Posted on September 3, 2018 by admin
Herb W Bryce
Do Not Sing

H. W. Bryce

Do not sing this siren’s evil song
Her words do cut like laser sword
Resist, resist, for pity’s sake

She will seduce you ’ere too long
If you should dally in her sward
Do not sing this devil’s evil song

You do not have to go along
Defy, defy her tempting chord
Resist, resist, for future’s sake

You do so know the right from wrong
You do so know how eagles soared
Do not sing this siren’s tempting song

You can learn to sing a better song
Do not adopt her as your lord
Resist, resist, for honour’s sake

Gird your loin and practise to be strong
Or she will sing upon your wake
Do not sing this siren’s devil song
Resist, resist, for pity’s sake

—

Do Not Sing this Siren’s Song

–for me the song was Sugar and all things Sweet
And this siren leads you into the house of diabetes
And for some, the house of Alzheimer’s / dementia

–for today’s youth, it is all things drug
Do not give in to temptations, she is the siren of death, swift or slow
And she will take you down!
She will invite you into the house of Beelzebub
— —
Do not buy into castles in the air

https://www.amazon.com/Chasing-Butterfly-H-W-B…/…/1460299345

#alzheimer #dementia

IMAGE from Pixabay. Thank you.
Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Dementia, Memories, Poem, Remembering | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Another Goodbye

Posted on September 1, 2018 by admin

Another Goodbye

 

ANOTHER GOODBYE

Here we are again,
Gathered in another place, another time,
Same old ceremony,
Same goodbye.

What fault is it in
the Human condition that brings us to this,
Time and time after time?
Like Groundhog day?

We’re no less sincere,
It is no less heartbreaking, no less futile,
Still unnecessary
These evil acts.

Another time, salute,
Say goodbye dear bro, dear sis, be on your way,
Then double your efforts,
Double your love.

Hello. We meet again,
Another goodbye, and another sad grave;
We swear to do better,
We swear our love.

Another together,
Another “Nearer to Thee O God” we come,
Cling nearer to each other,
And God beseech.

Another time and place,
Another sad goodbye to another good old friend,
And who can we blame but
Illness and age.

Until we meet again,
In another time and another place,
Beyond these old bodies,
With our old friends.

#alzheimer #dementia

https://www.amazon.com/Chasing-Butterfly-H-W-B…/…/1460299345

Image: Pixabay – Myriams-Fotos

Posted in Advocacy, Advocate, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Loss, Memories, Missing, Poem, Remembering, Tribute | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Stuck on Daddy’s Old Model T

Posted on April 23, 2018 by admin

=

Stuck on Daddy’s Old Model T

There I was, facing a bald open field,
Chilled on a cold hoar-frosty day,
Hunting for the enemy scouting group
When I spotted a copse in the dip.
 
I half ran, half crawled and rolled inside.
I waited for the crack of a rifle.
But none came. I squinted all around.
One lone soldier moved. I took him out.
 
Then I spotted the other three, 
Facing the echo of my gunshot.
My coast was clear. I took the high ground
And nestled into the ground to wait.
 
Well, 
after a while, I got thirsty, you see,
So I licked off the frost from the ground–
Ugh! Oh!!. My tongue got stuck. 
On a rock. OW!
Hush. Must not alert them. What to do?
 
Lucky for me, General Mommy
Came out of the side door just then.
She looked around, and there I was,
Stuck to the roof of Daddy’s (Old Model T).
 
Mommy disappeared back inside
And I panicked like crazy and
I nearly ripped my tongue right out
Pulling to get loose. M-mmmMM. MMMM!
 
Then mommy came back with a pot
And poured warm water on my tongue.
Brava! She saved the prisoner—
Who was embarrassed but wiser.
Embarrassed but a bit wiser.
—

This was prompted by a random encounter with a stray memory, prompted by who know what?

I remember the automobile I was playing on that cold and hoar-frosty day as Daddy’s Model T truck, hence the title. Manufacture of Model Ts were halted in 1927, and this was around 1939, the year I turned six, about two and a half months after the declaration of the Second World War, and, of course, my first year in school. War and a child’s fertile imagination meet.

I think the memory arose out of a convoluted series of half-connected pictures planted in my mind by various research pages I had landed on. Some were war references for other poems, and one was from Alzheimer’s pages, where faltering speech and stumbled-over words came out of a ‘patient’s’ mouth.
And I “hear” her say, “My tongue got stuck,” by way of explaining why she couldn’t say what she was trying to say.

Memories. They’re everywhere, and we keep tripping over them.

Please Note: The picture above in no way resembles my dad’s old truck.
I remember it as a Model T; always have. But I don’t know it’s true identity.
This picture is from   https://pxhere.com/en/photo/924489

CC0 Public Domain   Free for personal and commercial use   No attribution is required

Posted in Alzheimer's, author site, Care Giving, Dementia, Helpless, Hero, Humor, Memories, Poetry, Remembering | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bowlful of Seashells

Posted on April 16, 2018 by admin

 

pic for Bowlful of Seashells

Bowlful of Seashells

H. W. Bryce
 
I have on my desk
a bowlful of seashells.
 
As I sit and stare at them
My gaze waters and ripples,
And out of the shadowy colours
Wavers an image–
Of myself:
On the sand,
In the lace of the water, 
The sun blazing down on my bare, browning back.
I wade with a downward glance.
My eyes catch a glimmer,
And I stop.
My hand enters the froth
With my ankle-deep feet.
When I straighten, I hold . . . 
A seashell;
Or a small, lined pebble:
Black, sketched with white veins,
Brown with black belt, red–
Another seashell:
A scarlet, scalloped shell,
Or a tiny, black pearl of a shell,
Pink, purple, brown,
Hollow and spiral shells.
Portraits of former sea lives.
 
I carried them home, these shells,
And the pebbles, with some tiles,
And marble from a Roman ruin.
They lay there for years undisturbed.
 
Then we rummaged them through,
My wife and me.
She was thrilled and excitedly said:
 “They’re too pretty to touch!”
 
Almost wept for the frailer ones, crushed,
There, at the bottom of the bag.
She took them
And scattered the pieces onto a card,
And framed them:
A montage of memories,
A memento of many stooping minutes
Which, we agreed,
Were not wasted.
 
A wave washes the image.
The shells shimmer . . .
My stare . . . stops.
And there lay my memories,
So many portraits . . .
A bowlful of seashells.
 
To those better times with Ann.
Published in the Richmond Review, London, England, 1960s;
My seashells were gathered along the North African coast of the Mediterranean Sea.
 
CREDITS: The glass bowlful of seashells – Pixabay
The seashell on hand:https://unsplash.com/photos/ITCL_yPHCsU
credit Photo by Clint McKoy on Unsplash

Chasing a Butterfly

Chasing a Butterfly
Through the close-up lens of his heart, Herb Bryce takes us on a journey into the hazy world of the Alzheimer’s afflicted. He paints a loving and tender picture with words of his life and love, gently unravelling the pages from the spool of his soul. ~ …
FRIESENPRESS.COM
Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, author site, Care Giving, Holiday, Love, Memories, Poem, Reflections, Remembering, Remembrance, Reminiscing, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

One Long Moment

Posted on April 9, 2018 by admin

 

pic for One Long Moment

One Long Moment*

H. W. Bryce

For one long moment, I held my breath.

No dog barked, no babe cried,

And for that one long moment,

No one in the world died.

For one long moment, the world stood still –

Nary a leaf did fall,

And the air was filled with good.

The buzzing in my ears stopped;

I could not hear the beating of my heart.

The universe was still.

Nature’s beasts stopped stomping

And no mean thoughts were thought…

A magic hush enwrapped our world.

One can only hope

For many more such moments.

The people, they all looked around,

Silenced by the silence in the world,

But no ship ran aground, no curlew “curled,”

Cars, trains and automobiles

Paused as parked, the drivers sitting still.

If only stillness were instilled

Into the human brain,  its owners would own up

To the benefit of still, where no need to rush

In the dashing rat-race rush to live a life,

And no need at all to brush

A fellow being off. One still moment,

Could be all that it takes. Hush now,

Be still for one long moment.

Perhaps no tree will fall.

Perhaps Klatuu will return with Gort

To stop the arms race and destroy

The atom bombs, in that one long moment

When the earth stood still.

*For one long moment, remember the soldiers in the caves
at Vimy Ridge, Apr 9, 1917 – Apr 12, 1917.

peace dove pic for One Long Moment

KEEP THE PEACE.

And  visit your loved one who is ill. For one long moment, 
be with your Alzheimer’s sufferer, who, in effect, is waiting 
in his or her cave, waiting for the inner war to stop.

Illustrations from Pixabay.

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Being there, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Poem, Poetry, Reflections, Remembrance, Waiting, War and peace | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Your Greatest Gift: First Prize

Posted on March 29, 2018 by admin

 

Your Greatest Gift: First Prize

Apparently I wrote this in Istanbul, Dec 1963. From a letter from me forwarded by little sister Marjorie, Feb, 2013. I called them My Jesus Poems.
 I follow these with a today poem, in the reaffirmation of humankind’s Greatest Gift.

I Stood Where Christ stood

I stood where Christ stood,

I sat within His cell;

And at the Garden Rock

I felt His sad tears well.

I knelt before the Pillar,

His only friend when whipped;

I brooded in the Judgement Room

And felt how cheaply He’d been gypped.

I walked His road to Calvary,

And felt the weight that was His cross,

And I learned humility

On a path that had been blocked.

I kissed the star that marks the spot

Where my Saviour died,

And emotions filled me, oh, so full,

No strength remained even to have cried.

I dropped my brow on Jesus’ tomb,

Too confused to pray;

But then, like Him, I rose again,

My role in life to play.

—

Sunset Over Jerusalem

O’er Jerusalem the sun sets e’er in blood,

As though the Christ were dying still,

A rosy fire illuminates the hill,

A constant flow of Calvary flood.

For as long as Arab faces Jew

Each with safety catch uncocked,

And brother’s way to brother

By infamous wall is blocked,

Sunset brimstone hangs with fire

To spread aflame once more

A Sodom and Gomnorrah

By an angry God twice pricked and sore.

O’er Jerusalem the sun sets e’er in blood,

As though the Christ were dying still,

A rosy fire illuminates the hill,

A constant flow of Calvary flood.
—

HAPPY EASTER

Christ died for mankind’s sins,

Christ arose to save all souls,

In honour of the risen Christ, rise,

Be like Angelou, overcome the sins

Of others, throw off the burning coals,

Face your fears and rise.

Be your better person ,

Toss the bad one in the bins,

Lead with your best examples,

Forgive the others’ sins.

Greet each day like Easter

Renew your vows with life

 

And while others’ words may cut you like a knife,

Treat each man, and child, woman, wife,

As a gift, and help them, too, to rise.

After all, life is your first prize.

 

Enjoy your Easter bunnies,

Eat your chocolate eggs,

But don’t forget the reason

We have these special days.

Take that through the seasons

And tread wise chosen ways.
—

Picture by Pixabay.

Have a happy and blessed Easter, friends.

— — —

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Friendship, Hope, Jesus, Justice, Memories, Partners, Poem, Remember, Rise up | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Evenings Are Long When at First You Are Alone

Posted on March 19, 2018 by admin

 

Gerald mourning Mom

Evenings Are Long

When at First You are Alone

 

H. W. Bryce
 
Evenings are long when at first you’re alone,
And silence falls as dead and deaf as stone.
There’s no one else, and no one ever calls,
So endlessly you pace the empty halls.
 
I muse:
Learn to love yourself, learn not to fear,
Listen to your heartbeat,
Learn to heed your thoughts,
Learn to fill your time well,
Heed your inner bell…
 
…my mind wanders, loses rhythm,
Life has fallen into a schism…
When you’re all alone, time changes pace,
You find you’re losing life’s long race.
 
You’ve done your chores, and then some more,
You’ve worked your hobbies, then you’re bored,
The clock it seems has gone to sleep,
The big hand finds the climb too steep.
 
I guess it’s time to make my peace,
Accept my lot, rewrite my lease
On life; start again, find new footing
Learn from tech, do a rebooting…
 
I bestir myself.
I play mouses with my cat,
I write a note in my notebook,
I read some Keats and try my hand
To write Keats a verse that is not bland…
 
Next thing I know, my cat rouses me,
It’s time to quit and come to bed.
He snuggles me just as before,
And I’m not lonely any more.
 
I learn to contemplate the silent hours,
Accept each one as a gift like flowers;
They are mine to do with as I will,
I invest in them, they’re not time to kill.
 
And now I fill the halls with song and sound.
This is a new life here that I have found,
And facing time I find is no cause to blink,
Evenings can be shorter thank you think.
— —
Posted in Alzheimer's, Being there, Care Giving, Dementia, Lonely, Love, Memories, Poem, Poetry, Remembrance | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment