Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • this eighth month

    It stops.
    Dreams, planted and paid for, dissipate with the season.
    The eighth month,
    forever a period of turmoil. 
                                                    Imbalance.
                                                    Injustice.
    Always.

    The heartbreak of August.
    Always endings, always there.

    Goodbyes believable, stories told from sixteen onward,
    a laundry list of sorrows, added items along the way
    from a boy to a man, to whomever I struggle with now
    and again.
                                                    I don’t know.

    I live with it. This eighth month. August. I have naturally learned 
    to accept. My prescient nature, not always accurate, but available,
    should I choose to pay attention to the whispers or my conscience.

    Often choices are made for me, although
    I continue believing you are where you are
    because you ended up here.
                                                     Can you know?

    This is not the season to hide, this eight month forebodes.

                                                     Always.

                                                     August.
    As quickly as it comes.
    As quickly as it goes.

    Unhappiness fades away, with flowers, with memories,
    with that freedom that comes from shorter midnights.

                                                     Soon to change.
                                                     September soon.

    Calendars need not remind of weeks, or
    years gone by. Each month has a purpose.

    The sky sits lower.

                                                     It waits.
                                                     It knows.

    © 2018 j.g. lewis

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  • Patrician Grill 10:29 a.m.

    mid-morning

    breakfast special
    served until 11

                   later than usual
    for me
    eggs
            as always

    sunny and runny
    home fries and bacon

                  no coffee today

            pandemic quiet

    traffic is slow
    before lunch

            it never used to be
            like this

                   everyday fare
    Patrician Grill
    nothing fancy since 1953

    good food

    there 
             when you need it

    2020 j.g. lewis

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  • leave a little room

    In my pack I carry a notebook, 
    day planner, a paperback, often
    my camera, occasionally a 
    sweater, usually a sandwich, 
    and always a piece of fruit. 
    These are the things required 
    to get me through the day.

    In my mind I carry thoughts, 
    a never-ending to-do list, 
    residual dreams, a purpose, 
    memories, and lessons 
    I have learned thus far. 
    Hopefully it’s enough 
    to get me through life.

    Travel light, or as light as 
    possible. It’s pointless 
    carrying around too much 
    baggage, or too many things 
    that hold you back. You 
    should know what you need 
    to keep moving forward.

    At the same time, always leave 
    a little room for the unexpected. 
    Whether it’s time, space, or 
    mindset, you have to allow for 
    new thoughts, adventures, 
    people, and the treasures you 
    may find along the way.

    © 2015 j.g. lewis

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  • the seconds between

    We seek shelter, a leafy tree, 
    tenement steps, even pressing closer 
    to a random building
    in hopes we may be spared.
                      It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
    Ignoring the signs, we forget the distinction 
    between lightning and thunder,
    not counting the seconds between,
    or caring. 
    Overcast, overcome with the immediacy 
    of the moment. Summer weather 
    a reminder of the turmoil we live with, 
                                  or clouds we live under.
    A day as promising as a politician’s smile, 
    just as deceiving. Unnoticed, but not 
    unexpected. Forced, 
    by chance, to deal with inclement emotions 
    and torrential pain. Crushing humidity, 
    atmospheric pressure bucking 
    under its own weight. Our thoughts 
    hold us hostage. 
                            Days rarely go as planned.
    Night will come, as surely as our breath.
    Here we are, huddled with strangers,
    waiting out another storm.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

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  • dormancy to reality

    If the first meal of the day 
    is the most important, 
    so too shouldn’t be
    your first thought?

    We wake, come alive 
    to a new day, refreshed. 
    Fresh. 
    The mind springs 
    from unconsciousness, 
    breaking free of dreams 
    and the complex thought 
    it has toiled with 
    through the night.

    As you slip 
    from dormancy to reality, 
    after you clear away 
    the residue of all 
    the nocturnal clutter, 
    what thought 
    remains standing?

    The unconscious mind 
    is often better able 
    to resolve 
    life’s complications 
    outside 
    of one’s awareness.

    Now, mindful 
    of what needs 
    to be addressed, 
    how will you 
    proceed with the day?
    And how 
    will you make today 
    better 
    than the day before?

    © 2015 j.g. lewis

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