What are you?
I am not a physicist;
I do quantize.
I am not a philosopher;
I do untangle.
I am not a poet;
I do abstract.
You are.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “To Foreign Lands”)
Category: Poems
Cleaving the Ether
On a stormy sea and tossed,
with choppy breath and choked,
with one shoulder down,
I wrestled the waves.
When, calmly as by chance,
a drifting bark, lonely and determined,
dashed the snarled churn
I grasped for a tale of land.
Though mounting and crashed
the sea refused to yield.
I stood brave upon the deck
spreading my white sails.
Once a weary sailor scorned,
searching for the port forlorn.
Now the loneliness deceased
for another here has trained.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “In Cabin’d Ships at Sea”)
Lo, I too am come
Whilst I sat, poet in hand, a savage shade cast its venom.
“You do not sound to sing,
You do not cast to play,
You do not know to see,
You do not find to wander,
You do not build to labor.
You are blind.”
“I see you,” I said
And I smiled.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As I ponder’d in silence”)
The Modern Man I sing
I too dream of a life immense in passion, pulse, and power.
A life rumbling with meaning, purpose, and impact.
A life nested in vision, wisdom, and eloquence.
That life is a false horizon. Ever sought, never caught.
It is a state witnessed and not experienced.
And in perpetual pursuit discovered.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “One’s-Self I Sing”)
Life Immense 