A weir holds back the river
against the flow of the morning tide
I wonder how many thoughts,
unspoken, lie behind its barrier-
ponderings of love, turmoil, betrayal
obstructed by the dam of emotional blocks
struggling to break free from their confines.
Like silent storms beneath the surface,
they swirl in the depths of the mind,
the dam of fear, of shame,
keeps them hidden from the light.
moment a potential release,
each breath a reminder of restraint.
The heart, a vessel so full of longing,
yet bound by invisible chains,
craves the freedom to flow unbound,
to speak the words that have waited too long.
But the weir stands firm,
its stones like the weight of doubt,
the water rising higher,
pressing against its edges,
until one day—
will it break, or will the river flow in silence forever?
To Atbin.
Another flick, a spark,
Once more awakened the past
Illustrating memories
Are alive and always last.
I recall your visage with
Its veins, its charm, and grace
Some invisible griefs,
Behind of that bony face.
Your tender artistic look,
At a silly Rubik’s parts,
Made your endless affection,
dwell in our empty hearts.
You were our J. Keating of
Weir’s ingenious mind
And that "Remembrance Fest"
That you held: one of a kind.
To our liveliest friend,
We had toasted, and cheered
But I saw a bloody band
On your thin wrist appeared.
You smoked and you spoke,
With your own personal tone:
"A dead soul would never need,
All of these; to be well known,
Look at the living, hey kiddo!
And cherish their real worth.”
I stared at the white band:
Accessible, open source…
I thought it should be a band,
You could have tied it with care
Upon a pretty girl’s
Glowing and blonde hair.
Not as a merciless rope,
Tight around the skinny neck
But just like the sign of love,
Danced by the wind in a lake.
Hey, my friend! don’t frown,
Let me exactly define,
Not a regret for the dead,
But as an amity sign.
Successfull Julian Aiden Weir
held painting an art so dear
In watercolours&silver point
to the Academy they did apponte
in fair weather wood
the river deep then rapid
where it always rains
© Harry J Horsman 2017
In their coloured anoraks
I see young people canoeing
swinging their oars as they cut and dip
into the frothy waters.
Around me, daffodil bulbs
shoot stalks out of damp earth,
and falling water clears my head
of office banter and tedious days.
In their coloured anoraks
I see young people canoeing
swinging their oars as they cut and dip
into the frothy waters.
Around me, daffodil bulbs
shoot stalks out of damp earth,
and falling water clears my head
of office banter and tedious days.
(This is a fictional poem)
Last week I felt great fear.
I met Erin Moran and Stephanie Weir.
Erin starred in Happy Days and Stephanie starred in Mad TV.
They joined forces and beat the hell out of me.
They whooped me because I accidentally called them Stephanie Weird and Erin
Moron.
When they got through beating me, most of my teeth were gone.
That ticked me off so I slapped them and told them that they are witches who
should be flying on brooms.
They attacked me again and sent me to the emergency room.
I'll never again be able to watch Happy Days or Mad TV.
If you ever meet Moran or Weir, watch what you say to them or you'll go to the
hospital like me.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.