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”)
Laughing blushing baffled
Is it justice I seek or absolution
Plaster splashing on the floor
Pale liberated atrophied limbs
Wobble under new burdens
Free to limp out the door I go
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thought”)
If there were no mask
There’d be nothing to see
All the disguises
And the disguised are me
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Visor’d”)
White calloused knuckles
Strong at the helm
Massive varnished block
Pulpit over head
Familiar anthem booming
Doubt is dissent
There is no boat but this boat
Follow or be lost
Your suffering is testimony
Your payment holy
No need to look overboard
It’s too confusing
Out there is dark and death
Trust us
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thought”)
Observing you
Observing me
We strangers
Pass strangers
Lines intersecting
Lines diverging
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Mother and Babe”)
What is beauty
But impermanence
In focus suddenly
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Beautiful Women”)
In the shade of the synaptic forest
Still and scanning, the fugitive pauses
Born evasive, resistant to capture
Colored to match its surroundings
Only texture betraying the camouflage,
Fatal tell for the dogged hunter
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Runner”)
I found a fairytale
Sitting on my porch
Then in my glovebox
Then on my desk
Then in my wallet
Then on my phone
Then in my inbox
Then on the way
Then in this poem
Everywhere a fairytale
Everywhere I go
-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Child’s Amaze”)
Hoaried joists exhale
Obtuse frame creaking softly
Once towering pines
Felled milled domesticated
Row by row set
Paneless windows inhale
Warmth and pollen
On a convalescent breeze
-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Farm Picture”)
Life Immense 