Mythos & Marginalia

life notes between the lines and along the edges

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Posted on March 12, 2015 by j.g.lewis · Leave a comment

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J.G. Lewis

A writer/photographer living and breathing in the greater Toronto area.

original content and images © j.g. lewis.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.

a daily breath . . .

Natural State

Flowers remind us,
all at once, of beauty, of
fragility, and of the
colours that surround us;
even on those darker days.

Time, to a flower, is of
little consequence. Day
into night, they flourish,
until there is nothing left
but spirit and a shadow.

Life, for a flower, is shared
without compromise. We pay
little attention to how long,
until colour fades. A natural
state. All grace remains.

04/25/2019 j.g.l.

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
surrounded by colour

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Everything

Judgements

Questions framed
           as parables

Arbitrary assumptions

       acknowledgement
       of little worth

There is no clear
balanced history

I don’t want to lie
I can’t tell the truth

I know
            everything
            about you
that hurts

We both know
it isn’t you
it isn’t right
it isn’t true

                   Still

I can’t do anything
                with this
endless
             disappointment

04/23/2019                    j.g. lewis

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
everything and anything

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Mondays are just young Fridays

Damp, cold,
diminished. Weary
to the core. Lost or
misplaced; haven’t we all
known better days?
Very little left
to protect your self or
your sanity. Bones are
strong, the soul
is softer, less resilient,
capable of absorbing
truth and fallacy. Fact
is not always safe.
We have all
witnessed better days.
When the lowest low
becomes your highest
state, there is not
the tenderness required
of faith. We need
to be held to find a place,
we need the purpose
of today.

04/22/2019 j.g.l.

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
each and every damned day

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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 . . .

night thoughts 3:42

There is a whole lot of
bullshit out there, with, maybe,
even more misguided belief.
We blindly trust lovers,
and brothers, and
snake oil salesmen.
Perhaps I have been
one or another at some
point in my life, and still
cannot figure out how
an answer is contrived
without knowing, at 3:42 a.m.,
what you have to say.
What are you thinking, or do
you even bother considering
what you meant to me?
Are you so comfortable in your
silence, wrapped up in silken
dreams, that all of this remains
a mystery?

j.g.l.

Related
night thoughts 1:14

The Hissing of Summer Lawns.
Scratch of the turntable,
Joni Mitchell.
Playing at 1:14 a.m..
You tried to understand
the passion
of an older woman.
At seventeen,
Mystery was sweet.
Never
would you have dreamed,
and neither would you ignore.
Sometimes
I remember. It was
nothing to forget

j.g.l.

Related
night thoughts 3:00

Before I go home,
knowing my complex definition
has been altered by erstwhile
thieves and anxious lovers
(absolutely one in the same),
let me speak.
Let me speak.
No,
at 3 o’clock in the morning,
let me whisper
bygone intentions
I once believed, or was fooled
into believing.
I am a fool;
not am imbecile: a difference
not greater than thieves
or lovers.
It’s a theory that will
keep me awake
well into the night.

j.g.l.

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Only Wednesday

Wednesday sits naked
and ordinary
waiting

between the bookends of social Saturday
and restive Sunday. The day is
little more

than a cluster of hours or a stop on the
treadmill. Indecisive and
lonely

nobody chooses a Wednesday. Nothing
happens
on a Wednesday

and it’s the same each week.

Sept 11/01, a Tuesday. London Subway bombings: July 7/05, a Tuesday, also July 21/05,
and also a Tuesday. Assassinations: John Lennon on a Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. a
Thursday, and John F. Kennedy a Friday. Kurt Cobain’s body was discovered on a
Wednesday, but he chose his way out three days earlier. Nothing happens on a
Wednesday.

There are fewer concerts mid-week, and opening night is never a Wednesday. They
never open the Olympics on a Wednesday. Nobody gets married on a Wednesday.

Yet I will choose Wednesday, or I will start with a Wednesday. I'll begin with a page, a
place where I can plant my thoughts. I have many thoughts, each week, every day (even
on Wednesday), but I will commit to posting something once a week. There are seven
days to choose from, and I chose Wednesday.

Now I may post something else on some other day, I’m like that (a true Gemini). If I am
moved or if I have time, if the stars align or the moon gives me a nudge, or if something
is really bothering me, I won’t wait for Wednesday. But I will post something each
Wednesday.

Something will happen each Wednesday, every week. Right here. If you want to see, or
wish to be reminded, sign up. There will also be a daily breath (usually 140 characters or
less) and it will not be limited to Wednesday, but will, or should, arrive every day.

Until Wednesday . . .

-j-

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