Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • awake enough

    If a star should fall tonight
    would you even notice?
    Beyond the bandwidth of your rationalizations,
    a succession of contradictions and explanations,
    would you mind or will it matter
    if a star fell to the earth? Would
    you even hear the shatter?

    Millions of people, like constellations,
    dealing with insurmountable issues of trust
    and faith, and complex relations,
    whosoever can take the time, find the conscious mind
    to pay attention to an innocuous occasion
    like a falling star,
    or the possibilities of such.

    How can we take seriously
    that which happens in the heavens
    while this planet demands so much attention
    to serious matters. Somewhere, nearby, a neighbor screams,
    the night is not quiet as it once seemed.
    If you slept through it all
    will the stars even fall?
    Who would even notice or wake to the sound?
    Does it even matter when you are not around?

    Always in darkness, we know not how
    to embrace it, or to end it.
    Should a star fall from the sky
    would you know who might have sent it?
    Are you willing to guess, are you willing to receive it?
    As we stay, as we do, entangled in temporary lives
    filled with perpetual motion,
    a star falls, and we seldom heed the sight or
    take time to amend our emotions.
    All of us stuck in the middle of something,
    nearer to the end, always in the darkness.

    When the star falls, cutting through the clouds,
    diamond-sharp edges tearing at the canvas
    of your semi-comfortable existence,
    releasing the inevitable. Blood drawn,
    spilling out, time and again.
    Would you recognize what is hidden,
    or understand the mind a falling star can damage?

    Your soul or conscience telling you
    what you don’t want to hear, thoughts teeming
    with contempt and abject fear. Wide-eyed awake
    still with no sight, making excuses to yourself
    for excusing another life.
    The galaxies you once noticed
    have turned their backs on you.
    One star, any star, any star will do.
    If a star falls from the sky,
    and it will,
    will it come close.

    Darkness ever strong,
    discomfort goes too long, likewise your shame.
    You can’t forgive your silence, or forget your
    indiscretions, as you shoulder all the blame.
    Destined to repeat past mistakes, time
    and again,
    when the star falls before you,
    will you recognize the pain?

    Should a star fall from your life, another
    luminary gone, and so too the brightness,
    will you slip back into the bottle?
    It has comforted you before.
    Can you close up all the curtains, again, and hide
    behind your door
    trying to banish all reminders.
    Will you try to validate your presence
    with another hand, replacing thoughts
    of how it happened
    with those you cannot understand.
    If a star falls in the night
    will you be awake enough to feel it?

    Let them fall, slipping hastily through the air,
    down, down,
    crashing down,
    let them see you there.
    Perhaps they will stick around, for
    now is never
    what was planned,
    and you know it rarely it is.
    If a star falls from the night
    is it worthwhile trying to find it?

    © 2015 j.g. lewis

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  • naturally

    We walk like thieves through sunlight and shadows, attempting to pickpocket the colours temporarily brightening our surroundings. Shades of burgundy, fuchsia, and tangerine. More than yellow and orange. Too soon this will be gone.
      It is like this each October. Random flowers still trying. Windblown leaves over cracked asphalt, in days soon to be wrinkled and weary brown, and then unnoticeable. 
      It’s only natural.
      Dew is soupy on the windshield in the morning, and soon we shall see our breath.
      The aura of Autumn; cooler breezes; short days, and those shorter yet to come.
      We move briskly through this season, trying to keep up with the changes, but our soul wants to slow, to even find the stillness we avoid in hectic summers.
      We seek comfort in woolly sweaters and the textures of our domain. The scarves and gloves that have been hiding at the back of the closet suddenly appear on the bureau, as if waiting to be pressed into action. We want to enjoy the present, but, habitually, fear the harsh winter ahead. It always is.
      Within our homes we organize, knowing we will spend more time inside. 
      It is nesting. It’s natural. It is our way. We seek familiarity.
      Even the music we listen to takes on a different tone. We react, or relate, to more contemplative lyrics, find melody in varied time signatures, or recall certain movements that harbour feelings of family, and justice, and togetherness. Even if we feel alone.
      Days move with the voracity of a poem, and we hunger for a place, a person, or a thing.
      Something. 
      Outside trees shed their leaves, and birds say farewell as they follow familiar routes. Naturally.
      It is time, and we watch it fly by.
      This is us. This is now.
    We look around, and we look ahead.

    © 2017 j.g. lewis

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  • day-to-day inconveniences

    How do you sleep at night? 
    Are you comfortable? Do you 
    feel safe? Did you lay in bed 
    and listen to the sounds of the 
    gentle rain, or did late night news 
    have you considering how fragile 
    this society has become. Maybe 
    you were restless and thinking the 
    mortgage payment might bounce, or 
    car payment? Were you wondering 
    where your child was, or if the 
    forecast might change plans for 
    Sunday’s golf game? There is so 
    little of this summer-like weather 
    remaining. Have you noticed the 
    chill as you open the car window 
    to pick up your morning coffee? 
    Do you feel guilty about the caloric 
    count of that extra donut? Did you 
    pack a lunch, or will you order in 
    or take-away. Did you wake up
    refreshed and ready to tackle the 
    difficulties at work, you know, the 
    issues of which we often complain? 
    Can you think of things you would 
    rather be doing? Are you planning 
    ahead, past these day-to-day 
    inconveniences, or are you okay
    living with the changes imposed 
    on all of us? How are you affected 
    by injustice and inequality, or is it 
    somebody else’s problem? Are you 
    wearing a mask to protect others 
    and your self? We all should feel 
    the impact of what life is throwing 
    at us. Do you understand we all 
    feel it differently? Or is that any 
    of your concern? Shouldn’t it be?

    © 2020 j.g. lewis

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  • versions of the truth

    Even my name will carry forward 
    to years I will not touch. This certainty remains 
    as truthful as it is obvious. We exist 
    in this fractured reality.

    We all will die.
    Admit that and you will move 
    more freely in this world.

    Journey or adventure.

    Most of us, week to week, are not aware 
    of a destination or even our path. 
    This has been my familiarity.

    No other person’s experience can be 
    compared to your own experience.
    We know various versions of the truth.

    Time is tactile.
    My hand will cup a breast only while my lips 
    have a taste to be quenched by lust, 
    or temptation.

    Others will touch, or wish not to be touched.

    Morals coat any decision made.
    Experience tells us so.

    Any human connection is hard; even harder 
    is loss of connection. Emotions are a commodity 
    shared with few, expressed by even less of us.

    Trust.

    The mind is never vacant, but a room muddled
    by darkness. This space hosts a scent
    I will remember after I
    am left for dead.

    We will all die; most of us alone.
    Admit that, and you will move 
    more freely through this life.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

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  • decidedly uncertain

               Should I stumble, as I am most certainly to do, pay no attention 
            to the rip on my trousers, or swollen bruise on my knee. I have many 
       more scars,     and they have become a better part of who I am.     As if 
           character marks on the surface of the antique table, or the 
     cumulative incidental nicks and scratches on a ’61 Telecaster 
                                        lessen the intended beauty and purpose.
           If I fall, and you discover me in the gutter, I will not need assistance 
     returning to my feet, but would appreciate 
            a hankie to dust off my skin, and perhaps a fresh bandage 
            to mask the blood spilling from within.
                  When, at a street corner, I seem stalled or uncertain, please 
                  pass me by. There is no need for directions, as 
       I am probably just deciding if it is choice or a chance. We come 
       across many paths, and they all move forward. I have an idea 
     where I am going, and might later become sidetracked, 
         or choose a cross street. You would be best thinking 
         I will someday find my destination, than feeling you had led me astray. 
     It’s not that I am above asking if uncertain, but 
                               I would find it more purposeful 
     to step ahead unknowingly, than to have you feel a burden 
     or responsibility.
                         Should we cross paths again, and you find me in repose, or 
               a terminal state of confusion, you would be better off continuing 
     along the cracked sidewalk. It is not that I wouldn’t enjoy the company, 
     it’s just that I cannot answer your why. Share a smile, however. 
                                                     I do collect moments, as souvenirs, 
                                      and what better way to remember anybody 
                                                    than to know you shed a little light.
                            Later, when you catch sight of me in a park; on the bench;
                     under a tree, near that fountain, with my camera, or a journal, 
            please leave me to my silence. Know that poetry 
     is having its way with me, and I have already shared 
     the crusts of my sandwich with the pigeons.               Generosity comes 
                     in many forms, and I am grateful for each of life’s experiences.
          As you take in this fresh autumn chill, do not be concerned 
          for my welfare. I will find the warmth, as I always do. 
     Yet, should you feel cold, or uncomfortable, do not hesitate taking 
     my sweater to cover your shoulders.                             The garment, 
     like me, may be tattered and frayed, but in it you will find comfort. 
                  Return it to me when it is no longer useful.     I have others.
          If I were to unexpectedly bump into you at the market, 
                and we are as surprised then as we had been when, 
                               remember how we once shared something, 
                                     and we are both better off because of it. 
                                                         We were not strangers, not then, not now.

    © 2016 j.g. lewis

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