White calloused knuckles
Strong at the helm
Massive varnished block
Pulpit over head
Familiar anthem booming
Doubt is dissent
There is no boat but this boat
Follow or be lost
Your suffering is testimony
Your payment holy
No need to look overboard
It’s too confusing
Out there is dark and death
Trust us
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thought”)
Observing you
Observing me
We strangers
Pass strangers
Lines intersecting
Lines diverging
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Mother and Babe”)
What is beauty
But impermanence
In focus suddenly
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Beautiful Women”)
In the shade of the synaptic forest
Still and scanning, the fugitive pauses
Born evasive, resistant to capture
Colored to match its surroundings
Only texture betraying the camouflage,
Fatal tell for the dogged hunter
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Runner”)
I found a fairytale
Sitting on my porch
Then in my glovebox
Then on my desk
Then in my wallet
Then on my phone
Then in my inbox
Then on the way
Then in this poem
Everywhere a fairytale
Everywhere I go
-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Child’s Amaze”)
Hoaried joists exhale
Obtuse frame creaking softly
Once towering pines
Felled milled domesticated
Row by row set
Paneless windows inhale
Warmth and pollen
On a convalescent breeze
-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Farm Picture”)
High above the universe
I too roamed in thought
Along a curious dimension
I spied a cube dark and dense
6 faces pristine at first sight
Basis set of consciousness
Space and Time
Death and Birth
Good and Evil
Twice trisected turning
One twist and then another
Faces mixing by increment
No solution to be found
No algorithm to restore order
Just the cube and Me
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Roaming in Thought [After reading Hegel]”)
Foooood rolls the purr
From behind lemon eyes
Tail batting the air
Lazy electric shrugs
Stirring the perfect cocktail
One part love two parts guile
Goes down easy
Okay fine, where’s the cat food?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Dalliance of the Eagles”)
Downtown by the tent city
Where the homeless people live
There are regular people too
But they just walk by
Mostly it’s the homeless kind of people
I feel guilty about having stuff
So I give them some regular people stuff
Now we’re the same
They are happy and I am happy
One of them gives back
A dollar for my kids
We both gave but we’re not the same now
He broke the deal
He’s supposed to accept my charity
And I’m supposed to feel charitable
Now I feel guilty again
He ruined it
-T. Weeks
(A response to “To Rich Givers”)
What a time to be
To see such danger rising
To write fear parasitic
To smell the rot of paranoia
To paint the tragic blush
To gasp at lights swinging.
As the seismograph claws a panicked beat
We play chicken with our fate.
What will be said of us?
That we gilded this age
Or took it head on running?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “I Sit and Look Out”)
Life Immense 