I Am No Friend of Dementia




I Am No Friend of Dementia came about because,
on the internet I was asked to join Friends of Dementia.

I Am No Friend of Dementia

H. W. Bryce

I am no friend of dementia,
I won’t give it a capital d,
In fact I am his sworn enemy
For what he’s done to my family.

He always goes back upon his word
And he’s never been true to me;
He’s cancelled everything that’s fun,
That’s no way for a friend to be.

It is an unforgiving sin,
A crime how he can be sublime,
How he seduces innocence,
Mistreats the people all the time

I am no friend of dementia,
For dementia’s mean to me,
He’s broken all his promises,
There is no faith in him to see.

He says he’ll lead you safely on,
That he’ll take good care of you,
But when you take that path with him,
He proves himself untrue.

Oh he’s taken his eraser
And he’s rubbed out my breakfast time,
And then when I thought it was dinner,
He up and turned around upon a dime.

There on my slate of mem-o-ries,
He has changed it all around;
He’s rubbed out all important dates,
And he’s left me feeling tied and bound.

So I am no friend of Dementia
He’s a double-dare, twofaced cad—
He even fools the intelligentsia—
He’s made everyone think that I am mad.

The trouble with dementia
Is dementia is demented.
I wish he’d get out of my head,
But I fear his presence is cemented.

Don’t trust him, he’s a bully
In the very worst possible way,
He scatters your life to the wind,
And he’s no longer welcome to stay.


(Click for picture. Things aren’t working right today.)

I want to have some peace now,
I sorely need to get some sleep.
If I could recall where the bed is,
I’d fall into it in one big heap.

So I am no friend of Dementia
Every time I want to go somewhere, 3
He deliberately blocks my way
It’s really quite too much to bear.

And when I need to remember a name,
He fiddles around with my brain;
And all of his dang’rous suggestions
Are totally, altogether in vain.

Every time I get an idea,
He scatters the pieces away,
And he blocks my way when I chase them,
So the idea can’t form and stay.

He’s a misery, a thief, and a cad,
Not capable of being a friend;
He stole the fun out of my life –
Oh how I wish that he would end.

He’s seduced all of my friends from me,
Turned my family against me,
And you say make friends with Dementia,
While I feel like I’m in a storm at sea.

Well I am no friend of Dementia,
Dementia can go straight on to Hell,
For he’s turned my life inside out now,
And now I live my life all pell-mell.

Yes Mr. Dementia,
Go straight on back to Hell.

In support  of Chasing a Butterfly: A journey in poems of love and loss to accaptance
Available at:

Amazon.ca –   goo.gl/nexsF4

Friesen’s  –  http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

And for further interest, you can visit:
#caregiver    #dementia   #Alzheimers


Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Nine Markers for Alzheimer’s

Nine Markers for Alzheimer’s

Thurs Jly 20, 2017

This morning’s news on CBC:

The Nine “markers” of possible impending Alzheimer’s disease:

Less children’s education

Hearing Loss    [and thus leading to isolation]


Obesity                        [and thus leading to diabietes]




Physical Inactivity

Social Isolation

The medical cost is way beyond the horizon. So is the suffering.

9 ways to reduce your risk

: in short, smarten up your “lifestyle” and live more healthily.

Also, from personal experience, watch those pills the doctor prescribes. One of them sent me on the path to contracting Alzheimer’s. Worst part? I was starting to accept that as my fate. Once I got off the pill, I recovered.

So keep that old body moving and the brain busy.

Excuse me now. I have to race to my computer and think up another poem. Then walk off all that exertion. Working on stamina.

Go to: http://www.cbc.ca/news/health/dementia-prevention-1.4213239


Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Memories | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Upon Turning 31,776 Days Old


picture for Upon turning 31,776 days old

Upon Turning 31,776 Days Old

I long to see the homestead,
The place where I was born.
I long to walk my childhood ways,
To see the flowers growing there
And breathe the forest air…

I do not know what drives this longing,
What brings this melancholy air,
But I think oft (and so often) now
Of all my yesterchildhood days,
And I miss the child’s free playful ways.
I feel some strange force is pulling,
And it’s hard to not obey.

–I know not what hidden force it is
–that drives me to this obsessing state……

Be it heaven or be in heal,
This cannot be the final bell.
I pray that I may carry on
In my own exotic way.
I pray the spirits are not calling,
I have so many reasons yet to stay.

But upon turning…

But Hark! I hear a life force calling,
And this call I must obey.
So I shall carry on for now
As if the finite were not there;
I shall make and follow plans
And live with spirit bare,
For life of course is for the living
And the living I will dare.

No more maudlin thoughts allowed,
No more bringing down,
Only building up and living on
With new vigour and with zest,
And if with gloom I’m ever pressed,
THAT will I put down.

I am resolved now. It’s not a bucket list,
Nor even is it just a dream,
It’s a plan, and to hell and damn
If anything will stop me now.
My mind’s made up and I will stop
At nothing, if only for her sake—
A promise made is a promise kept,
I will live, put paid to that living debt.

And for all the while in the past I slept,
The putting off is now put off
And I will fulfill my plan!
Now this part of life becomes the jam
Between the slices of my life.
Beat the drum and play the fife.

CREDIT: I, Padraic Ryan, Creative Commons

Amazon.ca –   goo.gl/nexsF4

Friesen’s  –  http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

And for further interest, you can visit:
#caregiver    #dementia   #Alzheimers


Posted in Alzheimer's, Books, Care Giving, Dementia, Memories, Poetry, Reminiscing | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

This Light: This Shining Light


This Light - shining light

THIS LIGHT: This shining light

This light
You see in me
I see in you
          -Xenia Tran




H. W. Bryce

Look not so sad, my friend,
The world has not yet ended,
Nor has, therefore, this life of yours,
There remain still more happy tours
To be had.

Look in my eyes, my friend,
Remember those befriended,
Look deep into my eyes and view-
This light you see in me, I see in you.
See this light.

This light comes from the soul,
Much deeper than the psyche,
For what we fear inside our mind
Is shallow, deeper meaning we can find
In the soul.

The soul, it will shine through,
We must hold on to our faith
While time it heals our deepest wound
And we grow stronger, we avoid the doom-                          This Light: Sad girl
Now hold on.

Being sad will not help,
Look you not like drowning duck.
So you are down upon your luck,
Be the peacock, strut you proud, show your pluck,
Lift your head.

So look not sad, my friend,
This is not the very end.
Now look into my eyes and view-
This light you see you see in me, I see in you!
See this light.

From the Whippet Wisdom haiku by Xenia Tran comes the poem by H. W. Bryce, written for an 
old, dear friend in England who was feeling down. 

The two had just recently got in touch
after more than fifty years.

CREDITS: Shining light by https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Light_shining1.JPG

Sad girl by


Content optimizationEnter a focus keyword to calculate the SEO score

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Being there, Care Giving, Dementia, Love, Memories, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

Poor You, Poor, Poor You


Poor You, Poor, Poor You

Poor You, Poor, Poor You

I had had a pretty bad day. Everything I touched fell over or crashed to the floor.
It happened so often I didn’t think I could take it any more.
I misread the clock, got my hand stuck in a crock and the cookie crumbled.
I saw that I was late, I would miss my mate so I hurried and I stumbled,
I cracked my shin on the steel-framed chair and I caught my hair
In the drawer as my head hit it sidelong and it slid like a kid on a dare.

Well I finally got out, but the car had a flat, and I pinched my finger
As I jacked up the car and I bruised my knee when the wrench lingered
Then snapped and jumped off of the nut, it nearly drove Me out of MY nut,
And I got this real sick feeling down deep in my gut
That this day really did not augur me well. Well I finally got it together
And arrived at the home to comfort my dear wife, my beloved and loving tether.

I limped inside and found my true love, slumped and debilitated in her wheelchair, both of them old.
One look and she beckoned, “Come to me dear,” and caressing my cheek murmured, “Poor you. Poor, poor old you.”

CREDIT: goo.gl/thzEyg

Amazon.ca –   goo.gl/nexsF4

Friesen’s  –  http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

And for further information, you can visit:

#caregiver                  #dementia                  #Alzheimers


Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Faithful, Irony, Memories, My butterfly, Poetry, Tribute | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

Chasing but Late for dinner


After the flurry of activity about Chasing a Butterfly, 
I thought I should share a bit of it.

So here is the first poem in my book Chasing a Butterfly:

Chasing but


She hosted a party, her friends asked me to come;
I was ever so nervous but they said don’t be dumb.
But they made us get up and dance in the dark—
Electricity flowed and we both felt a spark,
And we both of us turned and we both of us ran—
I taunted a “catch me if you think that you can.”
But then she asked me for dinner at home in her flat,
So I computed to see what time would be that?

But culture in England has the quirkiest notions:
For dinner for her is supper for me
And supper for me must be time for her tea,
As she does the brekky, the lunch and the dinner and tea
And I do the breakfast and dinner and sup, don’t you see?
Not to mention elevenses or brunches or afternoon
So I calculated, translated, guaranteed a good fate—
But when I arrived for her dinner, I was four hours too late.

Now lateness for her is a passionate hate,
So when I arrived on her step for that very first date,
She scolded me, harsh!…then invited me in,
And I had to atone for committing that sin;
So I ate in discomfort, the hour was long—
I guess I computed the time a bit wrong.

But though she was angry, all was not lost,
She mellowed right out and I never felt bossed—
But always I wonder if she’d slammed that front door,
Or what if I’d turned and cowardly fled?
We’d never have wed and shared the same bed;
I’m ever so glad that I stayed for that dinner instead.

Remember that a portion of all sales go to the Alzheimer’s Society of BC 
in support of family care givers and to find a cure for this pernicious disease.

To enjoy all of the poems in Chasing a Butterfly, go to

Amazon.ca –   goo.gl/nexsF4

Friesen’s  –  http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

And for further information, you can visit:

#caregiver                  #dementia                  #Alzheimers


Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Being there, Care Giving, Celebration, Dementia, Dreams, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Remembering | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m just calling to say thank you


Thank you card for I'm just calling to say thank you

I’m Just Calling to Say Thank You

I’m just calling to say thank you,
Thank you for all you have done,
I could not have done it without you,
So a hug and a thank you are due.

I give that and more quite willing,
Let me know if there is something
That I can do in return,
Cause that is what friends always do.

And I will do it quite willing
for you and for you and for you.

Special thanks also to Shari and the ladies at Black Bond Books,
Lavana Le Brey at Renaissance Books, Phil Ransom and all
the good poets at Holy Wow Poets Canada.

This is for your support of my book Chasing a Butterfly, 
a portion of sales of which go to the http://www.alzheimer.ca/en/bc/We-can-help in the 
fight against Alzheimer’s disease.

To contribute to the cause, you can find Chasing a Butterfly at:
Amazon.ca –   goo.gl/nexsF4

Friesen’s  –  http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

And for further information, you can visit:

#dementia                  #Alzheimers



Posted in Alzheimer's, Book Signing, Featured poet, Friends, Poetry, Remembering, Thank you | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment