Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days


  • days like today

                                    Not a true day of sunshine since
                                   the twenty-first day of December.

                       Three weeks since winter’s arrival with its clouds
                       of dysthymia and discontent.

                                                 A grey day, darker than most, today is
                                         another period of insurmountable sadness.

         Maudlin melancholy; I cannot say it doesn’t affect me,
                                       as I know it does, as I know it must.

                           It is seasonal, this daunting depression,
         days like today make you appreciate the otherwise.

     

    © 2923 j.g. lewis

  • our foundation

    We cling to memories, even
    subconsciously. Certain days,
    and not always, continually play
    with our unruled emotions.

    Incidents of bliss, specific sorrows
    or worse, leave lasting impressions.
    It cannot be helped. We live through
    experience: yesterday and today.

    Reflected in our fragile faith is
    a greater hope. We often do not,
    or cannot, see past our cold,
    current, restless reality.

    It is not the truth that provides
    our answers, but an unclear
    deception of the question
    lingering in our consideration.

    Us fractured selves, not always
    strong and stable, survive by
    constructing our foundation of
    what we see and how we know.

    Hindsight is not honestly accurate.
    May your need for yesterday
    be slightly overshadowed by
    the wistful wonder of tomorrow.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

     

  • Review or Reminder?

    I wrote myself a letter yesterday, as I do each year. Like all letters, to anyone, it is a way of keeping in touch. We don’t write enough letters, often enough; especially to ourselves.
       This year I wrote a simple letter, a basic list. Two lists actually.
       Beginning with a sheet of paper, I drew a thick line right down the middle of the page. On one side I scribbled down the things I felt I had accomplished over the past year.
       On the other side of the paper I listed things I needed to complete, projects or concepts I had begun or given thought to, and reminders of what I still needed to do.
       I’m not sure if it was disappointing, or surprising, that I have more things left undone than what I have done. It did open my eyes. I wasn’t sure, when I looked at the page, whether it was a review or a reminder. As obvious as it was that I had accomplished a few things (some kind of major, others very minor), I realized that many of the items have been hovering around for years.
       I have several manuscripts in various states of undress, and poems (or skeletons thereof) that don’t quite say what I want them to say and the ambiguity itself is uncertain.
       I have worthy projects to which I have only given considerable thought and some of the ideas are only, at this point, honest intentions. The list(s) themselves are, perhaps, nowhere near complete. It is what it is and I chose to make it inspirational. I thought mainly of the things I think I can do.
       When the lists were as complete as my attention allowed, I took the paper and tore it down the middle.
       The one side of the page, the items I listed as accomplishments, will sit on the stack of papers that seems to grow upon my desk. The other side of the letter was tucked into an envelope, sealed, stamped and addressed, and will make its way to the post office today (or tomorrow) to be mailed to myself.
       When it arrives, presumably next year or next week (which, in reality, is the same thing) it will be tucked into my journal unopened.
       Some day (or some year) when I am uninspired or feel I have nothing to do, I will open the letter and again review my actions (or inaction). At that time I may cross off some of the things I have done, or be reminded of what I still have to do
       Don’t we all need reminders of where we are?
       Shouldn’t we all acknowledge our intentions and get to work on taking an idea from concept to completion?

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

     

  • Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful

    I am going to church tonight. It’s not something I often do.
    I haven’t been in a while; I’m not what you would call one of the faithful.
    I am not even what you would call religious… but I am spiritual.
    I believe in humanity, and tonight I want to hear voices.
    I want to listen to the choir.
    I want to listen to the congregation.
    I want to listen to the memories that come with the music, on this night of all nights.
    I want to feel at peace.
    I want to feel the peace.
    I want to believe that peace is possible.
    I want to wish you peace on earth, in your world and mine.

    © 2017 j.g. lewis

     

  • cloud songs

               We only know what we know,
                      but know there is change.
              Indeed we know the darkness,
                 and will wait here
                                 for the light;
                   a little more each day.
                       We do not always know
                        what will come or when
                              it will arrive and
    distinguish between light and heat.
         It will only become colder
         before we reach the brightness
         and warmth of spring.
         Day by day, a little more.
                             We settle in for winter,
                                       so much remains.
                      We must remain content
                       knowing what will come.

    © 2022 j.g. lewis