Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

etcetera

  • a reason to see

    To read poetry is to escape from the depths and doldrums of everyday life and to take a place among words and emotions that make life bearable.
    I carry with me in my bag, everyday, a book or volume of poetry; a purposeful exercise that allows me to step away from boredom or the corporate bullshit that all-too-frequently envelopes my day.
    Poetry, whether I’m reading or writing, grounds me. 
    It allows me to be who I am.
    It allows me to see who I am.
    It allows me to take some time and make it mine.
    Often I don’t get enough time, but a few lines or stanzas of a poem is enough to reflect on where I am, or deflect the attitudes or algorithms that attempt to corrupt my humanity.
    Poetry is a reason to be; poetry is a reason to see the world and wonder of where we are.

    01/27/2019 j.g.l.

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  • all of this

    Movement, not always motion. Steadfast in  
    my intentions, I will seek a deeper understanding, 
    not always evident, or available, in the moment 

    Somewhere not far behind these sullen thoughts, 
    materialities of bygone days will eventually creep  
    into patterns I wish to avoid. 

    I have been here before, mentally or spiritually. 
    Geographically it does not matter. 
    The streets continue to blur on by.

    Alone with my consideration or apprehension, 
    I can only try to look beyond the days, behind 
    shadows of the ever-present aftermath.

    I am trying not to do anything I have done. 
    Before. All of this. Still constant conviction 
    haunts me, as it often does. 

    Why should this evening be any different? 
    Only the direction has changed. 
    I am going to, instead of coming from. 

    © 2024 j.g. lewis 

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  • there

    When the fog lifts
    will it show what it hides
    inside
    our comfortable homes
    and uncomfortable lives

    When the morning lights
    will we see what is
    within
    our tangible disappointments
    and inequitable sins

    When the night moves
    will you still find me there
    will you
    offer your wisdom
    or a cold vacant stare

    © 2018 j.g. lewis

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  • uncertainty

    A proverbial line in the sand, twists and bends
    a rubber band, ideals and morals
    stretching and straining
    until it snaps.
    You, there now, wondering
    what to accept.
    Everything you hope, along with
    anything you don’t
    blurred.
    No tears, not that you will admit, still
    the vision is not clear. Where you are,
    what can you see?
    It can only be
    uncertainty.

    Within our dead wisdom and cluttered minds
    boundaries are defined, so we can know
    who to allow
    into our lives,
    or how far we will let them go
    before we say no.
    Always within the shadow of the question,
    exorbitant explanations
    were true before,
    but now?
    Was it not evermore? What we don’t see
    cannot hurt us, still the pain resonates.
    It can.
    And will.

    Have you forsaken those with a powerful presence
    for fear you will be crushed? Are you not
    strong enough?
    You won’t know until you try.
    Do you compromise your self
    for a quick rush, to see how it feels,
    did you like where
    it touched? A temporary crutch?
    Promises may have been illusions,
    or may have been true.
    Grieving dreams,
    you second-guess the honesty,
    a reply to which
    you won’t believe.

    Is darkness looming at the door, or
    is it light? It’s been there before,
    and the vices chosen
    to medicate
    and the thoughts once used to meditate
    don’t take away what is there.
    You look both ways, crossing
    a road travelled many times before.
    Will you open up the sturdy door?
    Or question how you will, or did,
    or can
    have the courage to ask. With
    more trials than tasks,
    what will you accept?


    © 2016 j.g. lewis

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  • observations

    I can’t be the only one who notices the stray flashes from car headlights, shadows, and shifting colours of traffic lights mirrored in the morning’s gentle rain. Can we think of another way to describe time — the moments we live – as it routinely happens, as it so often does, and we pay such little attention to sidewalk snow as it melts, obscure reflections in storefront windows, a continual din of morning traffic or children making their way to school. Do we notice parents seemingly focused more on take-away coffee? Observations. Baseball caps and yoga mats, packsacks stuffed with what is required to make it through the day, this procession moves forward (as do I) of little consequence with the canopy of night shape-shifting into reality. A yappy attention-seeking puppy breaks up the minutes and seconds that have passed without notice. The animal barks like nobody is paying attention. 
    I am.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

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