I Am…the dew

I Am the Dew

I Am…the dew

I am healthy, I am whole,
I am rain, I am snow,
And hail and sleet and waves;
I am the dew upon your lash,
And I am here.

And if and when comes the time,
Let the church’s bell chime,
It won’t be that I am leaving
It’ll be that I am taken,
But I am here.

You may cry, you may weep,
You may never sleep,
But I’m the tear from your eye
That trembles on your lash,
And I am here.

You may lose your norm,
You may be the storm,
The wind of change may blow away,
But I am the breeze upon your cheek,
And I am here.

You may see the trouble coming,
You may’nt feel like humming,
You may feel your strength is crumbling,
But I’m that second wind you feel,
And I’m here.

You may be feeling lost in strife,
You may feel that life is not your life,
You may think disease has won the battle,
But I’m the one who gives you strength,
And I am here.

Sometimes the hurt can get you down,
Sometimes you feel that you’re a clown,
Life sometimes can be so cruel,
Life and death is everybody’s duel.

But do not let it keep you down,
You can smile all through that frown
Because your will is stronger than,
And I’m your Number One fan,
And I’m here.

You can lean on me, I’m always here,
Count on me, I’m always near,
I’m sticking close, I love you dear,
I am your friend, and I am here.

I’m the candy cane you feel upon your tongue,
I’m the reason that you feel so young,
I’m the warm and fuzzy feel of love,
I’m the sound of flapping wings of doves.

I am rain, I am snow
And wind and rain, and crow,
I am the meadow lark, forget-me-not,
I am the dew upon your lips,
And I am here.

And I’m here. And I’m here.
I’m everywhere you’re here,
I am the dew upon your lash,
I hope that I am not too brash,
But I’m here.

I am that wisp of cooling air,
That whisper in your ear,
I am that silent prayer
And the love you hold so dear,
I am the beat inside your heart,
The very pulse you feel.

And if and when comes the time,
Let the church’s bell chime,
It won’t be that you are leaving
It’ll be that you are being taken,
But I am here.

I am the dew upon your lash
And I will not let you crash.
Take my message to your heart,
You and I will never part.

–H. W. Bryce

*These lines are borrowed from my very good Facebook friend Deborah Solberg – “She’s still with you. That wisp of cool air. The whisper in your ear. That silent prayer,” written to a grieving friend on the loss of his sister.

CREDIT: Pixabay free commons

Raising funds to fight Alzheimer’s: Chasing a Butterfly, book by H. W. Bryce, with the Poetry of Alzheimer’s and Poems for Everybody, is available at goo.gl/nexsF4 and http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS
Mr. Bryce was a judge at the 2017 Rabindranath Tagore Award International, English Poetry (India).
A percentage of each book purchase is contributed to the Alzheimer’s Society of BC for research and people support.
Further reading at #caregiver #dementia #Alzheimers

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

An Angel Weeps

 

An Angel Weeps

AN ANGEL WEEPS

H. W. Bryce

Oh cry for the angel,
Cry for the angel who weeps
Each time a conscience sleeps.
Oh cry now for the angel

For every angry word, an angel weeps,
For every double cross, an angel weeps,
Every time you lie, and angel’s tear drops,
And for every cruel act, an angel’s heart stops.

Each time a punch is thrown, an angel weeps,
Each time a grudge is on the creeps,
An angel’s heart, sinks into the deeps
And her hopes drop onto the heaps.

Oh hear the sobs as an angel weeps,
Let not her heartbreak be for keeps,
Have compassion for her heart,
Let us do our better part.

Oh cry for the angel,
Cry for the angel who weeps
Each time a conscience sleeps.
Oh cry now for the angel.

An angel weeps

For every broken heart, an angel weeps,
For every broken child, an angel weeps,
Every sin makes disappointment grow,
And her halo loses a bit of glow.

Listen closely now,
An angel speaks.
Listen closely and you will hear
How an angel speaks.
Between her sobs
With a voice that bobs,
And an angel speaks.
Listen closely now
And you will hear how an angel peaks…

We must do better now, we must relearn the art of love.
Love is all encompassing, love is more than a free white dove.
We must not make the angels cry, they do watch over us,
And each of us has an angel’s soul, it’s god’s great gift to us.

But for every person with disease,
And every family suffering with,
For every refugee still on the road
And for every victim everywhere,
An angel weeps.

Sitting at the left of God, an angel weeps.
She sees how people fail their God.
She sees the jealousy, the seven sins…
At God’s left side, an angel weeps.

Oh cry for the angel,
Cry for the angel who weeps
Each time a conscience sleeps.
Oh, cry now for the angel
— —

CREDIT: Pixabay free commons

Raising funds to fight Alzheimer’s:

Chasing a Butterfly, book by H. W. Bryce, with the Poetry of Alzheimer’s and Poems for Everybody, is available at goo.gl/nexsF4  and http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS
Mr. Bryce was a judge at the 2017 Rabindranath Tagore Award International, English Poetry (India).

A percentage of each book purchase is contributed to the Alzheimer’s Society of BC for research and people support.

Further reading at   #caregiver   #dementia   #Alzheimers

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Angels, Dementia, Grieving, Memories, Poetry, Remembrance | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Electrodes in the Brain

 

picture for Electrodes in the Brain

Electrodes in the Brain

Electrodes in the brain, electrodes in the brain,
Sparks are flying and falling like rain,
You feel alive and you’re feeling no pain,
And life is all about power and gain.

No longer a slouch, you want to step out,
Now that you’ve conquered that dreadful gout.
You’ve come alive, you can’t help but to spout,
’Cause you’ve kicked that old depression right out.

Electrodes, electrodes, beautiful crackling electrodes,
They caress your dendrites and spark up your synapses,
And they make your blood run so hot,
So there’s nothing that you can not
Do-oo-ooo!

Electrodes, electrodes, bless those wonderful electrodes,
Feeding the brain, bringing it back from the rusty corrodes,
Putting it once more in top gear and setting it to “strive,”
Science to the rescue, patient once more fully alive.

Be thankful to those wonderful wee gadgets,
Thanks to them the brain no longer need scratch it –
Reaching in to relive the past, no need to grope,
Electrodes, electrodes, giving the lost ones new hope.

— —

Electrodes in the Brain

An Alzheimer’s study at Johns Hopkins university/hospital in Baltimore places electrodes in the brain to stimulate glucose to the brain.
That is, a pacemaker sends electric currents to the brain to do that, and it “Wakes” the memory. Otherwise, parts of the brain shut down without the glucose, the brain’s food, and memory dies.
“It’s like turning the light on.” Now there are 120 pp in the study.
–Global News, Oct 6, 2017 (Ann’s birthday)

Credit: Pixaby

Chasing a Butterfly, book by H. W. Bryce, with the Poetry of Alzheimer’s and Poems for Everybody, is available at goo.gl/nexsF4  and http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS
Mr. Bryce was a judge at the 2017 Rabindranath Tagore Award International, English Poetry (India).

A percentage of each book purchase is contributed to the Alzheimer’s Society of BC for research and people support.

Further reading at   #caregiver   #dementia   #Alzheimers

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Birthday, Care Giving, Dementia, Memory, Poetry, Remembering, Research | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Everyone Has a Mother

 

Everyone has a mother

Everyone Has a Mother

Everyone has a mother; most have a grandma too,
You may be young and hip, well hurray for you,
But if you don’t know your grandma’s story,
You don’t know just who you are.
Even “evil people” have mothers,
And even they love their mothers,
You’d think that we have this in common,
That here is a point to start from,
A place to launch that new start,
A way to till that common ground
That leads to the breaking of bread together,
And the shaking of a newly found friend’s hand.
Presuming that mothers are motherly,
And not propaganda machines,
Listen to your mother, she loves you,
And wants only the best in your life.

Oh, temptations are luringly wantable,
But remember what your mother has said,
Beware of temptations awooing,
They’ll be sure to be your undoing,
For they take you off from your lifeline
And you lose when opportunity strikes.

So feed at your mother’s knee, friend,
She speaks the wisdom of ages
And wisdom will serve to the end.

So don’t get so wrapped up in the technos,
Remember we all have a heart;
Remember also that living is sharing,
For which caring is an integral part.
The world does not revolve around you,
It carries us all, after all –
What you feel, I can feel,
And what I love, you can love,
And love can trump all of our hate.
All we need do is work it together,
Our egos left behind at the door,
For there really is a floor
For neglect and cruelty and hate,
Below which we must never drop…

Think of the disenchanted, the ill, the poor and the needy,
Think of the turmoil in the minds of the mothers
When diseases like Alzheimer’s calls
And the brain that was active now crawls.

Though it’s different when it visits your own,
We all have mothers, remember,
So treat all others as if one of your own,
We’re all one big family, each is an equal member.

Treat everyone as if they were your mother,
And you simply cannot go wrong!

–H. W. bryce

Credit: Pixaby

Chasing a Butterfly at goo.gl/nexsF4   http://bit.ly/2jQpFxS

A percentage of each book purchase is contributed to the Alzheimer’s Society of BC for research and people support.

Further reading at   #caregiver   #dementia   #Alzheimers

Posted in Advocate, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Memories, Poetry, Remember | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Old Quilting Bee

 

The Old Quilting Bee

H. W. Bryce

Ladies bending over quilting frame,
Busy fingers stitching squares
Into a pattern speaking love,
Happy voices humming hope.

Making patches, keeping memories,
Every stitch a kiss, each caress
A stroke of strength, a vow
This patch will help somehow.

Another patch into the frame,
Another tuft upon the thatch
Of a kind old soul not too rushed
To soothe a quilter’s mind.

Accentuating positive,
Resisting all that’s negative,
Happy people, nimble fingers
Spreading love, sowing hope.
Work together young and old,
Weak and strong, rich or poor,
Family now, stay together,
Work for good, work for all.

Old memories touching someone new,
Each quilting patch sending out new vibes,
Patchwork quilt, a unity of love,
Healing wounds, forgiveness given.

Yes, the old quilting bee updated,
A virtual holding hand in hand,
Patching strangers into friendship lives,
Folks together, one world view.

Square joining happy square, happy quilt,
People loving people, universal smile,
Harmony floating out in waves for miles,
Universal song, universal quilt.

About the Patches

Life is a patchwork of experiences, of ups and downs.
Some lives are torn apart and the patches may never be stitched back together.

In the case of the Alzheimer’s sufferers, life looks like a random collection of bits and pieces.

A pysical quilt can patch memories together and serve as a memoy album.
There is an example of such a quilt in the long-term care home where my Ann spent her final years. It was beautiful.

In the case of last evening, the patchwork quilt above was also for the homeless. Here is the blurb for the event:

Positive Resistance Community Quilt

Over the last few months Maple Ridge Artist in Residence Kat Wahamaa has been inviting folks to make quilt squares. The community quilt is being created by community at large – everyone from seniors to students – a multi-generational, multi-cultural, multi-representational quilt expressing hope for the future of Maple Ridge and the world.

Each quilt square embodies positive energy, a positive resistance to negativity in our community and/or around the globe – in any way the individual chooses. It’s all about putting positive energy out into the world through art.

The quilt was on display yesterday, October 12, at Maple Ridge Council Chambers at another event “HOME is Where the Heart Is!” for Homelessness Action Week. The chamber was packed with people.

I was invited to read my poem The Old Quilting Bee. It went well.

The evening ended with the showing of a very moving film by Cinema Politica in support of Homeless Week. Of course, for the homeless, life is a patchwork – and sometimes for the Alzheimer’s/Dementia sufferers, it feels like homelessness in that it is that disruptive for the sufferers, who sometimes wind up on the street, and for their care givers whose lives (quilts) are torn into “squares.”

The film followed several homeless people in Toronto. If you weren’t moved by this film you have no heart.

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Being there, Care Giving, Dementia, Dreams, Homeless, Memories, Poetry, Remembrance | Leave a comment

Memory Is a Silly Old Bugger

 

Memory Is a Silly Old Bugger

Memory is a Silly Old Bugger

Memory is a silly old bugger,
He’s the living example of hugger mugger,
He plays hide and seek with facts and with figures,
Today’s events…he hides away somewhere
and substitutes twenty-year-old events for display;
So memory tells man he’s not ill, he’s “Just fine!”
And man’s memory’s gone like a skunky old wine.

Man goes to the store but memory fails,
He’s forgotten his list, he has plenty of bread,
’Cause memory does flips and teases instead,
So man’s memory of lists inevitably bails.

Man gets those second childhood thoughts,
He recites from chapter and from verse,
The stories get wilder, the telling gets worse,
His memories bounce like malicious bots.

Ask him his age and he’ll tell you he’s fine,
Ask where he lives and he’ll tell you in London
When really he lives in North America’s New Bunton,
And try as he will, he’s forgotten to dine.

Oh memory is a grand old tease,
He’ll tell you you’re well, you have no disease,
So you’ll carry on and he’ll blot up your deeds
And hide them away as if they were weeds.

Oh memory! He’s such a silly old Bugger –
He considers himself a high-scoring slugger
But in reality, he’s just a plain old street mugger,
He’ll rob you of all that is true and leave you to blubber.

Oh, you try to train them when they are young
But memories have a mind of their own.
You try to give them muscle but they prefer bone,
Like mischievous kids, they prefer to roam.

They love to play that hide and go seek,
And when you try to find them, you don’t get a peek,
They dance on the tip of your tongue, sir,
Yes, indeed, memory is a silly old bugger.

Image from Pickit

H. W. Bryce, Author of Chasing Butterfly: A journey in poems of love and loss to acceptance, the Poetry of Alzheimer’s and Poems for Everybody.

Chasing a Butterfly is available at Amazon.ca – goo.gl/nexsF4
Preview available there.  Note: Partial proceeds go to the Alzheimer’s Society to fight this disease.

H. W. Bryce blogs at: hwbrycewrites.com (Books, Blogs and Butterflies)
Mr. Bryce served as Judge at 2017 Rabindranath Tagore Awards International, English Poetry
He is published in several anthologies, in Canada and in the USA.

 

Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Elderly, Memory, Poetry, Remembering | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cheshire Cat

 

Cheshire Cat

* This may strike you odd as a tribute,
but anything can trigger a cherished memory – anything!
So, today I choose the amusing over the maudlin.

When the Cheshire Cat Comes to Visit

When the Cheshire Cat comes to visit,
And only his smile shows up,
You really must grin and bear it,
Or he’ll eat your breakfast up.

Oh the Cheshire Cat is sneaky,
You’ll never hear him come.
It’s hard not to feel he’s creepy,
And if he meows, he’ll strike you dumb.

But what the Cheshire Cat is after
Is the milk that’s in your bowl,
If you let him, he’ll lick it up faster
Than a panther, which is exactly his goal.

Oh, that smile will sit at your elbow,
And pretend not to notice the milk,
But when you look away he’ll eye the bowl –
Look back, and he’s as blasé as silk.

Oh, Cheshire Cat, oh, Cheshire Cat,
I love your invisible hat,
I know you are playful and that,
But your are such a mischievous brat!

I thought I saw a Cheshire Cat,
A Cheshire Cat with a grin,
But when I looked, it was only a hat,
And laughter came out of its brim.

But the space is filled to the brim
With the memory of a Cheshire Cat.
Hey! Wait! What happened to my milk?
Where do you think it has gone?

Oh! Darn you, mischievous Cheshire Cat!
You’re never near when you’re wanted,
And we’re left wondering where you are at –
Then you grin and make us feel haunted.

— —
My Ann had a bit of a Cheshire Cat smile.

Sometimes when I, or one of our sons or grandsons, were acting silly for her – just goofin’ around – she would give us that comical frowny grin of amused disapproval. That was a beam of heaven for us.

I thought about that the morning I was playing with my breakfast and this grin began to show up in my granola. I gave it a little push here and a little press there and…and I had to chuckle.

So I took its picture, for soon it would disappear, just as the Cheshire Cat’s mysterious grin faded.

And our little cat did indeed sit at my elbow looking, Oh, so nonchalant!

So go ahead. Be a kid again. Play with your food. Who’s gonna tell you not? You’re loved one might give you that Cheshire Cat grin. Gather up the memories.

I love you still, my Ann,
I love you with all my will.
I keep trying to say goodbye, Ann,
But doggone it I love you still.
I try to move on and kick the can, Ann,
But I still haven’t had my fill.

So I’ll continue to try to amuse youse,
And I promise not to live with the blues.

Happy Birthday Ann.

— —

Posted in Alzheimer's, Blues, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Memories, My butterfly, Poetry, Tribute | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment