Reality Check

June 11

Make it real.
Write down
your own
reality.
Watch it get
real.

06/11/2017 j.g.l.

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j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a decade of days…

2025 is an anthology of thoughts du jour, unsolicited advice, messages of peace, philosophy, poetry, and photographs from the past decade of Mythos & Marginalia. In unchronological order, the years not as important as the dates, each post a reminder (if only to myself) that I do indeed write every damn day.

April 13

morning coffee

Coordinates unclear,
the first wonder of a new day.
Open your eyes,
light diffused, a little confused,
gradually you wake. Go slow.
Morning coffee:
is there a better type
to wash away remnants
of the darkness that exists?
A cloudy day any way,
No need to rush.
You sit and settle
into this reality, every cell
of your being readjusting.
Recalibrate your emotions.
Don’t rush it.
No need today.
Yesterday no longer matters.

© 2017 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month

Leave a comment: morning coffee
April 10

poetry exists

Poetry in the present dictates
internal presence, deep regard
for a past only accounted for
line by line.
Words blur into one cohesive
attempt to detail or describe
lovers, past and present, and
even those who were not as
kind or considerate.
Emotions realized, only at
the time, replicated in a
straightforward voice.
Moments are accounted for
word by word. Poetry exists.
Our lives become stanzas
documenting only what
we remember.

© 2023 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month

Leave a comment: poetry exists
April 6

recipe

Equal part dawn and dusk, a dash of
diesel and tractor rust. A root of youth
which once was mine, fleeting glimpse
of that city’s skyline. One mouthful
of rain, a belly full of fire, a hint of
the envy I confused with desire.
An ounce of misfortune to keep you
on your toes, a whisper of the truth
that few people know. Swift whiff of
autumn and its soothing earthy scent,
seven crackling leaves heaven-sent.
Two hearty dollops of acute curiosity,
diluted by a cup of casual simplicity.
The naïve blush of an unsure teenager
standing only in her panties. A smile,
hallelujah on bated breath and bended
knees. A spade full of soil stolen from
Indian land, with six blades of tall
prairie grass from where Wal-Mart
now stands. A layer of dust off the
library stacks, nourishment from the
lunches my mother packed. Clavicle of
the lover who should’ve known better,
who gave only because she took, and
only because I let her. Six droplets of
her blood add opportunity to the mix,
ground into tongue of a lawyer, or liar,
and his big bag of tricks. A shot of
Southern Comfort to combat any fear,
and the shock of this Northern wind
and my reality here. Off the lakeshore
where I first learned to swim, a few
grains of sand and a dead fish’s fin.
Several of my obvious flaws tossed in
for good measure, with the shadow of
the full Moon I’ve come to cherish
and treasure. Three white tears to
consecrate my intention, and a fourth
for the secrets I neglected to mention.
Wax of a turquoise-colored crayon to
bind it together, cured with the wave
of an ancient Eagle feather. Not elixir,
but a potion for dreams so she’ll know
where I come from, and feel all I mean.

© 2017 j.g. lewis

Leave a comment: recipe

April 15

I can’t find my way home

I light a candle to illuminate
thoughts this world holds. Some
I cannot understand,
others simply trying to land
but hover instead. And this song
keeps playing in my head.

I can’t find my way home.

I feel there will be no peace,
not now, not among this culture
of shame and blame.
Not when you question others,
but refuse to question yourself.
Still I light a candle.

I can’t find my way home.

Just beyond the candlelight, I
watch days slip into night, amidst
a maelstrom of discontent,
you never know what is meant.
Look over your shoulder. Look
further through your past.

I can’t find my way home.

Fistfuls of violence, mouthfuls
of reality escape. Thoughts which
should not be free, peace
should not be a luxury. I strike
a match to light up a candle,
to shine a light for hope.

I can’t find my way home.

© 2017 j.g. lewis

Leave a comment: I can’t find my way home
April 12

it is now

trust spoken
on bated breath

the colours are about us

there is
no in-between

lives you never lived
words
often whispered

we reflect on the art
that gives us something to see

casualties
on the pavement
lump in our throat

it was everything
it is now
it is not

this bloodsport
we call survival
in a city we call home

© 2019 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month

Leave a comment: it is now
April 9

try to comprehend

countenance
my vision is clear

most of the time

i can see what is going on

past
present tense
and emotional graffiti
blurring my landscape

surpassing commonsense or

my peripheral understanding

of what is beyond
what is expected to be explored.

i look

daily searching for a message or
answer to existential confusion

yours and mine

it is a mixed up world
and we create a part of it

I can see that

as plain as they say
any damn day

what I can’t see
I will try to comprehend

© 2021 j.g. lewis

Leave a comment: try to comprehend