It’s been a full and active day already,
with even more still on my plate.
Feeling pretty sluggish at half past ten.
Been going since this morning at eight.

Some friends I saw earlier, are visiting from Toronto.
Was planning to meet them later for drinks.
I am going to have a hot shower first,
and then I’ll see what my body thinks.

I toss my shirt and gitch in the laundry
and grab my bath towel from off the rack.
As I leave my room, I hear a faint whisper,
so I stop, I listen, and then I go back.

Scanning the room from the doorway
I can see, of course, that there’s nobody there.
Must be my phone, in the pocket of my jeans
which earlier I’d slung over the back of the chair.

I slide my cell phone out, and I take a look.
Nothing to see there but my cover screen.
No open apps, or videos playing,
so I slide it back in, to where it had been.

Turning once more to leave, I hear it again.
This time a little louder, and a little more clear.
It seems to be coming from near my bed,
and the voice I hear says, “Gary come here.”

A little less tired now, and a lot more freaked out,
I inch a little closer, and the voice speaks again.
This time adament, with much more authourity.
“Do you really need to go out? It’s well after ten.”

“Who’s there?”, I ask, speaking to no one,
looking in the direction of the pyjamas on my bed.
“Who are you, and what do you want with me?”
“I want you stay home tonight, just like I said.”

Now certain that I must be hallucinating,
I flee my room and head down the hall,
past the closet and toward the bathroom,
rocking the print that hangs on the wall.

I come face to face with myself in the mirror.
Needing a reality check, I smack my cheek.
Feeling it’s sting, I speak my thoughts aloud.
“It has been a busy day. And a very busy week.”

Still hoping that a shower might wake me up,
I hang up my towel and pull back the curtain.
Spend equal time washing, and convincing myself,
“pyjamas can’t talk, of that I am certain.”

I finish up with a cold blast of water, 
with similar results as the slap to my face.
If I am going downtown I had better hurry.
With renewed focus I pick up the pace.

Wrapped in my towel and rapt in thought,
I strategize my night while I brush my hair.
Thinking now of my best way to travel,
glasses or contacts, and what shirt to wear.

Distracted by the tasks on my mental list
and the momentum of my slight energy burst,
I find myself standing back in my room,
with a tall glass of water to quench my thirst.

After a lengthy guzzle, I reach for my jeans,
pull one pant leg up and then make it two.
As I tighten my belt I hear a different voice,
“So glad we’re going out, Gary. Good for you.”

I take a quick step back, with an audable shriek,
knock over the glass in my astounded haste.
“It’s me Gene, Hey, I’m right down here.”
The words seem to have come from below my waist.

“Good thing you didn’t listen to that guy.
He’s flat and lazy, and a complete bore.
Grab your cash and your keys.  I’ve got your cell. 
Let’s call a cab and we can wait by the door.”

“Who you calling flat? You denim deadbeat!”
My head jerks quickly in the direction of my bed.
“Ya you, Levi, with your zipper and your attitude.”
And yes, I clearly just heard what my pyjamas said.

“Always making this guy empty your pockets.
Give him a break. Your material is wearing thin.
He is a bad influence on you Gary. Take a night off.
Listen to PJ, get comfortable with me and stay in.”

“Come on lounge boy! Don’t zap his momentum.
You, with your save some money, save your liver crap.
He knows when to say when, and it ain’t now.
Not with good friends, and so many good beers on tap.”

At this point, stuck in the middle, I decide to just go with it.
I muster up some courage and I join in the debate.
“Gene, I get it, you have some some very valid points.
And PJ, I am tired, and been going non-stop since eight.”

Immersed in this, and actually needing to make a decision,
I get an idea, that gives both sides a chance.
I take off the jeans, or Gene, and I lay them/him on the bed.
I will take some time to think, and decide between pjs or pants?

“When I get back from finishing in the bathroom, I’ll choose.
You two try to get along. I’m giving myself ten minutes to decide.”
My underwear and I depart, back down the hall to brush my teeth,
both with a vested interest in selecting one side.

As I floss and weigh both of the night’s options,
I can feel the cumulative effects of all that I did today.
Yet, it would be nice to see Greg and Chrissy again.
I only saw them for a bit, and they did come all this way.

Spitting out the last swish of my mouthwash,
a realization comes over me, and suddenly I know.
I figure, if any of my clothes are speaking to me,
I obviously need some rest, so it’s wiser not to go.

I make it official, by going from contacts to glasses,
confident and pleased with the logic I choose.
Proud of myself for deciding to be responsible,
I return to my room, to deliver the news.

I can hear some murmuring and muffled obscenities.
The bickering gets louder as I walk through the door.
Once inside, however, I am met with complete silence,
fully expecting to find one of them lying on the floor.

Still side by side on the bed, are anxious jeans and pyjamas.
And you could cut the tension with a knife.
I preface my delivery with some token respect,
“I appreciate your concern fellas, but it is my life.”

“While I am seldom one to let responsibility slow me down,
I do have to learn, sometime, when I’ve had enough.
After careful deliberation, I’ve decided to stay home.
Sorry about that Gene, but if you don’t like it, tough.”

“A little harsh Gary, but I suppose it’s okay, just this once.
But I hope you don’t make it a habit to be so boring.
Because there is nothing more sad or pathetic
than a lazy ass, on a Saturday, at eleven, snoring.”

“Point taken Gene. Speaking of a little harsh.”
I toss him in the basket with the other dirty guys.
“I guess it’s you and me PJ, let’s watch some tv.”
“Good idea Gary. And you’re not boring, you are wise.”

I immediately feel comfortable as I put on the pyjamas,
adding a sweat shirt to my lack of cares.
After texting my friends to politely apologize,
I refill my water and we head down the stairs.

After flipping on a lamp, I turn on the television,
pick up a remote that had fallen on the floor.
I plop myself down into my favourite lazy boy,
which seems oddly appropriate, because of before.

“There is nothing wrong with a nice night in.
It doesn’t always have to be go, go, go.”
That was just me, justifying to myself,
wanting to make sure, that both of us know.

Finally settled, I think, I scroll through my movie choices.
“Don’t sit there. Come lie down with me. No need to slouch.”
Hearing this, I am actually more exasperated than surprised.
It’s a sexy female voice, coming from the couch.



Justify them however you like,
  guns are made to kill.
   Made even more deadly
     in the hands of the vengeful,
       of the criminal, of the mentally ill.
         Guns will always find their way 
            into the hands of those who will.
              Inevitably, into the wrong hands, 
                  despite the latest greatest bill.
                     And always at the wrong time…
                        because guns are made to kill.

                           Those stubbornly blind say,
                             “Guns don’t kill. People do.”
                                 This weapon finds death.
                                    In the sights of the spiteful,
                                      of the careless, of the self-chosen few.
                                         It doesn’t matter what you say.
                                           It is mainly a matter of who.
                                             So open up your obstinate eyes.
                                               It could happen to yours, or you.
                                                  Guns alone may not shoot people…
                                                     but only people with guns do.

                                                         Defensive or offensive,
                                                            it is a scary slippery slope.

                                                              Guns are firmly entrenched
                                                                 in the arms of your nation,
                                                                   of law enforcement, of those who guard hope.
                                                                      Yet, for every group with the best intentions, 
                                                                         there is one more who can’t cope.
                                                                            Manufactured for a single purpose.
                                                                               Short-sighted, in every scope.
                                                                                  The hunter, or the hunted…
                                                                                     it’s a scary, slippery slope.

                                                                                         Guns are made to kill.
                                                                                            They will always find a way.
                                                                                              No matter what we do.
                                                                                                 No matter what you say.

A scary, slippery slope.


Spontaneity requires

time and place
Life does happen 
but you set the pace
   Opportunities progress  
from a simple notion
Even a clock 
is set in motion


We get caught up
in every day
Misplace our self
along the way
Routine and mundane 
by design
We are mindwashed 
to not cross the line

Accept some risk

and question why
Take a chance
and just try
Inject substance
into time and place
Eyes wide open 
to the daily race


Decision rights
belong to you
Influence the now
embrace the new

Increase your take
with all that you give

You are a work in progress
as long as you live


are a heavy load
is an open road
A living thing
is compelled to feel

Even the hamster 
running the wheel


Rash decisions
carry a heavy cost
The wrong road 
will get you lost
Defining and difficult
by design
We are hesitant
to cross the line

Accept the challenge
 and feel alive
Take the wheel
and just drive

The weight of choice
belongs to you
And the getting back
is a journey too


Decision rights
belong to you
Influence the now
embrace the new

Increase your take
with all that you give

You are a work in progress
as long as you live







Justify them however you like,
guns are made to kill.

Made even more deadly
in the hands of the vengeful,
of the criminal, of the mentally ill.
Guns will always find their way
into the hands of those who will.
Inevitably into the wrong hands
despite the latest, greatest bill.
And always at the wrong time
because guns are made to kill.

Those stubbornly blind say,
“Guns don’t kill. People do.”

This weapon finds death
in the sights of the spiteful,
of the careless, of the self-chosen few.
It doesn’t matter what you say,
it is mostly a matter of who.
So open up your obstinate eyes,
it could happen to yours, or you.
Guns alone may not shoot people,
but only people with guns do.

Defensive or offensive,

it is a scary slippery slope.

Guns are firmly entrenched
n the arms of your nation,
of law enforcement, of those who guard hope.
Yet for every one with the best intentions
there are three more who can’t cope.
Manufactured for a single purpose,
short-sighted, in every scope.
The hunter or the hunted,
It’s a scary slippery slope.

Guns are made to kill,
they will always find a way.
No matter what we do
no matter what you say.

It’s a



Stairs                    Steps

Certain steps along the way…

When we are young and so impressionable

When our ways are changing every day

When love and support are our best influences…

Certain steps along the way.

When we grow and learn and live

When we are taught how to act and what to say

When our family guides us through right and wrong…

Certain steps along the way.

When we leave to start out on our own

When we have more responsibility with every day

When all we have learned shapes who we are…

Certain steps along the way.

When we choose our life-long love

When our lives are open to come what may

When we think about all there is to experience…

Certain steps along the way.

When we have a family of our own

When it is time to show someone else the way

When the steps in life seem far too steep…

We will know the steps that we should take…

When we encounter all of this world’s ups and downs…

Those certain steps will show the way.



Who will I talk to now?

When I see you so peaceful soon after your fight
When the dark of this year is exposed to the light
When the mere thought of looking weakens my knees
When what to say then, becomes what are to be’s ?
When I think why we’re here and know what it’s for
When the wound from this day is open and sore
When I am up there alone spilling my gut
When I need someone’s help, to get out of this rut ?
When I carry this burden alone as I walk
When my shaky soul quivers as I try to talk
When the pain of this date recurs every year
When this terrible ache is replaced by the fear ?
When people come to me and look for strength
When answers escape me despite every length
When my weary shoulders feel only so strong
When the burden of right is outweighed by wrong ?

Who will I talk to?

When my mind drifts to that place where you were
What relief will I find that acts as my cure
Whenever my depths extend to new lows
Where can I run, to someone who knows ?
Where do I turn when I’ve just lost my way
When remembering delays the start to my day
When I look in the mirror to the reflection I see
When I turn to realize that you’re not here with me ?
When I think about what to buy for a gift
When my confidence wavers and I just need a lift
When I need someone to say just the right words
When I open a window, to “hear from the birds” ?
When my laughter subsides with a memory of you
When it’s out with the old and on to the new
When boxes can’t hide the now from the then
When doors don’t conceal the where from the when ?

Who will I turn to?

When inevitable loss finds me again
When I can’t erase what I write with my pen
When just the right phrase seems to elude
When the wrong expression alters my mood ?
When the root of my pain stings to the core
When the echo of your loss resonates more
When the whole of my heart is empty still
Whenever the way surpasses my will ?
What can I reach for, to lift up my mind
When I can’t leave frustration further behind
When the sound of my fury is the last that I’ve heard
When I cry with each reading, or with every word ?
When I question the reason, despite the rhyme
When the day never ends, despite the time
What do I do when my dreams see your face
When a song reminds me, of a time and a place ?

I will do my own talking…

When I’ve found the path to be my own guide
When the caring shapes my character inside
When my children ask me about who you were
When I answer, my words will be strong and be sure.
When someone I meet sees something in me
When I manage to love and just learn to be
When the feelings fly, from my mind to the page
When captured emotions release from their cage.
When my stories bring smiles more often than tears
When my heart opens up after all of these years
When I see your picture it reminds me to care
When I look at my life, I am sure and aware.
When the poems are complete and ready to share
When the things that I’ve said take me back there
What more can I say than I am happy and fine
When the memories are yours, they’ll always be mine.

G.G. Jan.18/13


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