by Bear

You’re Such An Animal!

November 23, 2007 in Poetry

Seven o’clock and I’m sitting alone, Waiting for you to call on the phone. Long lonely nights without you in my Den, Thinking about all the mess that I’m in. That other bear, she meant nothing to me, Now, Mama bear… how can I make you see! That even though you don’t think it’s funny, It’s true… I just wanted her for her honey! I know that you have so much more to give, So put down that gun, girl! Please let me live! I promise that I won’t stray ever again, And I’ll keep my paws right where they should have been… If you let me back in the cave you can bet, I’ll be the best bear that I have been yet. Besides, now it’s winter. It was my one last fling! ‘Course I’m a bear, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

When I look at the sky

November 23, 2007 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest)

When I look at the sky I realize why I feel so small grasshopper tall when I contemplate our feeble fate. Who dares to say that their way is the ‘only’ road that will carry the load of the great(?) mind of Humankind?   Last edited by Francis Meyrick on February 23, 2010, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

Friendship

November 23, 2007 in Poetry

credit: Vangelis ” The Tao of Love “ (Bounced off: Butterfli’s ” I call you friend “) Friendship “It is my hope that you find peace It is my help that you have when you need It is my love that shall never end And it is all because I call you friend “ And that is why my weathered hand scarred and stabbed a hundred times still reaches softly to your side and offers you, gaping wide my heart, my whole, my happiness. This hand has been a cruel fist this hand has struck a thousand blows but longs, deep down, to be held tight in yours, my dear, my kindest friend, for I am tired of the fight tired of the lonely night just hold my hand, and be my friend and let our loving… never end. F.M. (c) Last edited by Francis Meyrick on May 21, 2011, Read More

by whadmin

Hearts of Snowmen

November 22, 2007 in Poetry

Winter’s growing old, Snowmans’ heart is cold. Breezy wind’s a-bumpin’, Icy heart is thumpin’. Turn another morrow, Hollowing a furrow, Winter wind is sawing, Snowmans’ heart is thawing. Whistlin’ through the trees, Brings Snowmen to their knees, Taking on the pain, And touching every stain. Just before he fades, To all that God has made, Closely to the ground, Humbled, he bows down. Sinks into the clay, Spends one final day, And in his closing hour, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

The ugly little turtle

November 22, 2007 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning, Short Story (symbolism), The Great Cosmic Kindness

  The ugly little turtle For as long as he could remember, he had been there.Huddled together with his brothers and sisters, in their cozy, warm bed.But now, as he lay and listened to the sighing wind outside, the important chatterings of his siblings, and the restless storm inside his mind, he knew things were going to change. For ever. It was time… to move on. The wind was calling him. A new home was calling him. There was some terribly important task he had to accomplish.If only he knew…what task. In a way, he felt sad. He knew he was going to miss… this place. There was a comfort here. A security of the familiar. Oh, he had suffered a bit. He was an ugly, slightly handicapped turtle, and the others picked on him. They called him names, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

Bounce (1)

November 22, 2007 in article about writing

BOUNCE (1) “This story was inspired by… “ Why does this phrase annoy me? Why should I allow five little words to make me contemplate a headlong rush to the nearest barf bag? It doesn’t seem right to have such a strong reaction. I should be more philosophical, and lead a more contemplative life. I, as one who strives towards the monastic disposition, a chaste, quiet life, interrupted only by the occasional hymn, why should I feel my blood pressure elevated by a simple phrase such as the one above? I think it’s because it sounds so poetic. So…(sniff!)…ephemeral. So dreamy. I have this mental picture of a giant tableau, a painting covering the entire wall. And not just any wall. In my mind’s eye, I see a wall in the Versailles palace, home of Louis the Fourteenth, the famed Roi-Soleil, the Sun-King, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

Decline and Fall (1)

November 22, 2007 in Short Stories

Decline and Fall of the…. Roman Empire? The ancient Roman gladiatorial sports… We’ve seen the movie. Maybe… even read the book. We all know… it was pretty brutal. I would suggest that these “sports ” were, in their own way, a damning verdict on their society. And not a good one. It spoke of the Romans’ unspeakable, sadistic cruelty towards their fellow men. It spoke of how smug, self-satisfied citizens could hugely enjoy the side-splitting spectacle of their weaker fellow brothers or sisters being humiliated. The gladiators themselves… fought in different ways. Some merely tried to defend themselves. By sword, spear, or whatever weapon was thrust upon them. Others attempted to “enter into the spirit of it all ” to please the crowd…. they put on a good “show “, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

Last Night

November 22, 2007 in Poetry

(This is a poem to a former lover, who died alone in a single vehicle car crash. We rode a motorbike for thousands of miles.) Last Night Last night, from far away, I thought I heard a distant sound, beckoning me, waking me, urgently calling me. It seemed to me it stirred an old memory haunting me teasing me leaving me again. It was as if you were there, whispering secretly Remember me, remember me my darling I care. When I think of the miles we passed crazily you in black leathers and I far too fast I’d give up just anything willingly, gratefully for just five minutes with you on the back. We’d burn up the road blisteringly, recklessly And I’d feel your arms take up the load. With your hair in the wind and your laughter contagious we’d move like a banshee demented, Read More

by Francis Meyrick

Piano Lessons

November 22, 2007 in article about writing

(I originally wrote this tongue-in-cheek story for “Writer’s Cafe “, deliberately full of all sorts of technical goblins, as a protest against the beatings I saw regularly being dished out by some remarkably haughty and unfeeling “popular ” writers, who sat in contemptuous judgment of struggling artists; it fell on deaf ears, and I eventually left, to set up our own tiny little corner of Cyberspace… We may be small, but we’re at peace…) PIANO LESSONS When I was a young teenager, we had a piano in the house. I used to plink out little tunes I taught myself. Two fingers. I liked that piano. I liked the sound it made. Guess what. It made better sounds if you played it better… If you are a serious literary critic, by now, Read More