About the Author
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Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
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Caution - Small Man Rhyming

Caution - Small Man Rhyming

Great Vanity of vanities
How much Art and feeling
In our world today
Is warped and twisted
Perverted and falsified
For the poisonous pleasures
Of Reward or Fame?

I admire the man
Who left only his zither and a donkey
And the donkey ill at that
But he left his rhymes
His touch on our Times
The pure sense of his thought
In the letters that he wrought.

Let me try instead
To bend my head
Embrace poor and meek
And never seek
Praise or Reward
And never be torn
By withering scorn
The plentiful sneering
of proud men jeering

I just ask you to know
I tried to show
without doctrine or preaching
or toffee nosed teaching
the flawed Art   
of my beating heart

Let me leave behind
the honest confusion
of a groping mind
and the scars of contusion
a hint of the sleepless
the long nights pacing
thoughts wildly racing
all seen by

Perhaps all this cacophony
The madness, the rage
Cannot be nailed
To a printed page
Perhaps the lone witness
The jury in court
The only observer
Of the demons I've fought
Is present only
in the silent rays
When a quiet sun
Through mist and trees
Creeps in and visits
And often sees

A small man, rhyming, puzzling long
Composing, two fingered, his feeble song.

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on October 6, 2014, 2:22 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
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