves

as weapons of destruction. We

are not safe, not there, not here.

These damaged souls believe

in what they believe; wholly

and without question.

If there is no understanding,

there is only resistance.

 

Prayers, or a hymn, cannot be offered to

unbelievers, for they will not, or chose not,

to listen.

Guided by spirits, their Gods, and dictators

who know nothing but this atrocious devotion

to another type of mankind. Historically

and now, they cannot know love

or recognize the value of

a human life. For they

cannot be human.

 

Grieving, raging, and still, beneath our

confusion, above our cries for revenge

or retribution,

lies a love, unpronounced but unfolding.

A heartbeat, sympathies and empathy

to the powerless struggles,

in every language. We, as a civilization,

in any nation, must stand

united in our sense of humanity,

and do so with a fortified will.

 

We must continue believing in love,

and hope, charity, and trust,

and peace.

Right now, however, there is so little

to those words. We must have faith,

in what we believe, in every heart,

in every body. Difficult to imagine,

but we must. To deny

this resurgence of compassion

is to give in to all this terror stands for.

 © 2015 j.g. lewis

 

 

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