Category: Responding To Walt Whitman

Warm pancakes stack one upon the next
Floppy folding disks irregular at the edges
Hungry hands reach at the precessing tower
Pulling at the warmth of the fresh top
The ground floors cool to lukewarm
Bearing the burden of a lazy morning
Cake after cake comes out of the pan
The same almost
Layer after layer they lie on the plate
Golden tick marks counting time
Each suspended by their neighbors
All unaware that there’s such a thing as a stack

-T. Weeks
(A response to “As the Time Draws Nigh”)

Beds are stripped and the dryer is running
Trunks are bursting with dirty cloths and sleds
Kids restless and playing against the hour
Steadfast roads stretch and yawn
Everyone’s ready but slow to start
Worlds and lives wait for our return
Excited to see us and tell us everything we missed

-T. Weeks
(A response “A Clear Midnight”)

In the lee of a weekend
Emails and headlines
Stray into the conversation
Penumbra tokens
Intruders from an anxious world

We are almost free to laugh
To set down responsibility
To play with the moment
To speculate and wince
To leave work for tomorrow

-T. Weeks
(A response to “As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days”)

Cool against my sweaty brow I feel the breeze
Pouring through the open window of wild opportunity
Untamed rebellious hazardous hungry
The wildness draws fear and lust
Putting me in danger of glory and ruin alike
I cannot stay here but I am afraid to go
And so into the night I leap
Shards of hesitation swirling in my wake

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thick-Sprinkled Bunting”)

Pizza and pirate ships
Laughing lights
Prizes tickets and toys
Children gambling tokens
Prayers for a jackpot
Top shelf mocking
Happiness unrequited
For their devotion
Laughy taffy
And a whoopie cushion

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Old War-Dreams”)

Cheers to future memories
The ghosts not yet dead
To ruddy limbs and fairy dreams
To due dates still outstanding
To incubating miseries
Regrets waiting to be hatched
To gestating happy times
To braveries and cowardices
Seeking simple zygote union
To the world we will never know
And the one we’ll soon remember

-T. Weeks
(A response to “From Far Dakota’s Canyons [June 25, 1876]”)

Sitting by an angry current
Complacent toes dip
Cold inertia shocks
Recoil and reconsider
Perhaps we wait
Before we dive
How hot must the sun be
Yesterday we enjoyed the shore
Today feels different
Maybe tomorrow we’ll get in

-T. Weeks
(A response to “By Broad Potomac’s Shore”)

Stale and brittle this ice has overstayed its welcome
A week ago the cold descended
Snow alighting on branches roofs and roads
We awoke to a world metamorphosed
Familiar colors and daily routines disrupted
We laughed at the spectacle and giggled at the chill
Now the novelty is turned slushy and grey
Piled high along disrupted roads in refrozen lumps
Tomorrow will be warmer
Tomorrow the rain will come and melt the ice
But the cold isn’t done yet
We long for spring

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Spain, 1873-74”)

In this place in the snow stuck in the house
No applause pattering a path to the door
No smiling handshakes or job-well-dones
No shrines to accomplishment lining the way
Only an enlightened soul silently practicing
Facets sparkle and race across walls and ceilings
Inspiration shines through the windows
And out into the empty frozen streets

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Weave in, My Hardy Life”)

Look at all these lines on the floor
Half circles and circles
Dashes and rectangles in rectangles
Marking boundaries and forbidden zones
From here we throw this ball up
From there you throw it to me
We must throw the ball well
Beware of the rules
We must follow the rules

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Mediums”)