Life Immense

Sometime downtown
Alone at a bar
Look in the mirror behind the bar
Watch the people
Peaking out behind the bottom shelf
Talking drinking eating
And the eyes staring straight back
From behind the bottom shelf

-T. Weeks

Call me crazy
The cat likes it better outside

-T. Weeks

Do jewel thieves watch movies
And roll their eyes at the unrealistic heists
That must be annoying
Especially if they can’t shut up about it

-T. Weeks

When fruit snacks become a souvenir
Painted miniatures housed in a globe
I was still young
We all were
The day it happened
The day holding them
Felt like holding onto a memory
Can it ever be like it never changed
Or is the berry magic gone forever
A future Facebook pop-up
Rip Van Winkle’ing my feed

-T. Weeks

I wrote this one
On that night at Pickathon
Banjo and guitar stomping
Blue and purple and crowd
Echo the stomp

And this one I wrote
In the morning
Lying in a tent leaning to one side
Listening to the tick tock of flip flops
Pacing the trail
Probably on their way to the portapotty

After breakfast this one
Was written sitting by the barn
Watching the class unfurl
Yoga in the morning
Maybe I should have joined
But who would have fed the kids

It’s quiet on this bench
Besides the people chattering
And the traffic
And the generator humming
And the crunch of gravel
And I might have heard a bird
It’s hard to tell with all the noise

-T. Weeks

The happiest prosoector
Surveys his claim
Dappled light dancing
On his hoary grin
This stream
Fresh from the glaciers
Tingly clear and laughing
This meadow
Poppies and marmots and twisted pines
This loaded mule
Tools aplenty
And whiskey to boot
This gold nugget
First one this year
But what’s the rush

-T. Weeks

There’s an unfinished painting
Above the piano
It might be stones or water
Or nothing
I can’t tell
It’s a fine line between
Abstract and incomplete
Found it at a garage sale
An old lady died
Her son was selling a stack
She never signed them
He said
They weren’t finished
She said
A little added here and there
Who knows what they were
At the beginning
Or how they wandered
Over the years
Now she’s dead
And here it hangs
Unfinished still
I love that painting

-T. Weeks

Sometimes we ride bikes
Because that’s who we are
Sometimes it’s because we want to

Sometimes a poem is just a poem
Sometimes it’s more than that
But not always

Sometimes I sit on the swing in the yard
Other times I’m all in my head
Sometimes it’s both at the same time

Sometimes I have nothing to say
Or more than I thought
Or too much

Sometimes is always never all the time
But could be much of the time
Or never at all

-T. Weeks

Ocean waves are circles
Like giant donuts spilling outward
At least when they get big enough
At least that’s what the dream said
Just before the storm started
When the wind picked me up
When it threw me into the air
Powerless I saw the sea
A blanket held at the edges by powers invisible
Shaking the fabric
Like those parachutes kids play with
A death gray patchwork parachute
Giant water donuts
Surging rolling spitting growling
Friends family loved ones nowhere to be seen
Alone
And what would I do if I had them
The outcome is out for delivery
We survive alone
We remember together

-T. Weeks

When I first started writing
I was trying to write
Along the way I stopped
Writing poetry that is
Hunting experience instead
To capture it
Wrestle it into captivity
Ed Smith wrecked my poetry
Just slapped me in the face
Told me to stop domesticating it
Observe it in its natural habitat
Where it’s wild and vicious
Where it’ll fuck my shit right up

-T. Weeks