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Francis Meyrick
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The Honey Queen from Galway An exercise in Symbolism There is a fine seductive reasoning, and it appears as a form of mental sickness. Like the effects of too much of the juice of the barley, it leads men to sit around, confidently bumping their gums. In this type of closed mutual admiration society, there goes on a lot of virtue flaunting and preening. Where goes Ireland today? With many so-called Republicans calling for 'open borders' and 'Globalism' and apparently enamored with that dusty old fool, Karl Marx...? Let's look at the busy, hardworking honey bee Queen, that tended all her life to her busy hive in County Galway. Through storms and winters, through cold and drought. Fighting off thieves and raiders, she and her workers & drones protected the hive. The...
The Gentle Drunk       If you were a career old drunk in Dublin fair city in the nineteen seventies, then apart from begging, scrounging, watching the girls, and hoping for a hot meal, one other important consideration was "getting back to the hostel" in time.   "Hostel" was perhaps too fine word.  "Flophouse" would be politically...
The Outlaw (I drove my motorbike to the sea) I watched a dreamer by the sea observe me,softly, haltingly, His face was tired but not unkind I sensed a windmill in his mind. Alone upon the beach he stood A member of the brotherhood I saw the biker garb he wore And knew I'd seen him once before. Reflections from a dying wave Shadows from the failing light This was a man...
It was the night before Christmas; all was quiet, except for the sound of a little mouse. Twinkle wasn't a pretend mouse, a fluffy mouse, or a cartoon mouse; he was a real live mouse who might chew his way through the skirting board; which he was doing right now. Before Twinkle left for his nightly foraging, his great-great-great-great grandfather warned again, as he did every year, not to...
Sensual Overload, Emotional Push Back. The Snow Storm       I remember it so well, although it was so many years ago. Falling, falling. Alone. Not caring. Floating. Being buffeted. My jump suit rattling.  My eyes drinking it all in. My mind, mesmerized, whispering the one word, over and over: "Wow!" It was in France, at a skydiving school...
Jeanette Merqua's alarm clock set for seven a.m. broke the silence of her apartment. With a groan, she pulled an arm from beneath the covers, and without lifting her head from the pillow, shut it up with a smack. She lay inert for several more minutes, enjoying the post-slumber warmth of her bed, before she urged her body into action. Still half asleep and with eyes barely open, operating on...
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