Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

  • twilight

    Edge of darkness,
    dusk signals the forthcoming night.

    Fears settle, or are intensified.

    As a child, my Mother called out my name;
    a sign the evening was done.

    City streetlights had just come on,

    it was time to come home.
    Dusk, then, signalled security.

    Twilight marked the beginning of the night for a teenager.

    Time to spread seeds, share youthful conquests.

    Adolescent dreams came alive.
    Turn off the headlights.

    We grow up at night,

    learn the pleasures of another human’s body;
    young women (or older)

    who will, in many ways, turn you

    into an man.

    By nature, and by choice, you discover how
    your body fits into another.

    After dusk you learn

    the secrets of the night. And responsibility.

    Morning’s light will bring a new reality.
    It was not always what your mother said it was.

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

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  • only arbitrary

    So much to be answered for. Our expansive experience,

    over months, quarters, decades broken down to moments

    only when you think. Often, we don’t. Memory not always

    faithful, not in hindsight. Affected we are more by what is

    to come, always to be. Unseen. Realization or recognition? 

    Knowing, not beholding, perception rarely accounted for

    as we passively slip down some bothersome rabbit hole of 

    unclassified information. It’s never what we need to know, 

    but absorbed and appreciated for what it is. Trivia: traces of 

    useless facts important only arbitrarily. Knowledge surpasses 

    what we need to know, only when it isn’t so. Truly. Doubts 

    and disbelief are tangible transactions, but only as factored 

    into common denomination, erstwhile realties, utter guesses, 

    undue speculation and assimilation of questionable meaning.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

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  • pursuit of fact

    In depth and volume, eras documented 

    on parchment. Pages. In print. History: all 

    that of which we know and all that is still 

    to come. 

       Observed. Witnessed, noticed, or 

    imagined. Can we know the truth in books 

    of bygone days? Is it so because it is said?

       Might we wish to read further?

       Will distinguishable valid accounts exist, 

    similar or otherwise? Might not questions 

    arise, after the times we have experienced 

    or those we have not? 

       Ask. 

       The pursuit of fact is an earnest journey 

    amidst the lies we live with and delusional 

    excuses for what went on. Really.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

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  • not always true

    Imprisoned within, yet continually or selfishly 
looking beyond perceived boundaries or margins
that hold me in place.

There is rigidity of my construct, whereas I have
long determined my shell is more flexible than
I have imagined.

It is the shape I have long occupied. What I say
and feel, and what has veritably taken place 
remains my primary personal confine.

I am not always as open to change as I really may be,
yet continue living as if this is not always true.
That is now what I accept.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

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  • missing

    Has it been weeks now or months since
    you disappeared? We noticed. Not uncommon 
    for you to stay away overnight, a time or two, 
    exploring the neighbourhood you were a part of.

    Our lives, years ago, blessed with a tiny stray. 
    Here you made a home. You became part of a family,
    growing into an adorable beast in your own way.
    We grew, learned, and lived with your personality

    Your playful ways entertained and, occasionally,
    angered. We allowed you to cuddle on the couch
    or sit in our windows to gaze at life beyond.
    You chose your place. In our comfortable lives.

    You were only a housecat when you wanted to be; 
    around when food and water was needed, or the 
    comfort of our bed. Through the seasons, it was always 
    warmer in your presence. We were happier then.

    You had your place; you occupied many spaces
    in our hearts, our yard, and beyond all of that.
    Summer days spent basking in the sun on the deck, 
    outside the window, where we knew you were safe.

    Adventures far and wide, occasionally you would 
    return with a mouse in your mouth, a gift for us, or 
    with deep scratches and cuts from a scuffle with 
    another cat as you defended your territory.

    Your winter wanderings were, mainly, unknown to us. 
    We saw only footprints in the snow; the ones that never 
    returned. Outside of this home your world was vast, 
    and ours is much smaller without you.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis




    Leave a comment: missing