RAGE! RAGE!

H. W. Bryce

 

(Blk mead Jun 14-20)

blogged Sept 21, 2020

Rage! Rage against the faults of Man about,

His shitty attitude to fellow man,

How he colours his words to his coloured

Friend, how he seldom makes amends,

Yet says his Amens every day. Rage! Rage!

 

Rage! Rage but do something good.

Rage! Rage because he always puts his wants

Before his needs. Rage because it’s never you.

Rage! Rage because he is a Me! Me! Me!

Rage! Rage when injustice is seen being done.

 

Fight! Fight for freedom’s sake, his, mine, and yours.

Fight! Fight the human flaw, his jealousy and rage,

Fight the robber, thief, fight the wife stealer,

Fight for the victim’s freedom, fight for the Goodness’ sake.

 

Rage! Rage to purge your weaker, selfish stage,

Rage against inequities, rage for healing ways,

Rage for children’s sake, rage for their safety,

Rage against the bombers, shooters and the like.

 

Rage! Rage for equality, rage against inequity,

Rage against the money mongers, rapists,

Shooters, bully boys, gangsters, cheaters,

Conners, snake oil sellers, grafters, hackers.

 

Rage against needless poverty, rage on,

Rage for living wage, justice for all,

Rage until you settle scores with climate change,

Rage, my friend, for respect, for dignity for all.

 

And when you’ve raged yourself right out,

And when you’ve conquered all your foes,

May God rest your soul in peace and retirement.

Pass the Crown of Rage to fight the future woes.

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One Day a Year

 

One day a year

ONE DAY A YEAR

 

H. W. Bryce

 

Today, September 21, 2020, is

UN International Day of Peace

 

One day a year. One day a year.

Is that all peace is worth?

One day a year?                Well folks, I fear

That’s what you call a dearth.

 

When will we Humans give birth

To peace first, last and always?

When will our arms embrace Earth?

When will we follow righteous ways?

 

To save Mother Earth and us Humans…

 

Hands off! Hands off your rifle today!

There will be no shooting today.

Today is a day off from your war.

It’s nothing but peace for the day.

 

So busy are we from day to day

With our selfish day-to-day things

That we forget there’s a special day

To remember the special things.

 

Special things like newborn babes,

That are special because we live,

Special because we’ve been granted

This everyday special thing we live.

 

Yet we overlook the so-called mundane

Because the mundane fills our lives;

Sometimes we treat it like a pain,

Sometimes we think of it as hives.

 

And so we go from month to month

Missing each month’s special way

While we chase butterflies that turn into moths…

Until one day we find we’ve lost our way.

 

So let us wake up to the fact

That every day is a special day,

Answer the call, the joyous call,

To live life in a very special way.

HAPPY UN INTERNATIONAL PEACE DAY

Image by Uki_71 from Pixabay

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Just a Leaf

 

Just a Leaf

JUST A LEAF

H. W. Bryce

from a blog by Giselle Roeder “Change of Seasons…”

 

She writes: I am next in line,

just a leaf blowing in the wind.

 

Like the gusting wind

Swirling eddies of autumn leaves,

My rhyme scheme circles round

My thoughts are not anchor bound.

— —                          

I write:

 

Autumn leaves all turn to gold,

My life to live in fashion bold,

The wind will take me from the cold

And my story will be told.

 

Autumn leaves, all my memories turn to gold.

Autumn leaves, they’re blowing in the wind,

My shuffling feet, they stir them up to dance

And I am just a leaf, a blowing in the wind.

 

Each leaf a picture of the past,

Each one a face of one now gone,

Each one a memory to last,

Each a light that so brightly shone.

 

But I see the smile of newborn ones

And I see my dreams just drift away

And I pray for another season

To give me another reason

For blowing in the wind.

 

I’m just another leaf, I’m blowing in the wind,

The breezes takes me from my past,

They blow me to a season yet to come:

The breeze is blowing much too fast.

 

I wish this season long to last,

My life can beat another drum.

I’m just a leaf a blowing in the wind

My turn has come, I’m next in line,

I’m just a leaf a blowing in the wind.

 

Autumn leaves all turn to gold,

My life to live in fashion bold,

The wind will take me from the cold

And my story will be told.

 

Like a leaf just a blowing in the wind,

The last one left this autumn round,

My fellow leaves are on the ground,

I want to live to face the wind.

 

My memories will also turn to gold

To comfort me as they unfold,

And I will build a future yet untold

To share with you to share with yours,

 

And build new dreams with autumn leaves,

That drift like magic on the breeze

And visit back upon the trees

To greet next year’s new spring leaves.

 

Autumn leaves are drifting now

And I’ve become the next in line,

And though I’m feeling very fine,

I’m just a leaf a blowing in the wind.

 

But before I go, before I glow

In my autumn dress, I will stay

Long enough to see you through

With your plan for life, the one you drew.

 

You see my time is coming soon

I’m starting now to lose my rhyme

I started off oh so smooth

But now I have no more to prove.

 

I’ll see you then, be with you when

We meet from the drift upon the wind,

In the scatter pile of leaves of old,

Autumn leaves, and memories of gold.

 

Autumn leaves drop off by age

And I am now the next leaf in line;

How long do I have before the wind

Carries me, carries me?

 

Autumn leaves all turn to gold,

My life to live in fashion bold,

The wind will take me from the cold

And my story will be told.

— —

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One Sunny Afternoon

 

One sunny afternoon

One Sunny Afternoon

 

A mood poem

 

Circa mid 1950s, Regina

 

Early afternoon, sun streaks paint

Slanted anti-shadows on the

Scuffed-up, worn to grooves

Beer parlor floor, which was propped open

With a rusted old anvil.

 

Alone, brooding at a silent

Table, mooning over lost love.

Cliche.

But it happened to me.

Beer on tap tastes watered down.

Feeling both alone and abandoned,

Down with the beer-swilling

Broken-hearted blues.

 

In walks a friend who is an

Acquaintance, and we fall into

Chat. Compare lovelorn stories.

Totally unaware the beer parlor

Is starting to fill up with after-

Workers, nose-deaf to the smokers’

Haze, ears failing to acknowledge

The familiar camouflage of the

Rising decibels of the din.

 

So deep are we in our heart

Break blues our eyes fail to take

In the familiar first-name crowd.

Too blues-oriented are we

That the sun’s anti-shadow rays

Shift and shadows swallow them up.

 

“If she walked through that door right now,“

I moon, “I would take her back.

I would take her back…”

“Yeah,” my friend who is an acquaintance

Nods as he plucks his spare ciggy

From behind his ear, barely ruffling

His uncut, youthful mop of raven black.

“Same here,” he burps. “Me too.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Men weren’t born to

Be alone.”

“Tha’s right.” The hazy eyes of my friend

Who is an acquaintance tries to focus.

 

Wisdom, I think to my inner self,

Sometimes comes out of the blues.

 

 

It was six years before I could love again.

 

Fellas feel deeply, ya know.

 

Ah. The wisdom of the blues.

 

— —

 

Thought you might like to see the “human side” of me.
Never touch the stuff any more.

Here’s to shadowy memories of shadowy folks

Who passed through our lives

To lend us a lesson.

 

She’s but a ghost in my past,

All shadows and shades

She’s all forgotten now,

Now that she’s gone,

Melted away like a dream,

Like a wisp of smoke.

And life goes on

With lesson learned

Memories fade.

There is nothing left now

But shadows and shades.

 

https://pixabay.com/users/nika_akin-13521770/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4658440

 

 

 

 

 

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Mysterious Man

 

MYSTERIOUS MAN
I am African, I am Asian,
I am Caucasian, Hindu, Turk,
I am Muslim, Christian, Jew
—I am so very much like you.
I am love and I’m compassion
I am hate, I’m destruction,
I am jealousy, I am rage,
I am in life’s middle stage,
—I am so very much like you.
I am French and I am Yankee,
I am rebel and I’m a friend,
I am Algerian, I am Cockney,
I am Canuck and I am Orkney,
—I am so very much like you.
Today is not our yesterday,
Our yesterday’s thinking
is now so very passé,
Yet our todays and yesterdays
Seem to be so much the same,
Yours and ours. What a game.
We must get to know each other better,
Day by progressive day,
–For we are so very much alike.
Take the mystery out, talk face to face,
Shake each other’s hand,
Wouldn’t it be grand?
Forgive each other, start anew.
What a view.
–I am person; so are you.
I have compassion; so have you.
I love my family and you love yours.
I love travel, you take tours.
My heart bleeds for lives wrong taken,
You weep for your people all forsaken.
We can agree, the brotherhood cliche is true.
–Together now, “I’m so very much like you.”
—H. W. Bryce
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
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Heavy Is My Gut

 

heavy is my gut

HEAVY IS MY GUT

 H. W. Bryce

 

RE: The Covid pandemic co-conspirators

Many have confessed.

  

Heavy is my gut from all the beer I drunk,

It has given my breath the odour of the skunk,

And loud are my burps from all the gas I made,

And now I rue each buck for all the beer I paid.

So clumsy are my feet from all the trips I take,

And I rue each day for all the trouble that I make.

So now’s the time, I do suppose, to give it all up,

But I’m as trainable now as a drunken pup.

 

Oh, I have tried, a million times over,

But truth to tell, I am comfy lying in the clover.

Oh, I did the water, I forgot the walk,

I did the studies, I talk the talk,

But those darn calories keep on climbing

And the fat on my gut just keeps on binding.

The sugar in the food, the sugar in the drink

Is keeping me from getting in the pink;

The more I eat, the more I want, it’s true,

I want that healthy look, but the effort turns me blue.

 

Oh alas, alack, heavy is my gut,

My eating, drinking habits are stuck in a rut,

Do as I will, do as I might, nothing seems right,

Life has gotten heavy, life don’t look so bright.

 

Show me a pie, I will devour it.

Offer me cake, oops, it’s gone;

Sorry ’bout that, I guess I inhaled.

Ice cream? Hell, it’ll never have a chance to melt,

Potato chips, potato crisps, it’s all the same to me.

Where does it all go? Around my waist where all can see.

 

Heavy is my gut, heavy is my gut,

My eating habits are stuck in a rut

 

I’d change it all iffen I could,

God knows that I really should,

But I’m too heavy now to exercise,

Guess bad habits trump advice from the wise.

 

Heavy is my gut, heavy is my gut,

My eating habits are stuck in a rut.

 

DAMN!

 

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Bring Me Your Paints

 

Bring Me Your Paints - a painting

“Holocaust of Fire” by Julia M. Schoennagel. Acyrclic, 14×12, Fire Series July 2017.

BRING ME YOUR PAINTS

H. W. Bryce

 

Bring me your paints

Bring me your brushes

A painter I ain’t

So bring me your touches

Set me on fire, let me imagine

Burn hot my will

Give life to my soul

In the colours on your canvas

          Give me life in a bowl

          That is the goal

 

There goes the horizon

There goes much life

Hear the flames crackle

Watch the trees burst

See the flames licking

Hungrily so

 

Quickly now bring

Your paint brushes

And canvas

Paint hungry flames

As they devour the landscape

The roar of those flames

Are deafening, snapping

The ash to be left

Will be indigestible

 

Paint the flames out

Paint my soul in

Bring me your paint brushes

Bring me your art easel

 

BRING ME YOUR PAINTS

***H. W. Bryce***

Bring me your paints, bring me your brushes,

Light me that fire to live in my soul,

Bring me the courage, give me the rushes

That burn me up and remake me as whole.

 

Splatter my life on your bare paint palette,

Mix all those colours without any varnish,

Paint me those many colours into a new jacket,

Paint me a new landscape without any tarnish.

 

From the destruction by fires from hell,

Paint me new life from out of the ashes,

Paint me a dance to the ring of the bell,

Paint me escaped as watery splashes.

 

Let my old self be consumed by the flames

Let me let go of the old profane games.

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