I tried a new keyboard
Kind of liked it
Not sure why
It isn’t much better
Maybe new is enough
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Spirit Whose Work Is Done [Washington City, 1865]”
Category: Poems
Fresh Air
Upstairs is warm
It makes me panic
Like being tied up
In a sleeping bag
The backyard is cool
Like the first breath
After being trapped
In a sleeping bag
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Adieu to a Soldier”)
Unknown Mother
Urn of ashes marooned
In a room full of sympathy
Solemn cake eaten in whispers
Hidden near the veggie platter
Behind involuntary chuckles
We are each of us unprepared
To mourn the unknown mother
So we chat on and on
Ignoring the waiting urn
Each of us a heartbroken widower
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Lo, Victress on the Peaks”)
Sun Spot
Sanding away the seams
Where curiosity germinates
Blunting thought and drive
Paces dull discomfort
A spot in the vision
Always just ahead
Of where the eye is tracking
Incurable distraction
-T. Weeks
(A response to “To a Certain Civilian”)
Decommissioned
Farewell to my friends
They will always be my nuts
Just less connected
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Delicate Cluster”)
Motivations
Threat of hell
You are nothing to me
Lure of heaven
You are less
Along the shore I splash
Curious of the currents
Joy and sorrow swirling
Now Poet
Teach me to swim
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado”)
Bullets
A bullet killed who we were
Yet here we are
Another will kill who we are
Yet will we be
-T. Weeks
(A response to “How Solemn As One
by One [Washington City, 1865]”)
Outlook
Digging up through falling bricks
Piling just as fast as I reach
To no end I reply, forward, and file
Just a high-functioning email filter
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Reconciliation”)
Reunion
Upon diverging highways we all depart
Our trajectories and lives awaiting
For this brief weekend we overlapped
In a dance of ocean foam and bonfire splash
We laughed at how it used to be
Years made simple by younger eyes
Now grown we peer over walls
Brick and mortar politic and parenting
God reinforcing the ramparts
Forested Tillamook highway passing below
We already long for the next reunion
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Look Down Fair Moon”)
Overcast
Waterlogged horizon sags over the waves
Droplets crowd parked windshields
Merging and running in irregular lines
The mass of the clouds ambles north
Gray trees across the bay turn green
A hummingbird hums in the overcast
-T. Weeks
(“O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy”)
Life Immense 