Category Archives: The Poetry and Prose of my life.

A collection of Poems and Thoughts from my life from youth till now.

The Patterned Plate

In most homes it conjures up good times, spent over a meal.image

But this plate is different as to what
I would feel

Lost in the pattern I rode out my time
carefully staring memorizing every line.

Outside of this process sorrow is spilled and than anger and madness came with the deal.

So sad, since the food offering usually was great, the Cook’s good meaning intention did come hooked with a bait.

And I swallowed each morsel, and I cleaned my plate and I loved and I cared not knowing my fate.
Days and than months turned into years
But alas I didn’t help the one that I feared.

She’s gone now but not the fear she instilled, that goes on and on year after year, and it wasn’t till recently it came clear to my mind

When again this plate came down like a sign,
at an unknowing minute and not in my home it reminded me, that I was alone. I couldn’t eat off it I put it away and shuddered as it led me to think of those days.
A week since that date of that memory filled plate
and I’m still sitting here just lying awake.

She said she would haunt me and I fear it is so , I try hard to let those memories go. I try and conjure up good times, to replace the bad but that just render’s me, so often so sad.
So it’s Time to turn off this writers mind and look for the rest my body must find.
By Meredith J Weir
All rights reserved

Hoarding life 101

You can not take it with you
You can not leave it here
You can not put it on a shelf
it’s part of you, you fear.
You can not throw it away
You might then need it some  day….
Or maybe it’s just a memory, of how things use to be
At least that’s what you tell yourself
You can not set it free.
You can not toss it out like no value lies within
It belong to such and so and you know that she was kin.
It may be the only family that brings you cheerful thoughts
And to sell it would be hard for good memories can’t be bought.
So let’s look inside this box , oh what do we have  here?
Just some recipes I’ll try ,oh yeah and in  what year ?
a box of magazines assorted shapes and kind with all sorts of articles that you’ll never, never find. And what about this box marked. In nana’s dresser drawer, did she ever wear this necklace I haven’t seen that before. Oh that was an Avon special, she got with that gold embossed bird pin…..And you just have to keep it Why? because again we’re kin.

So 0n and on it goes sorted thru, but not thrown out, yes you know its true

it’s what a hoarders life’s about.

By Meredith J Weir

all rights reserved.


The Rug laid down its life.

The cord became a strand that strand now fiber… lays
To speak upon the weight and strain of all its days.

Once part of a pattern in a rug that dressed it’s room ,
it now lays barley visible and knows from weight, it’s doomed .

The things of life have crushed it.
The nap it can not rise
it now just lays in wait
For it’s ultimate demise.

It still serves some purpose ,
To warm the floor below
But that too was splintered
From likened weight I know.

The color of the rug, is faded from the past and speaks to me in volume that it’s time just can not last.

Oh its been walked upon,
And life has left it’s stain
And now all that is left is to ask should it remain ?

Lest it be given cleaner or vacuumed torn apart. Let’s just admire it, for it did give it’s heart.

Oh I know that there are those of you who read between the lines but really folks it’s ok it’s really doing fine.

An interesting analogy, as I
View surrounding floor,
I really did protect it though I could have done much more . The wooden floor around me lays …
lighten now, by sun’s harsh rays
yet under me still lies….
a varnished life that cries.

By Meredith J Weir
Nov 19 th 2014 (8:30 a.m.)
All rights reserved .

Truly wounded

I saw a wrecked up body
A ghastly sight for sure
the scars ran wide and deep
I couldn’t tell much more

The body, it was breathing
but could it be alive?
and I sat there….wondering
how did it survive,
to be where I was sitting and starring
at it so, and what of all this ugliness?
I really didn’t know.

What weapons could have possibly
caused scars so deep and dark?
What weapon could have wrecked this life
and left such ugly marks

The light where I was sitting, it really wasn’t good,
I wanted to look at its face, I wondered if I could?
Could it have been a sword, a razor or a knife that
had wrecked this body ,that once had been a life?
It didn’t feel the pain right now
it sipped sweet spirits like me
but all that I could think of ….was what pain there had to be.

Someone sitting near by me , I overheard explain,
On how he knew a man once who nearly gone insane,
on how his life was ruined when he was in his prime
and how this was the place now where he spent most his time.

He spoke of the real damage, the pain within his heart,
it stirred in me the question as to where this all could start?

He then made reference to this thing alongside me
and now I was intrigued by what this all could be?
The conversation ended only one more thing I heard
that all this pain and ugliness was the result of a spoken word!

by Meredith J Weir
All rights reserved

To the next year

To the next year
( sung to tune auld lang syne )

Should this year pass our memory
Tomorrow there’s a new one
I hope it’s better than the last
I hope it is a good one !!

Chorus : To the next year
To the next year
Let’s hope it is a good one
I ‘ll tie one on , branded egg nog
And hope it is a good one.

Should this year pass our memory
And all the bad forgotten
I think it should I wish it would
Cause some of it was rotten

Tomorrow’s ills I know not now
Nor would I want to either
That’s why I sip a spirit drink
So I’ll remember neither 🙂

By Meredith J Weir
4:28 a.m
All rights reserved
My apology to Robert Burns author of the original
Auld lang syne 🙂

My confession 2013

My confession 2013

2013 is almost gone
But before it leaves us
I see something wrong …
I want to start next year
With nary a care
So let me take time now
— a few things to share ,
To those that I treated in an unkind way
I ask for forgiveness and pardon I pray .
For my sins of omissions
When I just let things pass
The memory of these thing I pray
will not last !
By knowledge or time lapse
I have no excuse
The guilt of these things
Dear God….. Cut me loose !

Some now have burned a hole in my heart and I know now , I know
They can not depart .
Only God’s mercy might set me free but then again, it’s so buried in me.
You ask why I’m sleepless
You certainly can see
It’s all the guilt so wrapped up in me.
I want to hope — I’ll do better next year,
But memories assault me and fill me with fear,
So as the clock tick, the current year to expire
I am praying and praying to this I aspire
Let me be more like Jesus
Who didn’t put off to tomorrow
And caused a relative so much grieving and sorrow though mine is gone now and I pray she ‘s at rest I know in her eyes I didn’t pass the test .
I don’t know of a pill that can heal my pain and at times in the night
I feel like I’m going insane .
Can I use The excuse that says
” I’m only human ” I see “do better ” scriptures all over are looming . If God DOES forgive me
Why then can’t I ?

Well good night my dear friends all I can say is I ‘ll try
By Meredith J Weir
12/28/2013 5:12 a.m
All rights reserved

Emerging from the Darkness

Emerging from the darkness, It’s true life must go on,

I dare to take a deep breath to count my worries gone.

Always will I love her she’ll always be with me

always I’ll remember, how misunderstood was she.

The child of this mother, I know her oh so well,

For I am so much like her, her  sufferings I’ll tell.

Living in the darkness, seeing no way to the light,

accepting that this darkness , must be her only sight.

So afraid of being wrong she lived on in misery, and once the dye was cast

that’s what it was to be.

Oh how I tried to tell her life can not be explained

that we must face tomorrow in spite of bitterness and pain.

I failed also; there’s wrong I must endure, but I know I am forgiven

that alone makes me secure.

The scattering of good times,  beneath her cloud of doubt

will be what I remember that her life was about.

She never really lived, in freedom from her thoughts

They alone kept her imprisoned , they alone the darkness wrought.

So I will take this lesson, my mom so sadly taught.

I will not be imprisoned by the darkly thoughts.

I may make mistakes and sometimes  I’ll  be wrong, but I won’t let the darkness remain in me too long.

I will seek forgiveness,direction, and the light,

so some day they will say, she fought the good fight.

By Meredith J Weir

11/18/126 a.m.

All rights reserved!

All rights reserved ?
But who would know,
What lies within this tired soul?
The depth of thoughts that I perceive would die then, like a withered leaf
Are not we born to think, and not so much to plan?
Are not we born to love, and not so much to stand.
An idle life will find much strife, from standing still it’s true.
So lets move on and sing the song,
find something else to do .
I’ve made mistakes I can’t undue
forgiveness will be up to you.

In retrospect, what the heck, was I suppose to do. My world apart, a broken heart, a family split in two.
The weight of , a promise broke
weighs heavy in this mind.
Destroying flesh and nerves and soul
And taking up my time.
So here you have a trickle of what, is in this mind .
My hope is that some day it’s peace that I will find.

by Meredith J Weir

6/11/12 6:30 p.m.

All rights reserved.

Seasonal Seasons

To see the whiteness of the snow

that lay about a foot or so

to see the tree’s encased with ice

a winters scene that’s very nice

If in a house with fire bright you sit with friends this chilly night

While out-of-doors the cold winds blow

moving round bits of snow

and yet before the night shall end again,again the snow descends,

till morning brings you to the door to see the whiteness evermore

We close the door chase out the cold

for even now were not so bold.

Yet after breakfast ,toast and tea we see the cold more willingly

For now we must move it away admire it some other day.

By Meredith J Weir 1972 All rights reserved.


The Divorced Tree

See that tree all alone,

that tree is just like my home.

Other trees growing near, haven’t changed a bit in years,

All our roots are planted deep

I guess mine’s just a little weak

through wind and storms these trees stay stout

except for mine it moves about.

Hurricanes fail to knock them down

but mine now bends close to the ground.

In spring little nests are often found

in all the trees that are around,

except for mine it isn’t fair

for my tree its weight it cannot bear

I watch her arms reaching high

reaching outward in the sky

God knows this tree is like my home

and is the reason I’ll never roam

I must watch her everyday

and then at night I must pray.

I pray she’ll see me through and through

for there isn’t much else that I can do.

By Meredith J Weir 1969 all rights reserved.