Category: Poems

Giant stones planted deep but not growing
Immovable permanent
Sentries of the valley
Devout to their tectonic birth
Elbows in the river bend but not flowing
Canvas of life but not living

-T. Weeks
(A response to “To a President”)

There it is again
A breeze giggling
In pine branches
High above a sunny park
Shade bouncing
Playfully in the sand
This is perfect

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Perfections”)

There is a verse in this powerful play
Persisting beyond the curtain
Recited, reused, plagiarized
A line to launch a thousand shows
Lights and faces peer on stage
Panning for the precious nugget
There’s my cue… Line?!

-T. Weeks
(A response to “O Me! O Life!)

Relativistic space waltzing above
Time dilating
Length contracting
Cosmic lovers, energy and matter
Riding the fabric unfurling

Quantum world churning below
Time and energy
Position and momentum
Saboteurs seeking uncertainty
Wave functions crashing everywhere

-T. Weeks
(A response to “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer”)

With strange creatures
On a wild planet
I’m an alien in space
Racing ’round a lonely star
Winking from the corner
Of a constellation rising
In another’s warm dark sky

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Germs”)

I don’t know much, I see very little
We all see something different
My little view makes me

If your God knows all and sees all
Then he can’t be sure he’s He
Or if he’s just the ghost of us

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Gods”)

An empty fridge is extra bright
No gallons three quarters gone
Cloud the flowering light
The wide space left by an open door
Frames a hungry face illuminated

-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Hand-Mirror”)

Of the majesty of men and women
Riding colt happy in a box since birth
On towards death and life and death again
All ride the horizon path

Inside murals exquisite glow
Each a facsimile of lands long past
Memories gilded to be memorable
Bright familiar static comfort

Outside cankered leaf-springs sing
Box bobbing over unplanned roads never repaired
Dynamic landscape tumbles past
Never to be seen again

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Europe [The 72d and 73d Years of These States]”)

There he is again
The Ghost Soldier.
Sun-baked byway native
Drifting in the wake.
Rusted leather grin
Creaks upward and down.
Toothless sentry
Nodding at his post.
I hurry past ignoring the tap
Of his empty-handed stare.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Book XX: By The Roadside”)

Never again! Proclaims the visionary
At last the perfect protocol
Every scenario counted
Contingency upon contingency it’s all here
One easy-to-read 70,000 page volume
Also available, this 100 page summary
In PDF if you like.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “After the Sea-Ship”)