Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • at any speed

    Warning signs, dashboard indicators, red flags, 
    continual reminders of what is ahead, or
    what follows at breakneck speed. Too fast; 
    too busy, too confused, we yield not to the signals, 
    but push ahead, our direction, our intention, 
    our destination more important 
    than anyone else. Even suspended in traffic, 
    all four lanes, our refusal to allow others in 
    is more than stubbornness. Sharing neither 
    caution or common courtesy, we will not alter 
    or acknowledge our route. 
    To do so is to admit less power, or that we may
    have lost our way. Distance and time 
    the only measure of where we are going, or 
    how we will get there. We navigate the commute 
    between the reality we live with, and that 
    which is expected, our individual emissions 
    contributing to the noxious fumes we ingest. Daily. 
    Driving forward, but not ahead, running on empty, 
    through a cracked windshield we see, or believe, 
    nothing will harm us. Road rage, we curse 
    under our breath. or shout foul-mouthed insults 
    at those behaving as we are, refusing right-of-way. 
    To anybody. Self-motivated or selfish, 
    it makes little difference at any speed. We fail 
    to notice a world that passes us by. Look, 
    perhaps a shoulder check. It may take a glance 
    in the review mirror to remind us life is precious. 
    Slow down. Pay attention. Let others in.

    © 2016 j.g. lewis

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  • uncomfortable truth

    He wants to be forgiven
    for memories he may only possess
    of moments not shared, not
    obviously or intimately.

    What never was
    just might have been the
    principle or pastime
    that caused this unorthodox pain.

    He finds it easier to write
    a common third-person narrative
    than to admit my faults, my
    needs or my struggle.

    His search for wholeness is
    an unforgiving quest to find a
    semi-natural state in a world of
    compromise and deceit.

    My self, my view, my impulse
    or intention goes long beyond
    what I am or have now.
    Deeper thought; a deeper longing.

    An uncomfortable truth of
    which has been comprised of
    falsehoods. What is behind his
    flawed and fragile shell?

    What I don’t often ask is
    often what I will not say and if
    you do not address this dichotomy
    you will end up going silent.

    It is not obvious, nor is it
    intentional. It is self-preservation
    and so much easier than
    having to admit this shame.

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

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  • senseless as it seems

     

    This eleventh month comes suddenly.
    You notice the morning chill
    but only remembered the night before.

    Dawn is the lifeline connecting
    what you avoid and all you face.
    Daily, hourly, incrementally towards full sun,
    or a reasonable facsimile.

    Daily it changes, the hour uncertain,
    we split our time between the gentle
    light of the moon and the day’s reflection
    of the silent senseless wonder

    Memories capsized, plans revert to
    what we don’t know and never expect
    Anticipation. The confluence of influence
    undeniably intricate.

    One force to another, a morning
    monopolizing time. Night a natural
    state of wonder, senseless as it seems.
    November brings us closer to the edge
    of a new year. All we can do is wait.

     

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

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  • I can’t find my way home

    I light a candle to illuminate 
    thoughts this world holds. Some 
    I cannot understand,
    others simply trying to land
    but hover instead. And this song 
    keeps playing in my head.

    I can’t find my way home.

    I feel there will be no peace, 
    not now, not among this culture
    of shame and blame.
    Not when you question others,
    but refuse to question yourself.
    Still I light a candle.

    I can’t find my way home.

    Just beyond the candlelight, I 
    watch days slip into night, amidst
    a maelstrom of discontent, 
    you never know what is meant.
    Look over your shoulder. Look
    further through your past.

    I can’t find my way home.

    Fistfuls of violence, mouthfuls 
    of reality escape. Thoughts which 
    should not be free, peace
    should not be a luxury. I strike 
    a match to light up a candle,
    to shine a light for hope.

    I can’t find my way home.

    © 2017 j.g. lewis

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  • urban sprawl

    We exist within a conundrum: a hollow promise, 
    less than a guarantee, with far too much fine print 
    and hyperbole disguising immodest claims by the 
    local chamber of commerce.
                  Selling features surpass the benefits
                 of living there or here, or wherever.

    Often we question why we live
                                      where we live.
         It is greater than geography,
         more than an address or identity.
    Our company of cohorts and companions 
    changes over time. 
                                We move, as do they.

                                    How do we settle?

    Location, location, uncertain destination,
    what you see in the rearview mirror will 
    likely greet you further down the highway.
                        They say you can’t go back.
                                      Yet, you usually do.
        City to neighbourhood, dwellings or 
        simply shelter, we seek comfort. Or 
        contentment.
            A place to sleep, to eat, or ignore 
            what goes on outside the window.

    Across the street or 27 stories down below.

    High-density urban sprawl, demographics, 
    economics, overpopulation, the mechanics 
    of increased consumption of once-precious 
    resources. We are all what we are made of.

    Humanities: the quality or state of being.
    Home is what, home is where, we make it.
                              Home is a place you accept 
                        more than you will understand.

    © 2021 j.g. lewis

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