transitionu

Life Coaching, Observations, Reflections, Things that make you go hmmmmm

Tag Archives: Memories

Hazed and Confused

Hazed and Confused

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

A Lady, She Wrote Me A Letter

A Lady, She Wrote Me A Letter

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.

Letter Share 01

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?

Letters 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.

GRH with journal

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

It’s LSD!

It’s LSD!

(Lazy Sunny Day)

Made time, had to slow this mad mad world down
Easing down, easing in, floating the light fantastic
A little tail spin, a sparkling diamond daze
Nodding on out, letting the sun and sounds win
Down that lazy old river and you just drift away
Eiders fluttering down, settling in the rushes
Relative of Rocky washing his disbelieving bandit eyes
In to the last bend and wanna weep like the willow
Not going to think of anyone or anything again soon
Gonna be gone baby gone to replay this play day

G.R. Hambley ©
April 12, 2017

Remembrance Day 2015

Remembrance Day 2015

I’ve been doing a good deal of reading the last few weeks. Locally, nationally and globally.

Along with all I’ve been seeing I’m doing a lot of remembering.

My thoughts for this day and on other days when appropriate I will talk of what my knowledge is and I call it knowledge because I’ve never had to put my life on the line in service. I have family that has and what I learned from them I talk about, share with others.

Many have given and paid the ultimate price for freedom. This is not news. More are in service and paying for freedom and that isn’t news either. It isn’t news because these payments to freedom are a constant.

Another thing that isn’t news is that the need for those that serve continues. That need, at this point in our world history, is a damning shame!

It will be news when these payments for freedom will no longer have to be made.

Until that time. to all of those who have served I will make noises for freedom where I can and I will remember the sacrifices those of you who served made.

You can be assured that come the 11th hour I will cease what I am doing and reflect.

My gratitude and tribute will not ever change. I will always be Remembering November 11th.

Thank you all.

G.R. Hambley
For 11/11/2015

Kindred

Kindred

Moving around on a new piece of ground
Every turn, something gets you good
Turning the cheek, looking another way
As the faces circle by, an endless chain
Passing round and round like a clock’s hands
Hour after hour, time goes where no one knows

You know it’s feel, the candle burning at both ends
Sentenced souls running like sand through the glass
It’s you, two feel the bond in a frozen moment
Can’t turn away, no way to be or even wanting free
Angel gypsy moves her swaying body away
Looking back eyes sharing their hearts “we’ll never part”

Just you and me amid this room full of empty faces
Once for a lifetime dances in on a forever and never sigh
I’d give, you’d give, all our life left for just one kiss
Never knowing the sound of one’s love’s delights
Every day being in exquisite heaven while doing time in hell
Darkness led to dawning, everything everywhere and nowhere

G.R. Hambley ©
June 24, 2015

Polarized – poetry with art

Polarized – poetry with art

The poetry is, “Polarized”. The art is “Winter Freeze”

WinterFreeze

Polarized

Winter worked majik, resplendent greeting on awakening
Invitation to paint the scene written on warm breath wisps
Night’s making of white satin, a canvas for two this afternoon

Taking time to share a cup, the rest fills the warming jar
Easel holding brushes, fans and flats and swords, box full of paints
Red? no, blue? not for this beautiful day made just for us two,

From those two, a daub from me, a dab from you, more from you
Running together, mixture of shades, the palette goes to purples
Eye catches eye, hand joins hand, bundled up, bristling to colour the scene

Energized, bold strokes, light caresses, icicles drip from branches
Zeno himself unable to deny these motions making change just illusion
Enervated, spent after this day spent together doing as lovers do

G.R. Hambley ©
June 14, 2015

Cur

Cur

Prance and dance, make pretend romance
There’s one here, one there, two more from elsewhere
Diddling and piddling from Portland to Portland

Beneath the guise of an unending malaise
Nothing and no one stops the fools drool
Knells hell’s only feed the rabid search

Parading through the maize, spreading disease
The ritual of the ride, followed with yapping good riddance
Insecticide rejecticide, fleeting thoughts of suicide

Nave, idol worshipping among the naive
The catch twenty-two, discovery of the truth
Now the evisceration after necessary neutering

G.R. Hambley ©
May 24, 2015

Of the same ilk, Contemn

Bella Memoria

Bella Memoria

Beautiful Memory

Sun’s great light hidden behind the sombre grey
Under blanket of ominous clouds, this mind recalls
Messages from one’s self, visions of the great falls
Taken to roads, past implodes, remembering places to say
Heights in lows, corners climbed behind a closed door
Instances on stares, laughter response to disapproval
Needle stick, not being subjected to temporal removal
Good things grown from that that went before
Portrayals in the portals, the blessing, the curse
Running on demand, oh God it’s only one whole life
Endings to many a day’s night greeting the new light
The smile belies what’ll never be taken by hearse
Take the material all , leave me the living history
Yours to see, a gift from me, this beautiful memory

A Sonnet by
G.R. Hambley ©
May 15, 2015