Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • we seek shelter

         uncertainty comes with change
                      in the weather

                         whether you know it
                                       or not

                the coming rain
                impending pain
                 all part of this life as we feel it
                                   as we see it

                       as we believe it to be

                             we seek shelter
                          relief from the constant heat and humidity 
                             of our days

                    exorbitant excess
                    we feel only regret

                                      an imbalance

                                                             if we have time
                                                           we seek comfort
                                                       if only in our mind

                     it is only uncertainty
                     all in all a probability

                       if we can live with that
            we can curb our expectations
                            whether we know it
                                       or not

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

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  • identity possibility

    Our identity is as much who we are, as who we want to be.

    Who we are; it’s complicated (I know I am) and every once in a while we need to remind ourselves of what makes us unique, interesting, desirable, and worthy.

    I am so many things; defined as much by what I do as what happens to be.

    I am, above all else, a father. The aspects of that role alone change, and will continue to change, as time passes. The importance is not lost on me, nor is it expected.

    I am a brother. I am an orphan of sorts. I am a friend. I am a lover. I am an individual, but I am part of something quite magnificent.

    I am not alone.

    I don’t subscribe to a particular religion, but I do have faith. I won’t simply cop out and say I am spiritual; I was raised Christian and I do not know enough about the alternatives, so, right now, it is what I know.

    I am open to change.

    I am Canadian. I was born here; it is what I have always known.

    I am curious. I am kind. I am present.

    I am aware.

    I am a poet and I am a writer. I choose to differentiate because the roles are not interchangeable, and I will flip back and forth depending on the mood or the muse. Words do not limit me.

    I am who I am, more than what I am.

    I am a historian in as much as I’ve learned the lessons of the past will, often, temper decisions I make about the future. I am here, and I will not go back there.

    I am flawed, at times fucked up, yet I see my shortcomings as opportunities to heal, to change, and to be more understanding of those who, like me, can easily be led astray (curiosity does have consequences).

    I am a sinner, and not purposely so. Perhaps “survivor” would be more apt. I have done what I needed to do.

    I am grateful, and I am ashamed.

    I am myself.

    I am a man, but more so; I am human.

    I am a possibility.

    I am many things. More importantly, I could be more.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

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  • shelter

    Once a field, now a park,
    once a sapling. Now a tree we only notice
    when we want to.

    Through years and decades; centuries
    this city has grown around it, sucking up 
    its precious oxygen.

    Burly limbs stretch out to shelter 
    in rains, shade from a sun growing
    hotter each day .

    Through years, decades, and centuries. 
    We notice only when
    we want to.

    © 2020 j.g. lewis

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  • meaning comes with age

       Summer doesn’t speak;
    it whispers a conscious melody
    to high-heeled fashionistas with open toes,
    sunburnt brats with runny noses, and
    old men who know
    evening air is sweeter
    when dusk has had its way.     Humidity.
    Sweat of the glass,
                                   Tanqueray and tonic
    will take away the pain,
    Mosquito bites, lonely nights
    sitting on an ever- creaky veranda,
    Dinah Washington crackles from the speaker.

    Suddenly you appear. . .

       Any other day
    flowers stand taller, like 
    the younger women strolling by,
    getting younger by the day.
    Watch them 
                           and wipe 
    the perspiration from your brow;
    the once-crisp handkerchief has
    soaked up many nights of lustful thoughts.
    Old men just grow older,
    the meaning comes with age.     Humility.
    Summer lasts as long
    as a savings account wastefully spent.

    Then you are gone. . .

       Over time
    most of the flowers will perish
    well before first frost,
    mostly from neglect.     Naturally.
    We will all grow tired 
    of looking at them,
                                    or forget the beauty.
    Our minds go to other places.
    Yet summer, in its capricious wisdom,
    will breathe again
    to those of us who will listen.
    To young women
    and older men.

    © 2018 j.g. lewis

    * selected lyrics from ‘Invitation’.
    Written by Bronislaw Kaper/Paul Francis Webster, 
    the jazz standard was memorably recorded 
    by Dinah Washington in 1962. Has desire ever
    been captured more sensually in a musical state?

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  • weather it is

    Time-treasured romanticism 
    of a soft summer rain; 
    stories told 
    again and again. 
    Gentle pitter-patter 
    against window glass
    like a teenaged lover. An invitation 
    to step outside
    when no one knows
    where will we go.
    Through the city, we walk on water
    across the cement. Mind the puddles.
    Soaked to the skin, 
    our spirits not dampened.
    Rain breaks the heat and
    maybe even the humidity.
    Whether it has,
    weather it is,
    for a time we forget where we are.
    We remember
    decades later.
    On a night like this
    with a rain like that.

    © 2021 j.g. lewis

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