GREG BYRON
GREG BYRON

Welcome to GREG BYRON

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The first full-length show is called:

SLOOSHY WORDSHOW

 

It's a look at all sorts of things - my 55-word prose 'word sketches', character portraits, science, and ignorance, the quest for knowledge, the current state of the world around us, confusions and cruelties...

 

 

The Search

 

I throw a rock into a pool and watch the ripples spread

My eyes are on their outward motion not the splash that fed, them.

Knowledge is a magic well, whatever water you remove

There’s always more to find, to tell, there’s always more to prove.

The widening ripples on my lake – the growing circumference of the wake

In touch with more and more and more, and spreading to some distant shore

The ripples touching the unknown, not trapped where the first stone was thrown.

We cannot know what we don’t know, but the need to make the throw that drops the rock into the water

It compels us without quarter.

Knowledge just for knowing’s sake

Dredged from Ignorance’s lake

Is worthless. Surely we’ve a duty

In its use. It’s not just booty

To be squandered, thrown away

Recycled in some other way

But can we trust ourselves today
Chemical warfare? Enola Gay?

We throw our rocks into the pool and watch the ripples spread

But how we harvest knowledge is the path we need to tread.

We need imagination ... like Albert Einstein said.

And one for fun:

The Charges of the Bank Brigade

 

Six hundred pounds -

A reasonable fee

A job well done in January…

Barclays, Nat West, TSB

Inland revenue, VAT

Have all had shares of my money

Into the valley of debt rode my six hundred.

And one from the past ...

 

He Talked in Scrawl

 

My son arrived, born under water

Eyes wide open, he joined my daughter.

He cried, he smiled, he talked in scrawl

I never knew what he meant at all -

Still close to God, and innocent

Why would I know what he meant

Not yet worldly, not yet wise

The universe held in his eyes

The crying starts, today, tomorrow

Not hunger, heat, but cries of sorrow

Sees the godhead disappear?

No longer sure of why he’s here?

And then the journey- 80 years

To find again what led to tears.

For in those moments after birth

We briefly knew what we were worth.

I watched him staring into space

A smile plain upon his face?

Did angels gaze or spirits walk?

I used to wish that he could talk.

He smiled, he laughed, he talked in scrawl

I never knew what he meant at all.

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