Evil Spreads Good

An Evil shape Poem

EVIL SPREADS GOOD

Evil is the rotten, rebellious child,
Evil is the black sheep taken over.
Evil comes from the evil black angel
Whom God cast out of Heaven long past.

And, inevitably, he steers us toward Good
Because, well, God-damned evil who causes us
To follow his example – Rebel! And fight the God-
Damned SOB with his own tools, counter his evil with…

Good Deeds! It’ll drive him crazy and we can laugh
In his evil face. And, well, you don’t even need to believe
In God to see that bad behaviour brings out the good in good
People who know that good builds and evil destroys. Hell with evil.

Give evil the finger!

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

Image by Shawn Mascarenhas from Pixabay

This is the devil hoist on his own petard!

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Train of Life

 

Train of life

Train of Life

 

All your yesterdays are gone, they’re never coming back,

You cannot go there; yesterday’s train has left the track.

If you stand around and mope, you’ll miss out on today,

Tomorrow’s train won’t wait for you, it’s not allowed to stay.

 

So, before you go down to Station Number Nine to wait,

Do your stuff, give life your very best of shots, forget the hate

That’s in the world, concentrate on love, build upon your dream.

Share hugs and love and drive your own train on a full head of steam.

 

–H. W. Bryce

Image by Martin Winkler from Pixabay

 

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BLOWN AWAY

 

Blown away picture

Something Romantic

BLOWN AWAY

I am blown away by your beauty,
You’re a force of Nature.

I can but love you from afar, my star;
I am but human.

She was blown away when you mentioned love.
She hadn’t read you right.
And when you mentioned that commitment word,
She couldn’t see the light.

Then, there she was, floating upon the wind
And talking to a dove.
Her feet haven’t touched the ground, she stays aloof,
She seems to like it there.

Her love seemed strongly grounded like a tree,
Yet friendly to the breeze.

Her fascination could quite wear you right out
Because you love too much.

The story of your future, you scatter like seeds of grain,
You know you’ve lost control but you cannot organize your brain.

Love tears you quite apart, it scatters all your cells,
You’re giddy as a cat with nip, your silly really tells.

You don’t care a whit, you’ll chase this whirlwind everywhere
It goes, until it swirls and eddies and finally lands quite whole.
At your feet, right there.

You’ll kiss the scattered atoms, you’ll capture every dream,
Shout your love above the wind, your devotion you will scream.
Yeah.

What care you if they call you quite insane
You’re so in love with her?

But wait! From her lofty heights, she can plainly see
How much in love you are.

So now the atoms, she collects them up,
And finally sees you.

Now together you dance upon the breeze…
And now, how the world does envy you.

–H. W. Bryce

Image from Pinterest, etc.

Posted in A Voice in the Wilderness, Alzheimer's, Being there, Caring, Dreams, Lonely, Love, Poem | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’M IN MEXICO

 

First in Spanish, then in English (below)

Mexico - Poem

RED BALLOON

Randy went out on a hike. Something red
Caught up on a bush. Closer now – there, a ribbon from the
Splattered red plastic…and at the end of the ribbon,
A little jar. And in that jar, a scrawled message in
A childish, printed plea. Please Santa, can i have
Some clothes and some drawing things?

For a moment, Randy’s
Heart stopped beating, he was taken so
By this child’s urgent plea. Christmas is coming
And this Mexican child wants the simplest of wishes.
Randy’s heart nearly bursts. He hurried home to his
Wife with the child’s penciled scrawl, and she, too,
Was overwhelmed.

“You don’t turn away from an opportunity like that,” Randy said.

So Randy and his wife went shopping. They guessed
A little girl’s size, and they bought pencils and crayons
And drawing paper, and they bundled it all up and drove.
They crossed their state border line, heading south, for
It had taken only an hour to locate that pleading
Little girl, via a local radio station. And on into Mexico.

After all, Randy said, “Love has no borders.”

And they met that little girl, Randy and his wife did,
And they played Santa Claus to that little stranger,
A stranger no more; no doubt glued for life in
Compassion and mutual love. Cross-border love.

It must have been heartbreaking for Randy and
His wife, for years earlier, their only child, a son,
Had been taken from them in death. Still,
To honor this little girl was to honor their
Missing son. Indeed, love has no borders at all.

— —

As seen on television news over Christmas 2018

 

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Hair Today

 

Hair Today

A Bit ‘o Whimsy

HAIR TODAY

So sensuous is she, so alluring.
Mysterious; is she a courtesan
Or a black widow spider? Either
Way, her presence sucks you in
And fills you with desire; your
Feelings couldn’t go much higher.

And her hair! Such hair! I
Have never seen such hair. Oh,
To be betangled in that sensuous
Hair; it is to feel quite strangled
With desire…for more hair…
On my head. Such a head!
Hair today, bald tomorrow!
If only a great wig I could borrow.

But it’s unfortunate. She is yesterday,
I am tomorrow, never the twixt shall twain.

But oh, such beauty! Such beauty is rare,
All in itself, so never mind the hair.
Love her for what she is, the beauty that is her,
From near or from afar, my heartbeat is a purr.

–H. W, Bryce

Image from Jancie Fisher’s post A Poet’s Diary; from a long time ago – couldn’t trace it back.
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An Old Adage

 

An Old Adage

AN OLD ADAGE

Many folks make quotes from wise men from Yore,
They offer up these pearls of wisdom to
Shore up their subject’s stand. They can name the 
Wise Man who coined the phrase, this adage old.

Well, first it must be said, and then it must
Be quoted oft. Only then can it become
an adage, and by definition, old.
To say “old adage” is repeating self.

It’s often said these adages are wise,
That that is why they’re called an adage, so
If I am old and quoted oft, it stands
To reason, therefore, that I must be wise.

So, to repeat myself again once more:
I’m a wise old man and I will never bore!

–H. W. Bryce

— —

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To Bare the Soul

 

No photo description available.

To bare the soul

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