WHEN A MASK IS A GOOD THING

When a mask is a good thing

H.  W. Bryce

 

A masked man is a threat,

Other than the Lone Ranger and the like.

Masks are for bank robbers, thieves,

Hold up men. Masks mark threats,

Represent danger. Wakens prejudice.

 

We all wear masks, though. We wear

A different facial expression and hide

Behind different words for different

People, different situations. We show

Our real face, our honest selves to our

Lovers, our mates.      Mostly.

 

These masks are worn for protection, for

The good guys and the bad.

 

But then, along comes a deadly disease,

And masks become a good thing. For

Protection. Ours and yours.

 

And suddenly, for some, perhaps for most,

Honesty is revealed. Co-operation rules.

Care and caring delves deep. The learning

Curve no longer quite so steep. The starkness

Of the truth of reality cuts to the soul. And

Now the mask is a good thing. To wear.

The truth is told through the eyes.

The proof is in the action.

 

Post pandemic, let us put our masks aside

And see each other, face for honest face.

 

Soon will come the handshakes, the hugs,

The silly, happy grins open upon our mugs.

 

Image by Alexandra_Koch from Pixabay

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Mr. Bryce Regrets

 

Mr Bryce Regrets

Mr. BRYCE REGRETS

 

Mr. Bryce regrets he cannot attend today,

He is sorry, he is town bound

And cannot travel today.

Mr. Bryce will try for a better way.

 

He wishes you well, and wishes to tell

You that he believes in your cause

In every whichever way.

Mr. Bryce sends good vibes,

And good luck to you all

For each end of every day.

 

Mr. Bryce regrets he cannot attend today,

He’s playing better safe than sorry.

That’s his story and he’s sticking to that.

He does not wish to be ill.

 

Mr. Bryce regrets he cannot come out to play today,

He will telephone you later to say

That this is not a pile of excuses. He says,

This is wisdom in action, not play.

 

 

 

Image by Tumisu from Pixabay

 

Is there such a things as Happy Coronavirus Day?

For some. Those who have escaped the ravage.

For those who have recovered.

Not so much for those whom we’ve lost.

For them, a requiem, the saddest goodbye.

…..at least Heaven is a sanitary place……

 

Posted in A Voice in the Wilderness, Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Inspire, Pandemic, Poem, Time Out | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

The 11th Commandment

 

Vimy ridge monument

THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT

In honour of Vimy Ridge Day, April 09.
My poem is below.
The good and the evil.
First World War Monument to victory over the evil.
Second World War “crematorium” ( a sort of mass murder mansion).
Death camp survivors speak.
Heed their words.

Vimy Ridge is but one of hundreds of remembrance days of events in both wars.
Both of these wars, as are all wars, big and small, evil run rampant.
Today, we are on shaky ground. Rebels are rousing.

THE 11TH COMMANDMENT

Seventy-five years have passed
Since freedom came from the
Holocaust, just as the vitriolic,
Destructive venom comes alive—
Again.

Lest we forget.
And often, it seems that we have.
Beware complacency.

Thousands come together at the Gate of Hell
To mark the date. They stand upon the
Doorstep where the echoes of the
Gone still rise from the Hollow, like spectres.

Four survivors speak. But words are not enough.
And the voices of the four admonish us:
“Keep not the silence.”

One speaks of his memory box, memories which
he kept as lessons, constant reminders. But flames
of Hell tortured his resolve.
He threw them into the river to forget.

“Words are not enough,” one says. “Silence does not help.”

Another speaks, another powerful message:
“Do not be indifferent,” he says, his voice the sound
Of wisdom, and he declares this to be the
Eleventh Commandment. Old and frail,
hH begs us, “Let it be so.”

As in ‘Thous shalt not be indifferent.’

And chilling though the killings, the unforgivable
Evil, “Not one survivor,” a third survivor reminds us,
quietly but firmly, with the wisdom of survival,
“Not one survivor ever killed in revenge. Not one.”

But, the memory box man…
The memory box man could not forget.
In the frailty of the weight of hard-earned wisdom,
He speaks, his voice strong with emotion:

“I retrieved my memories, and I
put them in a box, and threw the box into the river.”

Stories of compassion in the House of Death are told.
Lessons to us all. All hail the survivors of the Flames of Hell.

And the memory box still floats down the River Styx.
Their bodies are gone from the living hell, but their souls
reside by the side of The River Paradiso. The spirit lives on.

Remember the Eleventh Commandment:
Thou shalt not be indifferent.

I quote these speakers because their messages are vital to our communal survival.
Let there be no evil. In our lives. Beware the inflamed tongue
That incites the evils.

Give your veteran a call today.

Crematorium
— —

With my gratitude to the four and my apologies if I have taken too much liberty in quoting them, and, especially, if I have inadvertently misrepresented them or their words, or who spoke what.

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How Green Was Our Valley

 

How Green Was Our Valley

HOW GREEN WAS OUR VALLEY

H. W. Bryce

How green was our valley before the city came.
Back yards were full of gardens, now our cupboards
Are filled with produce from abroad. What a shame.

The sky turned black when the cities came,
with smoke, exhaust and smog. The climate
changed and wakened sleeping germs. Microbes came.
The virus struck, industry and commerce froze.

The skies cleared up, so did the air, and people
Began to breathe again, even as raging virus took many
People out, breaking many hearts, feeding many fears.

Our valley green again. For now. We must clean up our act.
People grow complacent, when times are good. That’s a fact.
Carelessness never won a war. We must replace complacency
With co-operation, good will, learn to live in lasting decency.

We mask our fears, we hide our inner thoughts. We brace
For more to come, ache for hugs, fear the kiss of death.
And yet…we have re-found a touchstone within our hearts,
And now we’re reaching out—we yearn for contact, we swear

We won’t forget. Human to human, we will mend our careless ways.
Lessons learned. When this war is over, we will live in better days.

Image from Pixabay – In our green, green valley.

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Living in the Now

 

Living in the Now

LIVING IN THE NOW

 

H. W. Bryce

 

She’s living in the now, no concerns about the how.

When she starts to getting on, perhaps one day it will dawn

The living then will be so hard, when she has dropped her guard,

And she will look around and see just how much ground

She has covered since, and the thought will make her wince

’Cause the wrinkles now have spread and she’ll remember that she’d read

There are insurance plans, but she was busy kicking cans

When love was ever ripe and lovers came in every stripe.

 

But it comes, all unaware, and she will sit and stare

And wonder what she did when she was still a kid,

When life was all so stable. But she is still quite able

To be living in the now.  She’s infectious and she will show you how!

 

Party girl, dancing through her life, such a pleasant whirl.

What can be wrong when people feel so good when you sing your song?

Image by CC0 Creative Commons

 

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Funny, I Don’t Feel Old

 

Funny, I Don't Feel Old

TUESDAY, JUNE 06, 2006—Bryce’s Blog for Seniors, Blogspot

Funny, I don’t feel old

Somebody asked me my age the other day while I was volunteering at the Healthy Harvest Box “pack-in”. I actually had to stop and figure it out.

You see, I don’t think about my age every day. And when forced to—such as on those awful occasions when a young person addresses me as Sir, or those other slightly more encouraging times when a clerk will offer me the pensioners’ discount—I realize that I’m still thinking like a young man.

Actually, my mind set is probably stuck in the teens, but never mind that. The point is, we should all stay young in our minds and hearts—shouldn’t we? I mean, to put a positive shine on a usually negative spin that does help one to cope with such things as the arthritis pain, and all those other pesky little nemeses (okay, gremlins) that visit upon us and try to slow us down. Anything to keep them from becoming a nemesis!

That means, for one thing, that we should be doing mental exercises all the time. The usual ones all help: Reading mysteries and trying to figure out whodunit before the author reveals the truth; doing crossword puzzles—or any other kind of puzzle we can lay our hands on.

Another recommended trick is to exercise the memory. Every day. Call up your family’s list of phone numbers, then check them. Pick a poem and memorize it. Find someone—perhaps your care companion—to share it with. In any case, poetry is bound to bring you joy by its own merits.

That exercises the old brain muscle, keeps it alert, keeps us young, same as physical exercises do.

Well, we all know this, don’t we? But do we do it? That is the question.

Here’s one my older brother used to do as he drove down the highway. He would read the license plate of an oncoming car (they were mostly all numbers when he was young) and manipulate them. He would add the digits, subtract them, multiply them and divide them, even reduce them to a single digit—all before the next license plate appeared before him.

As for me, I had trouble adding. When I was in high school, I bought into that stupid myth about math being difficult and actually repeated that equally stupid mantra: “I hate math.” To be redundant, how stupid! Anyway, I worked for the Co-op Store then, but because I was so slow at adding, the boss and head clerk were loath to let me wait on customers. When they did, Mary, the head clerk, always checked my bill total.

This, believe it or not, was before the calculator, and we didn’t even have an adding machine.* The cash till rang up the dollars and cents—digit by digit—and it had no idea how to add either. We wrote out all orders in little order books then and added the numbers in our heads.

So I went home and spent some time jotting down columns of figures and adding them, then checking my answers. To do a head-clerk check, I added them again. I wasn’t satisfied I’d got it right until I got the same answer three times.

Once I got good at figuring two columns—that was adding up the double column once and adding down to check—I went to three columns. When I could add those up all at once instead of a column at a time, I moved on to the full four columns of dollars and cents.

Then came the day when we were swamped with business and the area hermit came in for his six-month supply. The boss and Mary were fully booked with customers. I served him. I added up page after page of figures.

Mary checked them. She took longer than I had to add them in the first place. Then she checked them again. Then all commerce came to a halt while she had the boss himself tote up the figures.

I was correct.

I can’t tell you how much that did for my self-esteem.

So now it’s your turn. Find something to make your brain dance.

People will love the smile it will put on your face.

–H. W. Bryce

 

 

*1966

The handheld pocket calculator was invented at Texas Instruments in 1966. The handheld pocket calculator was invented at Texas Instruments, Incorporated (TI) in 1966 by a development team which included Jerry D. Merryman, James H.

Van Tassel and Jack St. Clair Kilby. In 1974 a basic patent for miniature electronic calculators has been issued to Texas Instruments Incorporated. The patent is for personal-sized, battery-operated calculators which have their main electronic circuitry in a single integrated semiconductor circuit array, such as the popular “one-chip” calculators. —from the internet

 

 

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Fellowship

 

Fellowship

FELLOWSHIP

 

We live inside our own wee worlds,

Within our community inside our country;

Communication sometimes fails. Yet your

World and mine are rich, so rich we have

Love to spare. Let us trade in love, true

And honest love of generous fellowship.

 

Hands helping hands, minds joining minds,

Hearts that beat as one, soothing all the kinds

Of discord, that try to pull us apart some way.

We’re building fellowship each and every day.

 

Fellowship in life will save Humankind, brothers

arm in arm, sisters arm in arm, hand shaking hand,

Helping hands, we have so much to offer.

Let’s build upon the common ground of humanity.

 

Fellowship.  It can, from sinew, heart and soul,

Draw the strength to resist

The blows of retaliation for faults imagined,

And, instead, form a bond to grow into friendship

And together forge a stronger fellowship with others.

 

You and me, he and she, we and them

All together now, form a shield of love,

Fellowship our armour,

Fellowship of common ground.

 

Hand in hand together, arm in arm,

Forth we go, equal in every way,

Sharing everything that comes our way

And fill our day with smiles and hugs.

We’ll disarm all threats of harm,

We, the Fellowship of Us.

 

Yes, arm in arm, hand shaking hand,

Let us form a bond and learn

To make an enemy a friend instead,

A favoured fellow man in Fellowship.

 

Upon the Smithy’s anvil pound

A newfound friendship strong,

And pound armaments into pendant hearts.

We, the Fellowship of Us.

 

–H. W. Bryce

 

— —

Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay

 

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