Man of Many Colours

 

MAN OF MANY COLOURS

(Grn mini Nov 18/20 H.)

H.  W. Bryce

I am a man of many colours,

Blood-red for love of fellow man,

I bleed for the murdered, missing and maimed

Blue for sadness, regret and melancholy,

I weep for the state of mankind,

Scarlet for the wounded in fights and in wars,

All fights unnecessary,

All wars are so unnecessary, big or small

Green for the survival of the planet,

Green for the good health of trees,

The lungs of the earth which are

Being butchered by the trillions

Green for the health that comes from vegetables

I am Yellow, for the gold of the sunshine

And the daily sunrise,

Also for the jaundice of ill health

Yellow for the jaundice of Man

I am Black for the rage against injustice

Plaguing our people, here, there, and everywhere

On this God-given planet we owe allegiance to

I am orange for that coloured sky that

Goes Wham Bam when wonderful

You comes along,* the orange of the sunrise

To a new day that we probably don’t deserve,

Orange for the sunsets that beautify our lives

And I am tan for the colour of good health.

For exercise of clean and clear thinking,

For optimism and long-term planning

I am purple for the love of the children

For hope and kindness, good examples,

For hugs and holding hands, and Love!

I am gold, as the medal of good will toward all Men.

For helping hands, a leg/lift up for my fellow (man)

For praise, for a pat on the back, for encouragement

Colour me Universal.

I am a universal man.

Here I stand.

Come. Stand with me.

 

-00- —

 

Join me.

 

You can be one too.

 

*Orange Colored Sky,

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Milton Delugg / William Stein

Orange Colored Sky lyrics © Amy Dee Music Corp.

 

**Man – c=with a capital, standing for all people, in the old-fashioned sense; all-inclusive.

 

***Colours: there seem to be many variations of the meanings of colours.

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Take My Tears

 

Take my tears picture

TAKE MY TEARS

 

H. W. Bryce

 

To all the idiots who continue to swarm in defiance of good sense
and safety and to those “leaders” who ignore the ban and travel and who leave the country,

and the rest of us behind with the ever increasingly strong killer virus,

take a look at reality. THINK! You apparently believe in denial, just not in self denial.

Here is what you escaped, for a few pleasurable moments. Good for you.

Written Dec 10/20  – grn ntbk nov 18-20 –

Take my tears, they are kisses,

My treasures of love. These teardrops

Kiss you goodbye and flow into

That bright new day        and remember me.

 

She stepped in, after shift, to cover

For a fellow nurse forced to take an

Emergency break. The patient was a

Mother of two daughters, fighting,

Fighting, fighting to breathe, to last

Long enough to see her daughters

One last time.

 

She does not know the ward is closed

To all visitors, and closing this night

To nurses, who will henceforth wear

Name tags for the humanity of human

Touch in place of touching touch. They

Will now have to read their patients’

Charts, and check their conditions via

Binoculars, the disease is that

contagious.

But for now, our nurse stands bedside,

Physically holding the mother’s hand and

Looking into her desperate, panicked eyes.

And our nurse is fighting panic, too, for

All signs are terminal. Hours left to fight

For one more breath. Grasping nurse’s

Hand as a strand of life, starting to

Hallucinate, clinging to nurse’s words:

 

“Your daughters will be here soon, Mary.

Soon your daughters will come.

They are on their way, Mary.

Your daughters love you, my dear,

Your daughters love you

very much.”

 

And nurse’s tears flow down her cheeks,

Soak through her protective mask, and

Fall from her face shield to kiss the

The cheeks of the dying mother.

 

And the mother’s eyes close, and she

Heaves her last, heavy breath, knowing

That she was loved, that she was not

Alone, believing that her daughters

were there.

 

And then the daughters were.

 

Take these tears, dear caring nurse,

As a lasting tribute to your loving

Compassion and your beyond-duty

Saintly work. Take these tears and

Hold them. They are your heavenly

Reward; they are our everlasting

Thank You. They are halos in the light.

Your tribute to wear. For you

are NURSE!

 

 

Take these tears and wash away your grief,

Look at them, see them in the light,

See the light refract, see that brighter future

They hold inside of them. Here,

Take these tears. Let them wash away

Some of the hurt.

 

— —

 

Upon reading about ICU nurses in the Covid wards in Canada, expressing their tears and fears.
This is for their professional efforts, and their love.
References taken from various news stories.

 

Dedicated to the doctors, the nurses, the aides, the morticians,

The wonderful government health officers and the families

Of the Covid 19 victims.

 

 

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

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Let There Be Peace

 

Praying in panic: Let there be peace

Christmas Truce 1914

 H. W. Bryce

blogged dec 23,     is reblog from (2017?)

 

“It’ll all be over by Christmas,” was the optimistic

Cry as the young Brits marched off to war.

 

But come December that year of ’14, it was

Very clear, it would not be. Then came

Christmas Eve and Winter set in, as had the war!

Too many bloody deaths already, too tight the

Jaws. Too many bullet-ridden bodies lay about

The scarred battleground, carved into halves with

The front lines marked by face-to-face trenches.

Helmet facing helmet, the men knew, as did their

Leaders, that the land had to be cleared, and taken.

 

Both sides received Christmas boxes on the eve of the day.

Worried mothers and sisters and little brothers thinking

Of “Our boys overseas.” The boys in the trenches shivered

As the winter painted that barren, pock tainted landscape

With patterns of icy cold frost.

 

And indeed, the winter frost sparkled as various

Lights struck it. And something struck a light in some hearts.

Christmas day and a lone German stood up, like a target,

And sang, a Christmas song.

 

And spontaneously, a head here and a head there popped up

From the trenches, followed by their tentative bodies

On the German side. Then one by one, two, three by

Twos and threes on the other, meeting in the middle of

No Man’s Land, in the middle of the horrible war, that war

Declared to end all war. Slowly, in unison, they sang, and

All the Christmas songs that ever were floated above

That war in spontaneous Peace.

 

Finally, like any church choir, in one unified voice,

These soldiers, sworn to kill the enemy, yes, both sides,

Spontaneously sang the universal hymn of peace

 

 

SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT.

ALL IS CALM, ALL IS BRIGHT…

 

Then the two sides mingled, traded souvenirs, buried

The hatchet as they buried their dead, held a sacred moment

Over a single grave, as if in Amen.

 

And then, somebody produced a football and the game was on.

 

Brits vs Germans, in great gaiety, in the spirit of

The game. In the spirit of peace and of brotherhood,

And of sanity. It is written that the Germans won: 3–2.

 

But this truce on this patch of good will to all men

Was cut short by orders from the higher ups

That any repeat of such treason would be prosecuted.

The trenches once again filled with hatred, real or

Enforced, giving nerve to follow orders, to kill…

 

 

And we are left to wonder: If fighting men can drop their armaments

In the middle of a war to play football and sing carols together,

Why in the name of God can’t we do the same in the time of “Peace?”

Eh? And hold on to it.

 

Amen.

 

— —

 

Enjoy your Christmas.

 

Please, pass the Peace.

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The gods Sleep

 

The gods sleep

The gods Sleep

 

H. W. Bryce

 

After Susan McCaslin, Persephone’s Nook, a One Minute Poem in Poets Corner

“-mixed technologies /words – entire alphabets…please release us…”

 

I think the ancient gods of Greece,

Blessed with infinite power and

Everlasting life, have fallen asleep

 

Out of boredom with the people of today,

Who, after an infinity of time

Following their predecessors, still have not

Learned a wink

About peace.

 

Still the humans quarrel among themselves,

Still they desecrate Nature, still they

Possess, still they kill

Still they tolerate starvation        homelessness,

Profiteering…

 

Still the gods refuse to answer the humans’

Prayers

 

Though still, the humans offer up gifts

To the gods, for still the humans

Believe

In

The

gods

 

But the gods sleep. Surely the gods

Sleep, for they are silent

And their homes in the clouds

Are dark

And gloomy

And threatening

As are their moods…

Their thunder has lost its roar

And the people ignore it

Anyway…

 

Though

Their lightning snores,

Its rumbles and sparks

Burn the forests,

The winds of their breath

destroy the humans’

frail structures…

 

And while the gods sleep,

The angels weep.

 

And now,

Now they ignore our plea

To save us from this blight

From this hell, this killing force,

This virus…

 

Awake, ye gods!

Awake. The little fishes need you,

They are dying out

As the humans devour them

In unimaginable quantities,

Pollution, poison,

And all

 

Awake ye gods

Come

Restore some order among

The dissolute humans

It is late

It is late

It is late

 

Come, if only to scare the humans

Into reforming

And evolving

And keeping their promise

To reform,

So oft given…

 

Come…

 

Ye gods

 

Come

 

https://pixabay.com/photos/angel-god-religion-heaven-holy-2512756/

 

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To Nap or Not to Nap

 

To nap or not to nap

TO NAP OR NOT TO NAP

 

H. W. Bryce

 

Weary of the world, the mind wants to sleep,

Though the day is but half worn, the sunset

Still half a day away. To nap or not

to nap is signalled by a drooping eye

lid, day arguing with night, Mr. Sand

Man versus call to glory. Ah! Glory!

 

To nap is to miss out on life

And I don’t want to miss out on life

With all its colour and noise,

Its quiet and excitement,

Its ups and downs and all the in-betweens.

I want to share the mix that makes up our day.

I want to savour the flavours of living

To life’s limits; the thrill of discovery,

The possibilities of what I can or could do.

 

I don’t want to miss out

On meeting fascinating new people,

Coffee-cupping with old friends,

The hugging, the kissing…the hugging!

The pleasure of hugging!

There is so much food for the brain

To be had. So much comfort

In friendship.

Long live friendship!

 

I want to hear the voices,

I crave to hear your voice.

I need to share the “I love yous.”

I require the colour of your love.

 

I thrive on the smell of success,

The scent of the trail to new

Discoveries – perhaps a new species

Of flower pansation or carnoslip,

The smell of newly wet moss in the

Rain instead of the odorless cactus.

 

So, although a nap might refresh

For another few hours, to nap

Or not to nap is but a rhetorical

Question. The answer is obvious.

 

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

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The Gift of Giving

 

The Gift of Giving

THE GIFT OF GIVING

 

H. W. Bryce

 

A gift given is a thing of value,

Unasked, it is a golden treasure.

No matter how small, it is part of you.

Nothing asked in return—beyond measure!

 

The gift of giving is community,

It is the very best of humility;

Absence of war is due to civility,

Giving lifts the spirit to humanity.

 

Receiving always makes people happy,

That’s what is so good about the giving.

Whatever the gift it’s like Christmas.

What better than to improve another’s living?

 

To feel the pleasure of your gift in her heart,

When a gift can lift the weight of grieving;

When she shares her surprise and delight,

You get it, better the giving than receiving.

 

To give a helping hand to one in need

And to see the gratitude in his eyes

And to see what a difference you’ve made,

Is the proof that giving is the prize.

 

“…it’s better to give than to receive

Is a cliche from out of the past,

Proof that the poets of old were wise,

That the art of giving is destined to last.

 

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay

 

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Milton Said

 

Milton said pic

MILTON SAID

 

H. W. Bryce

 

The call to duty needs be hard to keep,

Though wait we impatient our chance to serve;

Then we rush in where angels do not dare,

Because we respond to that nightmare.

Though Milton, by all accounts a good man,

Was stricken blind amidst his most fertile

Creative life, Milton found, by grace and right,

Faith and belief, a way to cope and write.

 

Wrote as a devout Christian, espoused the

Philosophy of republicanism;

Such dichotomy in men today betrays

Lack of clarity in man’s logic ways.

 

Mr. Milton wrote, (he serves who waits);

So the poet sits, but the poet writes.

 

— —

PS: this not an attack on republicanism.

Though some practices of same are reprehensible.

 

Image by Leandro De Carvalho from Pixabay

 

 

 

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