Category: Poems

Tommy Boy
Is still funny
Chris Farley
Was only thirty
Bo Derek
Only thirty nine
Both seemed older
In ninety five
The year I moved
To California

-T. Weeks

I’ve worn the same deodorant for years
Same place
Same shelf
Every time
Somewhere someone made a decision
Fresh branding
New labels
New shelf
This is the same place and a new place
Six feet high
4 feet wide
Options top to bottom
Maybe it’s time for a new deodorant

-T. Weeks

Old man crosses the street
Never looks at the blue car stopped and waiting
Doesn’t wave doesn’t nod
Pants low and bursting bags slung high
Maybe his smile is packed away up there
Bent-shoulder-shuffle curb to curb
Where did he come from
Maybe from another Saturday
One with jokes and jabs and wishes
Crossing this same road
All waves and saunter
Towards dark and bright futures
Now here we are
And there he goes towards another

-T. Weeks

Lo-fi beats lap against windows sills
Gently rocking rails and breezes
An afternoon lullaby for Laguna
Blue pacific runway unrolling
The sun about to take its walk

Sea birds scatter and we look up
A distant lawn mower turns out to be a plane
Low and greedy
Too close to be innocent
It pulls a banner
Telling us about motorcycle insurance
We’ve been robbed
Horizons are best served add-free

-T. Weeks

At 7:00 alone in the yard
The air is cool
California is waiting to exhale

The looking glass pool
Blue and unbroken
Wonderland waiting for a cannon ball

Peekaboo lizards
Do push-ups in the sun
Waiting for a reason to hide

Everything is waiting
Except maybe me
I like it here just fine

-T. Weeks

Chairs in orbit on the lawn
Alien branches waltz in 4/4 time
Patio shadow crescent faces
Toss hot potato topics

One eye waxing
Two eyes full
One eye waning
No eyes new

Demiurges giggle and fight
Crafting mines through the night
Hungry for a turn

Whiskey twinkle little star
Please explain

-T. Weeks

The man on top of the cell tower
Was hard to see until he waived
Hard-hatted king of Hillsboro
High above his subscribers
Humbly delivering voice text and data
Unlimited for the loyal
We bow our heads and hashtag

-T. Weeks

This tree is a wise old man
With wise old whiskers
And words that droop
Low over his eyes
Under the weight of youth
Ripened on the vine
…
Ugh
That last line didn’t work
Kind of cliche
How’s this supposed to end?
The boughs look like bushy eyebrows
Not much else
Beyond a metaphor run dry

-T. Weeks

Thirty three breaths
And counting
Remind me what’s the goal
Trees dance and darken
Inside out and sway
Flying on a pizza box
Magic carpet
Manic purple
Dark dark dark down
Pinpoint planet
Light up… Now!

-T. Weeks

I took this morning
Folded it in thirds
Looked for a stamp
Dropped it in the mail
Rainy day and bird songs
Licked and sealed
Five to seven days
Arriving on time

I took this morning
Drew a long exposure
Halo hand motions
Rain drumming on the ground
Is it me or tomorrow
Taking a picture of today
A moment a filter
A story for the world

I took this morning
Capoed nine o’clock
Strummed some words
I’ll probably never say
Where does it go
A song meant for nobody
Dissonant sunrise
Beat dropping low and late
Diaphragm
Pulling on the wind
I’m ready for the day

-T. Weeks