Month: October 2017

From deep in the charled husk
Of a retired war dungeon
Green flowers sprout

Volcano of tragedy where
Perennial survivors dance
To the pocked-iron tic toc

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Washington’s Monument February, 1885“)

Maudlin clouds
Slump low
Tangled cotton ennui
Gathers
On branches still green
From brighter days
Promising more
But for now
Morning is brisk

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Red Jacket (From Aloft)“)

Shine on me
Red halo of receding taillights
I am audience and actor
Stage hand, director, writer
My bow from this curtainless stage
Tails me through tangled tangents
And will find me
Mid-line and at the climax of a scene
But how can I worry for the plot
The cast can improvise
They’ve been doing it all along

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Death of General Grant“)

Tuning out the office buzz
We step into our headphones
Where lush beats shuffle and thud
Echoing from the bottom of a well
Time dilates in each Narnia of noise
We are all aware eyes around us
Pecking at their own high-def problem
Each of us will slay a dragon
Together and alone
Both captain and captive

-T. Weeks
(A response to “With Husky-Haughty Lips, O Sea“)

Forgotten minds
Once a fertile ablation to a virile land
Ferment in stagnant pools
A swamp that cannot be drained

Should we bottle them back up?
And pour it again?
No
Silk flowers never bloom

Life feeds on life
So we must live
Compost for the saplings
And the leaves of grass undiscovered

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Election Day, November, 1884“)