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

Qualifying questions, remedial response.

Knowledge of situations often haunt.

What we know or have been told.

We tell ourselves we just don’t know.

Answers formed by thoughts untold.

Rumour and misinformation often sold.

Conspiracy theories tend to rule the day.

Bare truth and logic will get in the way.

04/22/2024                                                                                                            j.g.l.

pocket poem 2024

                 Current Thoughts

           Open your mouth, let words
   bypass lips. Converse consciously
   to brethren or bystanders.
       Reach out to
   close friends gone amiss.
       Be not afraid, not now, of
   articulating current thoughts and
   accomplishments of which
   you are proud, and even your sins
   (for we have all owned a few)
        might seem far less tragic
         from an altered point of view.
               Give fresh voice
   to insecurities and anxieties hidden
   within your self, speak highly of
      those dusty dreams
            languishing on a shelf.
   Past sullen moments cast a
   lengthy shadow, short-term
   expectations tend to dull down
   long-term possibilities.
      Talk freely around all you want,
   or hope, or desire to be.
      Each intention will resonate
      with those who wholly believe.
   Understanding takes effort.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

April 18th is Poem in Your Pocket Day
a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem,
carrying it in your pocket, and sharing with the
friends and strangers who cross your path.
Share a poem wherever the day takes you, as you
would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring.

April is Poetry Month
take a poem to lunch

cloud songs

        Our paths shift, circumstance and
              attitude shaping our trajectory.
   The company we keep alters both
       our outlook and destination.
           We are where we are
        mainly because of who we are 
                          and whom we are with.

 

04/16/2024                                                                              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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word upon word

Posted on September 2, 2023 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

Unorganized, like my life, I have stacks and stacks of words piled high.
   Hardcover notebooks and coil-bound scribblers with pages torn out or splattered with coffee, the cover crinkled or nonexistent, sticky notes peering out all over the place, their purpose no longer evident.
   A mass of words; random thoughts, heartfelt prose, messages of anger and liberation, or letters never sent. The skeletons of lonely poems are sketched out in some, partially presented prose full of rhyme and reason set out in others. This is my life.
   This is what I write.
   My handwriting as inconsistent as my days, it gets messy, it gets erased, sketches out a questionable trail, but I leave my mark. I hear the pencil press my soul into the paper. Sometimes I can hear the pain.
   I write. Often. All the time, and maybe not enough.
   While some of my works make it into a manuscript, essay, or rant, the rest of the notes rest silently between the covers. Right there, as sure as I am.
   I write things down to remind myself, perhaps for convenience, or maybe inspiration. I feel thoughts are better contained splayed out on a page than circulating through my mind (that can get dangerous).
   It doesn’t matter so much what I write as much as what I write into it. Details matter: questions to somebody who is not around, a laundry list of lost and found; theories that wake me at night, or delicious morning thoughts because I have them. There are disturbing missives when I can’t bare to say the words aloud, guilty pleasures are often allowed, and the remainder of the sentences and stanzas are held hostage. Until later.
       There have been magnificent ideas (at least at the time), or scenes that belong in a book of mine.
   I write out my life more for myself than those who are allowed a glimpse into this restless being.
   What then of those who do not write?
   What do people do when they think they have something to say? What about those who do not collect daring thoughts, or mundane messages that unexpectedly arrive? Do they leave memory to chance?
   Do they remember specific nights, purposeful conversations, a daughter’s encouraging words, or the events that seem to make it or break it in present tense?
   Do they not make plans, or set goals?
   How do they account for their sins, or the substance of their self? Have they none, or do they not care? Are they unconcerned about where they have been, or what they have put themselves through?
   Or why? How? And what about the when, as it changes over and again?
   I spend unaccountable hours writing for me and my accountability.
   I write not for proof, or validity, but to simply ensure these voices I hear have space to breathe. Thoughts without a place are uncontrollable, but give them a home, a notebook or journal, and they will behave (to a degree) for a while.
   I write because I want to read my own depth (which can be both narrow and flat, but entirely mine).
   I write because I need to write.
   I write because I don’t remember what it is like not to write, and I don’t want to forget.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

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