Life Coaching, Observations, Reflections, Things that make you go hmmmmm
Sailing unawares on your way today
Moving with a purpose only you know
Maybe it’s finally something that’ll be real
At least enough so you can make believe
Glamour girl gets her skirt caught in a twirl
Hair flip with the hapless I’m helpless giggle
Set free by the kindness of one of your strangers
Off you go leaving a wake of stalking heads
Should’ve taken the umbrella because,
because it looks like pain
I can see and it looks like,
like you’re headed for hell
Not a place for you,
you’re not going to fare well
You can trust me because,
because everyone knows I’m insane
Surprised to hear voices calling cats
Treats herself that the slights just imagined
Tricks of conscience kick start the reality train
Night scares turn over in to stormy days
Loving so many who don’t love her
Doesn’t understand how to be alone
She can’t stand going home on her own
No other girls she can tell her fears
She’s only one way to hide from voices
Taking solace in some lucky one’s arms
You look down, she tells you she loves you
You get up telling her you can’t love her
Should’ve taken the umbrella because,
because here comes the pain
I can see and it looks like,
like you’re already in hell
Not a place for you,
you’re already not doing well
You can trust me because,
because like you, I’m insane
G.R. Hambley ©
February 26, 2018
Among all the other smiles
There you were dancing free
Your gypsy skirt flying high
Girl you caught more than my eye
Couldn’t help but watch you move
Hair water falling down your back
You caught me staring madly
Saw your eyes make me your mark
Keeping time with those devilish hips
Lips sending me your angel kiss
Gypsy woman crooks her fingertip
Calling with her wiles to play her game
The same music keeps playing on
Everyone with their own old verse
Those others don’t have the sense to go
We gotta romance and they’re in the road
G.R. Hambley ©
February 23, 2018
I’ve played my “English Teacher” card a few times and I like it!
I too, officially, can be a grammar snob and a giant keeper of the word PITA, pain in the ass. I was that way prior to getting the English Teacher Designation and higher education made it official.
If I say it, I’m correct, you’re just not, so stop it! Great fun!
Shortly after I passed the assessment that gave me the, “I’m a teacher” designation a good friend who is not a native speaker of English showed me the assignment their child was given. I told my friend I really liked the kid’s thought process on one of the questions and I knew where the smartass on that answer originated.
Nice parenting indeed! That was an honest statement and not a facetious one. A little clowning with humour aint a bad thing at all. I enjoy it, in small doses.
What really got my attention was the error in one of the questions. The assignment is a “Cloze”, fill in the blanks.
That 4.2 was shown to a couple friends who went, “What, that isn’t right” but didn’t peg the error in the moment. English is a strange thing.
Question 4.2 was shown to the parent who did return me a correct response and I trust will for ever more realize their ESL is just fine.
Playing the “English Teacher” card on that little exchange was satisfying!
I have been asked to chime in from my exalted position on several occasions as well. One of them was just identifying the word being sought and the word needed, “Voracious” was already in my vocabulary before my anointment
What isn’t satisfying is when the card plays me. I’m not sure I care for this behaviour even though it’s my own damn fault for getting the edumucation. Not a typo.
I haven’t had the same “Sarcaustic” feel to some of my opinionated pieces. I and “Good Friend” were disappointed to find that my new word was already on “Urban Dictionary” when I unleashed it. Damn! GSTA I suppose. Great Smartasses Think Alike.
All said and done, this old cunning linguist is more so and loves it!
G.R. Hambley ©
January 22, 2018
G.R. Hambley © December 04, 2017
7 days, seven black and white photos of your life. No people, no explanation. Challenge someone new each day and tag the person who tagged you.
G.R. Hambley December 01, 2017
7 days, seven black and white photos of your life. No people, no explanation. Challenge someone new each day and tag the person who tagged you.
If you take the challenge, leave me a comment.
G.R. Hambley ©
November 30, 2017
Lyrics List |
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| Then one day you look around and notice just how many you’ve done.
There is a contact me form at the end of the list. |
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| G.R. Hambley © all rights reserved. | |
| 1 | Little Black Dressed is collaboration that is very special. |
| Living out life in a gleeful rage | |
| Innocence in this smile, tricks in another | |
| The sweetness of the slaughter upon the lips | |
| The second-hand silk is only a tease | |
| 2 | Closing Time |
| Another time, another place, | |
| you’d become not just another face | |
| 3 | Making My Way |
| Walking round and round that house of tells | |
| Your voice comes calling out in the dark | |
| Heard you sayin’ it’d be right for this old heart | |
| 4 | From The Stars |
| Long before there was sin | |
| Way out where the souls begin | |
| Came a song in a whisper | |
| 5 | We Have One Now |
| Happens once and a while, only for one man smile | |
| An angel face, melting eyes, her sweet breathy sighs | |
| Dropping in to talk, lingering on a walk | |
| 6 | Edge Walking |
| Waking to another day, already on the knife | |
| Always at the ready, keep staying honed | |
| Lookin’ round, it all appears the same as yesterday | |
| 7 | Realize It’s Over |
| It’s about taking time to take time | |
| There just hasn’t been much at all | |
| Call comes in on the telephone line | |
| 8 | On That Jersey Shore |
| Started out like any other day | |
| Woke up with the waves calling | |
| Wanted to just lie there numb | |
| 9 | If You Dare |
| Once in a time | |
| that was better than anything in your mind | |
| Not so strange | |
| in a world where love’s made such a change | |
| 10 | Red Rose Among The Trees |
| Know this being all alone to well | |
| Staying late, never going home | |
| Seeing others close, sticks and stones | |
| Hands in hands, hands in my pockets | |
| 11 | Baby Be Mine |
| She’s colder than northern winds | |
| She’s hotter than original sins | |
| Gonna be there and bide my time | |
| Do right and make that girl mine | |
| 12 | Now Begins Forever |
| We’ve been going round and round | |
| exchanging our half smiles | |
| having all those conversations | |
| where we won’t let them the end | |
| 13 | Counter Cutie |
| Climbs herself up on that chair, gives up a little high thigh | |
| Overtly lets them legs cross, grey skirt makes a swift shift | |
| Uncrossing them, a small curvy push, tilting back the cool stool | |
| 14 | Nella Notte Cieca |
| Believing with all her heart someday it’ll come true | |
| Letting the living lie slide on out the way it came | |
| Inside where she hides from herself and the pain | |
| 15 | Angel Beach |
| We were just walkin’ along that beach | |
| Seeing the ripples, rise higher and higher | |
| Stopping to stare into that setting sun | |
| 16 | Won’t You Tell Me |
| Baby I got these thoughts going on | |
| Sitting all by myself at home | |
| Sitting here feeling all alone | |
| 17 | Beach Bound |
| Been working an all night day | |
| Now there’s time for a little fun | |
| Sun’s making its morning run | |
| 18 | Departure Gate |
| Fretting over it hour after hour | |
| Worrying about it night after night | |
| Feeling it fall week after week | |
| Been knowing it for months now | |
| 19 | Train Of Thought |
| Sitting on this sweltering city roof | |
| Far below people roaming around | |
| Sweating and swearing as they go | |
| 20 | The Devil’s Fine Day |
| He done went down from heaven | |
| The boy just up and shuffled off | |
| The Devil took himself a powder that day | |
| 21 | Witness |
| Looking for a little down time | |
| . had to get myself away | |
| Monday morning glory | |
| . wasn’t happening today | |
| 22 | Crashing Down |
| Day slides it’s way to the end | |
| Not looking forward to going home | |
| Turning in at that bend in the road | |
| Rather be making a long drive alone | |
| 23 | Fallen Angel |
| Newly fallen she wakes to a different world today | |
| And she’s never | |
| never been on her own before | |
| Went from home on the hill to a home on loan | |
| 24 | In The Quiet Of The Night |
| Half past midnight and finally free | |
| free from the demands of a clamoring world | |
| World moving so fast it’s hard to keep your feet | |
| feet feel like miles and the miles feel like hell | |
| 25 | You No More |
| Sometimes you just know | |
| just know you got no more | |
| no more love left to give | |
| 26 | Girls Rite |
| You hear them, it’s the shame every time | |
| They’ve all had it happen, been torn apart | |
| Now another one’s got the no romance blues | |
| 27 | Falling Apart |
| These days are almighty long | |
| the nights so lonely | |
| Giving the best for the cheque | |
| spending nights in hazy dread | |
| 28 | Once Again |
| Once again freedom’s crying | |
| ringing out while on the run | |
| It falls to the old ones | |
| those who long ago came of age | |
| 29 | No More Yesterday’s |
| There were those who’d gone ahead | |
| Learned the ropes and roads and dread | |
| Some came and shared their mind | |
| Others struggled and suffered and died | |
| 30 | Everyone’s Girl |
| Her days don’t begin before three | |
| Her nights spent in party grove | |
| Never seen the sun go down | |
| Seen it coming up so damn often | |
| 31 | Lost And Found |
| The times wearing me on down | |
| no time for any little thing | |
| Sprung from the trap you set | |
| gonna take the fast road back | |
| 32 | Lake Side |
| Day dreaming out on the rocks | |
| sun setting the lake ablaze | |
| all but gone the hostage daze | |
| letting down all the blocks | |
| 33 | Haunting Her |
| Unseen she stepped inside | |
| Know it’s her by the steps | |
| She stares straight ahead | |
| Her face kept firmly set | |
| 34 | Once Bitten |
| We were young and oh so cool | |
| Back when we were all fools | |
| Feelin’ our way around | |
| 35 | Spinsters |
| Stories making the rounds | |
| none to be believed | |
| none to be trusted | |
| careful not to get busted | |
| 36 | Left Unsaid |
| Whispers and rustles making the rounds | |
| Sighs and gasps the disbelieving sounds | |
| It’s between us, no one must, couldn’t ever be us | |
| 37 | Were You Me |
| Watching out the window on a cloudy day | |
| Caught up in all those billows shifting shapes | |
| Faces through my ages floating in grey space | |
| There’s so little that’s left out in front | |
| 38 | Missing Day |
| Up in the morning and the coffee’s on | |
| Sour dough toasting, golden for me | |
| A little cinnamon sugar reminds of you | |
| Not even seven and there’s the phone | |
| 39 | Going Clean |
| Whispers in the air | |
| Eyebrows raising up | |
| Pretending not to hear | |
| Taking in what’s said | |
| 40 | If Only |
| Walking on home alone, | |
| that old bell softly chimes | |
| Passing right on by, | |
| the tower bell strikes again | |
| Falling farther behind | |
| that niggling bell tolls once more | |
| G. R. Hambley © | |
| All rights reserved
|
Have you ever received a letter?
No, not like in a welcome from your new bank or local chapter of the Willie Wonka Candy Crush Club.
I was sitting on the patio of a favoured coffee spot and one of the good coffee elves asked me what I was doing as what I was doing didn’t include my computer. I had my big book of blank pages open in front of me and one of my 2 pens in hand. I have other utensils that make inky marks but they aint pens!
I told the good elf I was writing a letter to a cousin. I asked if they’d ever received a letter and I was told no. We talked for just a couple minutes and the Elf made the bank reference. I said, “that’s a shame”.
For those of you that are semantically challenged, in this usage, shame can also be interpreted as unfortunate and/or sad. No person real or imagined was shamed or ashamed.
I’ve received and written and sent letters. Recently I received a letter from South Korea written by a lovely lady that I had the good fortune to encounter. You can read about her and me and our prattling in my “Foreign Liaisons” piece.
I care to share something with all of you that the Lady said to me in her letter.
Being a Torontonian and a life long Boston Bruins fan, I’m not really buying that Montreal part. Centre Hice, TABERNAC! That would be a cultural reference so don’t go offending me by appropriating it!
A letter, the second one I’ve written to the Lady is making its way from me to her. I say in my letter, we Canadians are for the most part, a good people. I didn’t bust the Lady’s Montreal bubble.
Have you ever written a letter to someone and later been told by that person how it made them feel when they discovered your hand-written letter waiting for them? When they told you about that letter you sent, were you exhilarated?
If you’ve written a letter to someone, how did you feel when you were writing that letter? Were you more reflective? Were you more thoughtful and deliberate with that which you put down so as not to mar the page with strikeouts? When you were writing the letter did you appreciate that time within your own head?
There were a couple letters I wrote that I didn’t send. Have you ever written your heart out in a letter and not sent it?
If you did send a letter, did you make it so the person you sent your letter to could take it to their dreams without having to remember what you wrote? Was the letter you sent scented?
Do you care to share what you felt when you tucked that scented letter you received partly under your pillow? How’d you sleep with that scented missive beside your head? Did you wake in the night and reach to make sure that letter was still there? How did you feel when your fingers touched the envelope and you knew that letter was right where you put it?
Did you maybe reach for that letter and it wasn’t there under your pillow? It felt so good when you discovered your letter had only slipped to the floor in your slumber didn’t it. Not a question. Would you care to offer up reasoning as to why my statement wasn’t a question?
When you retrieved that letter from the floor did it join other letters you’d received that had been bound together with ribbon?
How long did you hold that bundle of letters before tucking them safely in to your sock drawer? Socks and letters, both can be warm and fuzzy don’tcha know.
The handwritten letter is a wonderful thing. Cursive writing is pretty and has character. Have you ever wondered why there are so many elegantly flowing script fonts for your electronic use? Now you know.
My penmanship is far from the best and this is because my brain insists on moving faster than my hand. This is not unusual and can be somewhat counteracted with thought. You can counteract right up to the point your brain takes off leaving your hand behind. Trust me on this.
The state of the word as it lands on the page doesn’t stop me from writing by mine own hand. I have a journal too. If you would like to call it diary you are free to do so and it won’t phase me in the least because I’m just not that insecure in my sexuality.
This is mine. There are other Journals like it but this one is mine, unique. If you’d like one, write one and before you start, get a real pen and not some cheap writing utensil.
Good pens have a different feel. A good pen has substance just like those words you’re gifting to the page. In truth I call it bleeding on the page and if that analogy works for you, help yourself. A good pen doesn’t get heavy or uncomfortable in your hand.
There are a great many people who will tell you the “Art of Letter Writing” is gone. Those people will tell you that with our technology it is just oh so much easier and faster than writing a letter. Those people would be correct but what they don’t take in to consideration is how thoughtless emails and text messages are.
I have another letter to write that will give more context to a piece of the content in a previous letter. Yes, I know that sounds terribly clinical. All I did was tell you what I’m going to do and not how I’m going to do it. You already know what I say will be thoughtful and heartfelt.
A cup of coffee, a big book with blank pages, music playing and a pen. It appears I’m being threatened with a good time.
G.R. Hambley ©
October 13, 2017
Letters bound by ribbon from;
cdn.skim.gs/image/upload/v1456343885/msi/stack-of-old-letters-tied-with-ribbon-isolated_poequj.jpg
G.R. Hambley in Toronto August 13, 2017 ©
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