Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days

  • more than waiting

    Silently, or suspiciously standing in one place,
    in between unsteady steps I take throughout the day. 
    Waiting, even for a moment. Respite for the time being,
    perhaps, not even knowing why. Questioning, unquestionably,
    each of us continuously striving to keep moving at our own pace,
    Caught up in this human race, surviving, maybe thriving as we try to
    determine the flow we know is best. We think. 
    A little later today, earlier for some, we all have a path; a better way,
    leading to better day. Moving in different directions, sometimes hastily,
    as required. Some of us are simply limping along.
    The weight on our shoulders slows us down. We must, once
    in a while, stop and let it settle. Far more than waiting. Unconscious
    thinking, our minds move, even if our feet are firmly planted. Progress
    not always certain, we can only hope our intentions continue
    propelling us further. It has to be more than hope,
    yet we still we try to keep it all in stride.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

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  • spoken truth

    I hear you, more than I listen to myself.
    Messages of caution or concern,
    statements of grace, sentiment
    not fallen on inattentive ears.

    The words we can,
    the words we must,
    the words we say.
    The words we trust

    And this. And we, are we
    even comfortable with our vocabulary?
    Do we know or can we tell,
    right words from the wrong?

    Conversation or confrontation, depending
    on your situation, those same words mean
    something else to someone else.
    It’s becomes even more difficult to tell.

    The words we say.
    The words we hear,
    spell out misunderstanding.
    Injustice. Pain or fear

    Shared experience, descriptions,
    details, doubt and deception at times
    difficult to put into words.
    Our emotions demand that they must.

    Honesty is what it is, as it has
    always been, but spoken less and less
    more and more. It matters not how you
    express yourself, only that you do.

    © 2020 j.g. lewis

     

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  • only recall

    It is not what I have done, but what I still must do.
    Reminders, lists; they come to you, without warning.

    A song. A sound, a scent; shades of the past, of
    time long expired or relationships that didn’t last.

    Grocery lists of what to get, sticky notes remind you
    of what not to forget. Still, I often do. Or I will try.

    How can I decide? Indecision pushes it all to the side
    or out of sight. Only recall allows it to survive. Inside.

    Little bits and pieces of unnecessary nonsense strewn
    about the stacks of essential things that must get done.

    Amidst the mental clutter, superfluous stuff to be silently
    sacrificed. Forgotten, until memories come rushing back.

    Trauma will not disappear. It will, over time, dissipate,
    but always remains close enough to feel. Unneeded.

    Reminders are varied, something that serves to keep alive
    clandestine keepsakes. Observed only by yourself.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

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  • to get by

    Victimless crime.
    Take what is yours, take what is mine.

    Undue violence, the greed, hypocrisy;
    what is left behind when
    we are only accountable
    to ourselves.

    Each of us a shadow,
    most of us forgettable,
    all of us trying
    to get by.

    Beyond the barking dogs, before
    pungent night air strangles any humanity
    from vagrants who piss in corners
    we never visit.

    On the darker side of 3 a.m.

    A wrong answer will get you knifed,
    the wrong needle will leave you dead.

    No one will care.
    Fewer will know.

    Remind me who I am
    before I forget to see.

    Just write
    my name
    in graffiti.

    Claim my sins
    and transgressions.

    I will own up to my responsibilities,

    like a prayer
    like a poem
    like a person.

    © 2018 j.g. lewis

     

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  • my curious creativity

    Final details, a finishing touch, depending on how you look at it.

    Layers of inspiration, time between conception and completion.

    It does not look how I thought it would before I began. It never may.

    How will I know when it is done? Perception varies moment to moment.

    I am still not sure. I doubt. I fuss. My confidence is not always there.

    My art is an attempt to satisfy my curious creativity in whatever form.

    I feel it is better to attempt to create than let all those ideas go to waste.

    My restless soul will only allow so much. I am less patient with my self.

    Patience is not a paradigm, neither pragmatic, nor practical. Neither is art.

    © 2023 j.g. lewis

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