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Bow your head and say yes
Good
Now do it again…
And again…
Again…
…

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Beat! Beat! Drums!”)

Year of trepidation and victory
Of civil separation and independence
Of nostalgia and liberation
Vandal year of secession
Blundering stumbling patriot year
Kamikaze cavalry crashing
Across a blind battlefield
Peace sublimate rising from the sacrilege

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Eighteen Sixty-One”)

Drunk on the thirst of triumph
Accelerated world
Lapping me, impaired
Grasping screenshots
Of my own battle
With conquest at hand
Not but conflict my reward

T. Weeks
(A response “Book XXI. Drum-Taps”)

wake wake wake
Leave me alone
wake wake wake
Just a few more…
wake wake wake
Cozy vision vaporized
wake wake wake
Fine.
wake wake wake
Opening my eyes in…
wake wake wake
3, 2, 1…
Awake

-T. Weeks
(A response to “To The States [To Identify the 16th, 17th, or 18th Presidentiad]”)

Outdoor silence
Gentle nothingness
Of crickety sonnets
Of birdy chirps and arias
Of breezy tides breaking
Steady thrum
Of life and it flowing

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Offerings”)

What’s a conclusion?
But well pruned anecdote
Tracing decisions long made

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Locations and Times”)

I am the wave racing towards the shore
Transient perturbation
Destined to crash and churn and return
A ripple in the sea

T. Weeks
(A response to “To Old Age”)

This teeter-totter is a piece of junk
I sit firmly on the ground
High in the air up beyond the fulcrum
Sits another in the balance
Light on influence
Light on opportunity
Light on advocates
Inherited privilege inherited predicament
I jump his feet flirt with traction
I rest back up he goes

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thought”)

There’s just a little more to me than there used to be
A little more thigh a little more angst a little more guile
A little more idea a little more view a little more jaw
A little more bias a little more belly a little more courage

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour”)

Seed at full sail cresting
Eddies in a passing breeze
Rise and plummet and rise

Eyes closed arms spread
Touching north and south the child waits
For the gust that would elevate

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Gliding O’er all”)