Books, Blogs and Butterflies

Picture is a screen shot from the news.
And, What has this to do with Humanity?

I Can Live Without…

H. W. Bryce

Blogged Oct 31, 2022

The cranes are up, the constant groaning

Of motors are wearing on my nerves. Sleep

Is bliss at night when the machines go home

But come too early morn, the digging goes

On, the jack hammers, the nail guns – as if

A few nails will hold it all together – when the

Big one shakes. Already our building shivers

Each day and the noise means I can’t think.

It’s driving me up my walls.

Still, I can live with this. This will stop when

The building is up, albeit blocking the sun

From me. Although, I am not so sure about

The extra traffice this will attract, and there-

For, the loss of street parking, already

All but impossible.

But,

I can live without the bombs and the

Rockets hailing down on the other side of the

World. I can live without the bombast, the lies,

The invective, the hate. I can live without the

Rifle fire, the rapid machine gun rat-a-tat-tat.

I can live without the genocide, the rape,

The tanks, the evil intent.

And so can Ukraine. Gladly would they live

Left alone. Gladly would they regroup as

One, together again, building with hope and

Resolve, and generosity, and yes, probably

Even forgiveness. Oh! to be free again.

Free of rockets and missiles and hate…

Who, in his right mind, would  not?

PS

The cynics must stop being cynics

And start being activists in the cause

Of peace and fortitude, for the sake

Of the continuance of humanity, and

The survival the Planet Earth.

Otherwise, let’s just turn it all over

To the aliens. From their vantage

Point, they can see the futility of

The continuance of the mad, futile

Repetitions of history, the greedy

Gulping up of Gaia’s generaous

Mineral offerings, the theft of

Our future.

And I can live without all of that.

I can live with loving hugs, with words

Of sincere encouragement, with a

Helping hand when I falter, with the

Poetry of life, the music of mutual

Recognition. I can live with mutual

Respect and dignity.

I can live with a lot of that.

— — — — — — —

Lest we forget.

— —  — — — — —

I Have Walked in Your Shoes

H. W. Bryce

I have walked in your shoes, friend,

I have walked in your shoes,

You may feel down, friend,

You may feel down,

But you will not wear out your shoes, friend,

You will not wear them out,

And you will walk free again, friend,

You will walk free again,

You have your troubles, I’ve had mine,

Our footsteps match, they combine,

Experience shows that you’ll be fine.

You can fight or you can flow,

You will learn as you go,

And as you learn, you will know

How to step another step,

Another step to grow.

You feel that life has let you down,

But there’s no need for you to frown,

Your steps will take you to higher ground,

And you will find that you’ve been found.

So don’t you despair, there is hope,

There is repair, keep the faith,

Even to the power of the eighth.

Keep up hope, footsteps will take you there.

I’ve walked your walk and yes you dare,

I will help you along your way,

There are signs, look for them.

Yes I have walked in your shoes, my friend

You are not a burden, friend,

You are no burden after all,

You are fighting hard to be

What it was you used to be.

You are weak now, and you are lost,

You do not wish to be bossed.

You only want to be your Self

And all of you that’s gone away.

I am here to support you, my friend,

You are stronger than you think.

You have strength enough to lend.

And giving love will help you mend.

Yes I have walked in your shoes, my friend,

I have walked in your shoes.

Our footsteps match as they walk on,

Our footsteps are never two,

Our footsteps walk as one.

Now I walk in your shoes, my friend,

Now you walk in mine, my friend,

Yes, your shoes are tattered now,       almost worn out,

Now I walk in your shoes       Now I am your scout.

— —

Pic from clips

Ever since the Party

H. W. Bryce

Blu mini comp of Mar 28-02 –          Wistful musings on the occasion
Apr 29, 2022

…you live in my dreams,

The scent of you,

The memory so hearty

In my heart

The essence of you floats all around,

The touch of you, that tentative touch

That sent a thrill to my heart,

I cannot forget. I tried.

We danced in a dream

In the subdued light

Midst your friends

And your friends of the theatre.

We played our part.

But then,

We were smitten,

As if it were written

In the big Book of Fate

That we should pair

In a state of­­­

An affair, for life…

And so it was,

Life after the party.

It was a continuum

Of that unexpected dance—

Sometimes a waltz of love,

Sometimes a furious polka

Of disruption, sometimes anger,

Sometimes a two-step into forgiveness

And reunion

Standard plot in the chaos of life

Life as a party.

It has been so wondrous.

We ate of nourishment,

We dined on cake,

We wined in the delirium of Life…

And

It was good…

Ever since that party.

—

The dance. It was how we met. Oct. 6 marks my Ann’s birth date.
She would have turned 94.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

H. W. Bryce

(from, probably, the sixties. As a young man, I worked the lobster shift, that shift between the day shift and the night shift. Later, as an adult, I worked the night shift on the Globe and Mail editorial  department.)

This is an accurate rendition of the original.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

How well we know the penalties of the night shift,

We’ve paid the highest price!

How well we know, our time with friends is rife,

And good times are like a vice.

– – –

We prepare for work while our friends prepare for fun,

We pull on the overalls as they dance off to greet the sun;

We turn the wheels of industry and they the wheels of dice,

We keep things a-going and condition for them nice;

We’re told that we on night shift do surely pay a price.

We’re told of all we missed last night, the what and who and where—

But never get to do the things for which they’d wished us there.

– – –

Ah, but our friends do rub it in about our short, short shift,*        ‘o’ is shrift

Our hours they call grotesque.

How well we know the price of night shift—

We missed last night’s burlesque.

– – –

But never mind nightsiders, the laugh is ours, I say,

For who on day shift gets to stay so late in bed next day?

! ! !

*In the original, shift was typed as shrift

NOTE:  I started off in high school at the Meadow Lake Progress.
I took to the Linotype like I had been born to it. No lessons, just

Sit down and type. I didn’t even know how to use a typewriter,

But this strangely different keyboard fit me like a glove. I was very

Happy at this job.

I made a good living for years operating Linotype through the province of

Saskatchewan. I even paid my way through the final years to my degree

– in Ontario – by operating the Linotype.