The Masked Man

 

call the masked man

The Masked Man

 

  1. W. Bryce

 

Quick. Call the Masked Man. We’re under siege.

The outlaws are running rampant. They’ve got us

Surrounded. They’re burning our houses down.

Protect us with your silver bullet. Bring Tonto.

 

Call Doc Holliday. Shoot ‘em Doc. Shoot ’em daid.

Fight for our protection Doc.  Give us medicine Doc.

Keep ’em from killing us. Make them go away.

Bind our wounds, Doc, stop our bleeding.

 

Call the sheriff! Tell Wyatt Earrp to bring his posse.

We’re outnumbered. Badly outnumbered.

Tell him, bring extra ammo. Yer gonna need it.

Tell him deputize every man and boy still walking.

 

Call Batt Masterson. He’ll help. He can

Whip up a unit real fast. Annie Oakley. She’s a

Sharp shooter. And Buffalo Bill and the rodeo for

Reinforcements. We’re gonne need ’em all.

 

Call em all, will ya? We’re gonna need ’em.

And more. Hell, call in Jesse James. He’s a good

Shot. He’ll kill a lot o’ them varmints. Hurry. Hurry.

They’re droppin’ us like flies.  Help. Quick.

 

The masked men, the masked women,

They need our help. The front line is breaking.

The front liners are dropping like flies, too.

This F***g virus has us on the run. Call the

masked man. Call him now.

 

Image by Pashi from Pixabay

call the lone ranger

Image by Shurriken from Pixabay

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Once We Were Soldiers

 

Once we were soldiers medal

ONCE WE WERE SOLDIERS

 

H. W. Bryce

Once we were soldiers, now we are not…

We were wounded. we died;
Now it is trouble is all that we got.

Once we fought on the battleground,
Now we fight the battle at home.
We sleep on sidewalks, cardboard
For sheets, pillows of newspaper domes.

Stuff that we gathered we carry for trade.

Once we got free cigarettes,
Now we scrabble for butts on the ground
This is the booty of freedom we’ve found.

The contract is broken, our faith tossed aside;
We agreed to fight for you, for our nation’s pride,
You agreed to “hold and to keep” us in times of peace.

But here we all are, no tent for our keep,
Only lonely old sidewalks and eyes that peep
As we straggle along, no longer in step,
No pride and no hope and broken hard sleep.
Oh, king and country, we stood on guard for thee…
Where now is your compassion for we
Who stood at arms and fired the gun.
When the enemy threatened, we did not run…
Once we were soldiers, who stood proud and tall.

Once we were soldiers, we stood so proud and so tall!
We marched into battle, our nerves did not rattle,
We stood up to barrages, we saw comrades fall,
We prevailed through skirmishes, we won that war’s battle…

Brother, can you spare me some time? I’d like to talk it all over,
Find me some peace for a while inside. I have these cold nightmares
Inside where I live, no house or no home, cardboard for a bed…
An hour, a meal, hot coffee and I’ll tell you my tale,
Just please, if you give me some time.

Once we were soldiers, we marched with such pride,
We stood so tall, and you favoured us then;
Why have you forsaken your favourite sons?
You say you will help, we’re asking you, when?

—H. W. Bryce is the author of Chasing a Butterfly, A journey in poems of love and loss to acceptance.

— —

Roughly 160,000 veterans experienced homelessness over the course of the year (about 10% of the total homeless population). Roughly 44,000 to 66,000 veterans are experiencing chronic homelessness. (US)

—https://www.homelesshub.ca/resource/veterans-experiencing-homelessness

CANADA ; In absolute numbers, 338 individuals were identified as Veterans. Extrapolating this 15% sample to the full population of shelters suggests there may be 2,250 Veterans using emergency homeless shelters annually in Canada.Mar 22, 2019

—https://www.canada.ca/en/employment-social-development/programs/homelessness/publications-bulletins/veterans-report.html

Posted in A Voice in the Wilderness, Advocacy, Author, Caring, Lost, Love, Memories, Missing, Poem, Remembrance, Thank you | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Funny How

 

funny how picture

FUNNY HOW

H. W. Bryce

 

Funny how the path we choose crumbles,

Funny how our choices shift.

Funny how fate overrules us

And funny how we survive despite.

 

It’s odd how we find the strength,

How odd we re-find our self.

It bewilders from whence the strength reborns,

It’s very odd how human that we are.

 

Sometimes when our plans butt heads

With Fate, who insists on intervening,

We sometimes change our course,

And things turn out all right. We are so human.

 

Being human is our strength, our salvation

From our weaker Self, from our fellow beings’

Flaws. Being human, for all its flaws, reveals

How human that we are. Funny how we survive despite.

 

–inspired by Barbara Lawrence in Kickalzheimersassmovement.com

She locked the upstairs so husband Antony, with ALZ, wouldn’t try jumping out of the window again –Feb 18/20

Image by Leroy Skalstad from Pixabay

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Empty House

 

Empty House or Unnoticed

EMPTY HOUSE

 

H. W. Bryce

 

—after watching Marcia burr’s vid Mack the Knife and

Another One Bites the dust

–Also a line from my poem with the line One unnoticed moment…

 

Quick, she’s looking the other way:

He creeps in through the back door…

One Unnoticed Moment

Is all that it took,

And the Silent Thief began his burglary.

 

First, he took some little things,

Things that wouldn’t be missed,

Then larger things, things that

Would remain a mystery. Then

More of same, and she would

Blame herself. Maybe she forgot…

 

Stock in trade for Silent Thief,

Gas Light her, confuse her,

Make her ashamed and frightened

Of reporting things gone missing

Lest some kind of blame is laid

On her. Ha! Got away with that.

Time to up the stakes.

 

Take your time, Silent Thief tells

Himself. Play it cool. You’ve got

Her attention now. She’s not

Thinking straight. She won’t even

Tell her husband, and he doesn’t

Noticed the difference. He is

Living in that Unnoticed Moment.

 

Silent Thief lays low for a while.

He lets things percolate. She

Thinks, “Maybe I will be all right.”

Little does show know this

Silent Thief.  His greater goal

Awaits. His plans are laid.

 

But then, her keys are gone,

Her address unknown, she

Has mislaid her recipes

 

The Silent Thief has got them all,

Stashed away in his Secret Drawer.
It has become personal now

So addled is poor Housewife

She doesn’t even recognize

Her husband; thinks he is

And Intruder, attacks him

With a frying pan. She can’t

Stand all of this thievery. It is

Driving her crazy. She has truly

Been Gas Lit. She is completely

Lost in her almost empty house.

 

Another Unnoticed Moment.

She has forgotten how to get back home.

Time to strike. This time it is

The Kitchen Sink Theft. It is

Monu-mental. And she is

Devastated. This time, Husband

Does take notice. She is in

Deep trouble, and he does not

Know what to do. They scream HELP!

 

Now she dwells inside her empty house,

Where nothing is stirring, not even a mouse,

And rattling around lost is her lonely spouse,

Whose grief of her loss perpetually dwells.

 

And the bailiffs, they come to take her away.

But they let her poor husband alone to stay.

He falls to his knees, he learns how to pray

His life now is clouded, reduced to a caitiff.*

 

And Silent Thief moves on, so many rich houses

To pilfer, so many unnoticed moments, he espouses,

For his treasury: shack or mansion or boathouse.

He gives himself authority, the privilege of The Thief.

 

Thus the lady in the house empty is laid low.

The Thief takes his bow, he takes it very low.

 

 

 

 

* Caitiff is pretty rare in contemporary use, but it has functioned since the 14th century as an adjective and also as a noun meaning “a base, cowardly, or despicable person” (as in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure: “O thou caitiff!

 

Posted in Advocate, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Fading Images, Fatigue, Fear, Grieving, Hard time, Poem | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dr. Bonnie’s Shoes

 

Dr. Bonnie's Shoes

DR. BONNIE’S SHOES

 

H. W. Bryce

 

Dr. Bonnie’s shoes walk her on a steady path

Leading us through perilous ways,

Piloting us away from sickness and danger

To shun the way to the Valley of Death.

 

The shoes know the way;

They’ve been down this path before

And know the perils and the traps laying there.

Dr. Bonnie’s shoes steer us clear

Of the land mines and IODs buried

Out of sight.

 

Dr. Bonnie’s shoes are safety shoes

And as comfortable as a second skin.

 

Cobbled by the fairies, blessed by the

Priests of the ministry of folk tales

Where magic is meted out only to

The special few, like Dr. Bonnie’s shoes.

 

Blessed by Merlin’s magic wand

Worthy of a blessing from the pope,

They lead us all to safety

And good practices.

 

As well as all of that, Dr. Bonnie’s Shoes

Make us feel good; and when we feel good,

We do good, and that is a good thing.

 

Dr. Bonnie’s shoes are kind, they are calm,

And they keep us safe.

 

— —

 

Posted in A Voice in the Wilderness, Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Caring, Covid, Covid 19, Dementia, Thank you | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Today I See

 

Herb picture

Today I See

 

H. W. Bryce

 

Grn mini comp spt 14-20

Blogged Oct 9, 2020

 

I got a “new eye” and now

Colours are colours,

Edges are sharp,

Black is black

And white is white.

How I love the blues,

The heavenly sky never looked so bright and blue.

Reds never looked so good.

Yellow is golden again,

And green is the colour of grass again.

Shadings are subtle again

And things look like their things.

The lights are glareless now.

And I can see to read.

Thank God I can read again.

Fine print has grown and speaks loudly now.

The whole word looks brighter,

And I feel lighter.

And what is more,

I see your face today,

And you are beautiful.

I love your face.

And how I love your big, beautiful brown eyes.

And I can see clear through,

To your soul, and it is whole.

 

God bless my doctors,

And God bless Health Care.

 

I feel well again.

Because, today I see.

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Precious Are the Eyes

 

Precious are the eyes

 

Precious Are the Eyes

 

H. W. Bryce

 

Red mini comp bk jun 14-16

Blogged Oct 2, 2020

–jotted in the car upon departing from the ophthalmologist’s

 

Precious are the eyes, the window to the soul,

That read the book of stories that we never told…

 

But really, I’d rather not look in there just now,

I’d rather look upon the world.

And I prefer to see inside of your soul;

I want to gaze upon your beauty,

And say the love I have but never told.

 

I want to retain the colours,

I need to hold on to the colours,

I want to see the sparkling water

As it runs between its banks.

I want to see the animals

And watch the birds all fly.

I must memorizes the faces

I must record all our places,

I treasure all the sights

As they all travel by.

 

I want to see. I want to see.

I want to savour the beauty of every single tree

I want to bear witness to the panoramic view

I want to witness life as it marches inexorably on to be

I want to see the healing

For God did not give us sight

To see and ignore the others’ des’prate plight

 

I love to see you dancing,

I throb to see your loving smile,

I crave to see the children laughing,

And I ache to see the eagles fly.

I must see, to read another book,

And for the sparkle in your eye,

I crave another look.

 

Let me hold you in my eyesight

For as long as long eternity,

For I love you dearly, more dearly

Than all the words can tell,*

And every sight is a joyous inward yell.

Most precious are the eyes we have to see,

Most precious are the views they bring to me.

 

Precious are the eyes,

The sight that God has given us;

We need to do more than simply trust:

Protect and nourish them, this we must.

 

Precious are the eyes

That bring your beauty home to me…

 

*This line from Roger Whitaker

 

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