Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • I Can Smell Spring

    Today’s rain washed away most 
           of the evidence of winter.
    The water has spilled over the river’s banks
           but is receding.
                                        The air is fragrant
           with the change of season.
           Maybe it is because the dust has settled for a bit
           but I could smell spring as I walked the streets.
    At one point, this afternoon, it was like nighttime
           in the middle of the day,
                                         the windshield wipers kept time
           to the rhythm of life.
    This evening, however, just after the sun had
           disappeared altogether, low-lying clouds 
           hovered just above
           and in patches.
    Stars shone through the clouds
           like freckles on a lover’s skin, peeking out of the 
           crisp sheets.
                                  Spring brings optimism
           and hope.
    You hear people on the streets again,
           they too are pleased.
           Just wait for summer.
                                 I can feel peace,
                                                                can you?

    © 2006 j.g. lewis

    Image: Wet Prairies
    Artist: Steve Repa – 1977

    Almost 20 years ago, in a journal, I wrote this for my daughter. The early spring of then
    evades us now; perhaps soon. Seasons may change, but poetry remains, as does optimism and hope.

    Leave a comment: I Can Smell Spring

  • misinterpretation

    view obstructed by silence 
    mind stimulated with a promise of progress
     
    patience knows the pain of uncommon effort
    not quite meeting expectations
     
    occasionally pieces fit
    more often by luck not skill
     
    a pattern is not distinct
    misinterpretation defies logic
     
    any valid solution thwarted by
    an inability to see the complete picture 
     

    © 2024 j.g. lewis

    Leave a comment: misinterpretation

  • a knowing unknown

    unforeseen shard of fuchsia,
    fibril against the monotony
    of the day.
    fleeting
    before the ashen dome
    shuts
    for the night.
    just enough to satisfy, a
    need for brighter landscapes.
    traces of optimism,
    or hope,
    just enough.

    interior lights pressed into action,
    exhaust spews into the damp chill
    of the city.
    swiftly
    as night falls, so too the
    mercury.
    last gasp of winter.
    seasons end, another begins, a
    need for warmth.
    we seek optimism.
    or just
    enough hope.

    cold dark thoughts relegated to
    the intricate concealed wrinkles
    of the mind.
    painfully
    we accept the totality of our loses
    hopefully
    forging new perceptions.
    new thoughts, and language, a
    stronger need.
    brittle optimism
    may be
    enough now.

    time changes, we too, in increments.
    the night inevitably lost to dreams
    of serious moonlight.
    quietly.
    did we not notice, do we not
    care?
    one less hour. one step
    closer, the prelude, a
    knowing unknown.
    perhaps warmth,
    optimism, or
    just enough hope.

    © 2015 j.g. lewis

    Leave a comment: a knowing unknown

  • pre-dawn confusion

      Awaken the night 
                                                                            feeling a fire,
                          new moon of fortune, new moon desire.
         Headlights randomly spray 
                                                  stray light           in the wake
         of a few restless souls, little left 
                                                                                 to forsake.

       Window cracked slightly, aware of the noise,
     discounting discomfort, confronting a choice.
              A season of change and mysterious ways
              growing weary of colour,
    and 
             tired of the days.

    A breath wholly taken in the good name of fear,
                   exhale in silence, 
                             the silence found here.
    Winter is going, but never soon enough,
    it’s the waiting for the waiting that
                                            makes it so tough.

         Test pattern sheds light on the night’s darkest hour
         before pre-dawn confusion from a much higher power.
         Sanctimonious lessons in a stiff designer suit
                                      no lack of words, she knows what to do.

                           Obey, 
                                      fall in line 
                          or 
                                               fall out of grace,
         Heaven, in her good judgment,
                                                                   is a judgmental place.
    New moon wonder, 
    new moon is now,
                           unconscious thought enlightens somehow.

    To be mindful of a future only makes sense
          stop reviewing past actions in solely past tense.
    Breathe it all in, 
                                 as you listen and learn,
          question your morals and for what you may yearn.

         No dreams for the restless, wandering their way,
         few thoughts for the weary with so much to say.
    New moon, 
    new cycle,      falls into sight
                        dilemmas become clearer when the days become bright.

    © 2016 j.g. lewis

    Leave a comment: pre-dawn confusion

  • something meaningful



    I am not one for prayer.
    I am not sure about hope, several past decisions, or
    the trajectory of my path, but
    I am fairly confident
    we shared something meaningful once.
    That may be enough
    to pull me through this day,
    to help me remember
    we can all get through anything
    when friendship offers what it does, as it is meant to.
    It is greater than a prayer.
    It is the basis for hope.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

    Leave a comment: something meaningful