Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

  • sure to please


    Midnight snack or simple meal, a sandwich is 
    a sandwich: the real deal. Handful of goodness 
    inspired by hunger, crafted with care and what is 
    available in the fridge. It takes no culinary flair.

    Deli counter craving, varied ingredients form
    a connection. Stacked between two slices of bread: 
    fresh-baked artisanal, even common supermarket 
    selection, on the right day, a taste near perfection.

    Roasted chicken, crispy bacon and cheese, lettuce,
    tomatoe, mayonnaise; toasted crust sure to please. 
    Ingredients: fixings, so to say. Any sandwich worth
    its salt satisfies on this, or any, day.

    However an appetite sated, it is mainly up to you. 
    Lunch box delight, choice from a takeaway menu,
    even childhood favourites of peanut butter and jam.
    A sandwich always fills a void, whenever it can.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

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  • twilight

    Edge of darkness,
    dusk signals the forthcoming night.

    Fears settle, or are intensified.

    As a child, my Mother called out my name;
    a sign the evening was done.

    City streetlights had just come on,

    it was time to come home.
    Dusk, then, signalled security.

    Twilight marked the beginning of the night for a teenager.

    Time to spread seeds, share youthful conquests.

    Adolescent dreams came alive.
    Turn off the headlights.

    We grow up at night,

    learn the pleasures of another human’s body;
    young women (or older)

    who will, in many ways, turn you

    into an man.

    By nature, and by choice, you discover how
    your body fits into another.

    After dusk you learn

    the secrets of the night. And responsibility.

    Morning’s light will bring a new reality.
    It was not always what your mother said it was.

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

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  • only arbitrary

    So much to be answered for. Our expansive experience,

    over months, quarters, decades broken down to moments

    only when you think. Often, we don’t. Memory not always

    faithful, not in hindsight. Affected we are more by what is

    to come, always to be. Unseen. Realization or recognition? 

    Knowing, not beholding, perception rarely accounted for

    as we passively slip down some bothersome rabbit hole of 

    unclassified information. It’s never what we need to know, 

    but absorbed and appreciated for what it is. Trivia: traces of 

    useless facts important only arbitrarily. Knowledge surpasses 

    what we need to know, only when it isn’t so. Truly. Doubts 

    and disbelief are tangible transactions, but only as factored 

    into common denomination, erstwhile realties, utter guesses, 

    undue speculation and assimilation of questionable meaning.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

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  • pursuit of fact

    In depth and volume, eras documented 

    on parchment. Pages. In print. History: all 

    that of which we know and all that is still 

    to come. 

       Observed. Witnessed, noticed, or 

    imagined. Can we know the truth in books 

    of bygone days? Is it so because it is said?

       Might we wish to read further?

       Will distinguishable valid accounts exist, 

    similar or otherwise? Might not questions 

    arise, after the times we have experienced 

    or those we have not? 

       Ask. 

       The pursuit of fact is an earnest journey 

    amidst the lies we live with and delusional 

    excuses for what went on. Really.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

    Leave a comment: pursuit of fact

  • not always true

    Imprisoned within, yet continually or selfishly 
looking beyond perceived boundaries or margins
that hold me in place.

There is rigidity of my construct, whereas I have
long determined my shell is more flexible than
I have imagined.

It is the shape I have long occupied. What I say
and feel, and what has veritably taken place 
remains my primary personal confine.

I am not always as open to change as I really may be,
yet continue living as if this is not always true.
That is now what I accept.

    © 2026 j.g. lewis

    April is Poetry Month

    Leave a comment: not always true