Borneo, Nature Boy, the Enigma - Bryant Doyle

I'm 66, but still confused
exactly who, or what I am
sometimes I'm brave, as any lion
but often I'm gentle, as a lamb.

I like doing women's hair, and flower-arranging
cage-fighting, and racing cars
I did architecture, and demolition
I've got qualifications, and lots of scars.

I'm Nature Boy, all animals like me
I've got up to some very weird things
I've rounded up loose horses, sheep and cattle
I never get dog or flea-bites, or insect stings.

I'd be happy living rough
in a tent, a den, or a shed
I live in a nice little cottage
I got no woman, so I got no bed.

Bryant Doyle

Christmas Passed - Bryant Doyle

That first Christmas, . . . God, she looked gorgeous
fleece-lined boots right up to her thighs
snuggly coat, so warm, but so short
pouty little mouth and big bright eyes.

I was Donovan, and she was a Cilla
and even though we were still at school
every day was Heaven, . . . especially Christmas
back then I was such a happy young fool.

The bright Xmas lights, from the shops and streets
reflected in people's faces, and the pavement snow
all huddled round, to hear the band playing carols
everyone singing, smiling, faces aglow.

Christmas carols now, don't seem so clear
the lights, and the tinsel are never so bright
I don't hear laughter, see faces aglow
just empty day, and lonely night.

The happy young fool didn't realise, nothing lasts forever
all good things soon come to an end
this Christmas, . . . just reminds me, for it to be special
it has to be shared, with a special friend.

Bryant Doyle

Goodbye, my friend - Bryant Doyle

It's hard to write this, and hurts more to read
I can't stop the tears, my heart's gonna bleed
such a precious time, with my only real friend
but their tormented, painful life will soon end.

All purpose, all joy shattered, this hideous grief
so brave , so inspiring, a life so tragically brief
only the death of one's child could hurt this way
going to a better place, on this, their last day.

Bryant Doyle

Georgia - Bryant Doyle

I've gone all unnecessary, get a grip, . . . there SHE is
My heart's gone all funny, and I've got the cramps
the most beautiful thing that ever walked this Earth
and I'm old enough to be her Gramps.

Old men still appreciate women, like good wines and ports
with their knowledge they can admire, though not partake
I've always had my own short list of tipples and snorts
but my unofficial role of wine-buff, I now gladly vacate.

Having just seen her, that list is nonsense
if scribbled on paper, it would be up in smoke
. ..God in Heaven, . . . DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS . . .
ignore me, I've died, I'm a happy bloke.

The (slight) age difference could invoke inappropriate response
hence the analogy women to wine, a cunning disguise
but it's only from a distance I look at GEORGIA
'cos I just melt when as I gaze into her eyes.

Bryant Doyle

She didn't care - Bryant Doyle

Three girls before her, or twenty-three?
not important, she just didn't care
it was only how I treated her
suddenly this romance seemed special, rare.

'Cos we were getting closer, by the minute,
I was dreading it, but had to say
the childhood polio, my funny feet
but she turned it round, in a funny way.

Turns out she'd noticed my stupid feet
long before we'd ever talked
she said the first thing she liked about me
was my 'cute, little, tip toe' walk.

Although she was pretty, (like Felicity Kendal)
her tastes were edgy, a little odd
actors, singers, she liked the strange one
probably why 'yours truly' got the nod

From then, suddenly, I had a new confidence
whatever the challenge, I could face it, now
an easy role now, just be a good husband
I had a gorgeous wife, and I didn't quite know how.

Whatever 'disaster' happened, it was never so bad
"didn't get the promotion?..you're probably too clever"
she'd say WE were all that mattered
"dented the car? ... careless twit …whatever."

The early neglect and abuse, affected me
like a cancer, it would inevitably grow
but something stronger turned my life round
unconditional love, that only some know.

Bryant Doyle

Hear for keeps - Bryant Doyle

Shedding characteristic modesty, there's clever things in my head
unfortunately, there's also this sort of humming
it varies, instrumentally, from woodwind to percussion
a haunting humming, sometimes a strumming, or a discernible drumming

Ironically, this germ has sprouted in a fragrant patch
where, if there are any toxins, they're certainly sparse
for this unwelcome pollution harmlessly exists
in my pretty land of Poetry, . . (yeah, I know, up my arse.)

It's picked the wrong person, this audio-virus
if it wants to be nasty, or drive someone barmy
'cos right from birth, I've fought off worse demons
I'm The Black Knight, me, I'm Pepperami.

I've been bestowed, or bewitched, (I dunno why)
with a child-like, over-active imagination
the humming's just a breeze, from a shore, nearby
but the drumming warns of warriors from the Zulu nation.

I'm diverse, but my first wife's step-Gran, at about 75
began hosting a humming, . . .or was it a drumming? . . .
anyway, first she said it was like bees round a hive
but it blossomed into real characters, going and coming.

My noises are just rhythmic, 'cos I'm musical, me
whereas she was literate, cultured, (had Cezannes and Renoirs)
if her diaries hadn't been stolen by a carer,
BBC were going to dramatise her memoirs.

Delayed concussion? Could be, my sister threw me out the pram.
Or, in the compost of my brain, was this noise created?
Sort of psychokineticaudiophotosynthetic . . . Yeah, right
just don't save my brain, when I'm cremated.

Bryant Doyle