There they go
Hollow-eyed aimless
Boxes in hand
For the last time
Out the door
Don’t stop don’t stair
Maybe just slow down
Steal a glance
They look like us
Could have been
What is lost?
A badge, a title, a W2?
Emails, to-dos?
Gaunt recognition?
Happiness?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Patroling Barnegat”)
Rumble crack boom snap growl
The modest invitation rattles panes
Ozone gathers fresh and ominous
Brooding gray dark and darker
The first drop lands
Lost among the next million
Patter patter hisssssss
Answers the static percussion
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Song for All Seas, All Ships”)
Begin end begin end begin end
So goes the dance
Stop start stop start stop start
So goes the urge
Forth back forth back forth back
So goes the tide
Loop upon loop we ride.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “On the Beach at Night Alone”)
What does conflict mean
There below the brine
Where the lidless predator
And the coordinated prey
Twirl into the tranquil abyss,
Bubble thrashed curtains drawing
On cloudy listing carnage,
Where hunt and kill and death
Bring life and bounty and balance?
Down there ’tis plankton blooming
That feeds the sea.
Up here we only eat while
The swift blossom of sweet paranoia
Keeps the grazers grazing.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The World below the Brine”)
Stainless steel doors part wide
Square room, steel walls, steel floor
Featureless box almost
One cryptic panel begging exploration
Push a button unsure
Steel doors slide shut precisely
Farewell to this world
Electromagnetic action stirs stale air
Rumbles flesh and alloy
Dimensional travel turns in my gut
Everything stops
Steel doors peel open triumphant
Unfamiliar world tumbles into view
Nearly the same, nearly different
So this is the third floor?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “On the Beach at Night”)
No wave tossed bells
Am I lost at sea?
No lighthouse warning
Have I lost the shore?
No rolling waves break
Is there no reef to run upon?
With no danger nigh
Which way ought I steer?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Aboard at a Ship’s Helm”)
Wings spread, feet tucked
Slave and master of the breeze
Rise
Above trails, homes, lakes
Rise
Above trees, steeples, school yards
Rise
Above hills, cities, seas
Never to rise above the wind
I am the Man-of-War-Bird
-T. Weeks
(A response to “To the Man-of-War-Bird”)
Terrible news today
The View-Master clicks
A new image wheels into focus
In my face a new scene
Dramatic and beautiful
Stereoscopic and fleeting
The image makes me sad
I dread the next click
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Tears”)
Erwin loved his cat
But left the thing in a box
It’s alive and dead
-T. Weeks
Silence billows
Graceful plumes fill space
Tendrils render, inquisitive.
Excited, inspired, arrogant
I arrange my crude noises
Hoping to describe the quiet.
Silence evaporates.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life”)
Life Immense 