To all the love sick poets,
Calling for absent lovers,
And mad hearts broken twice,
Take it easy on the pronouns.
The empty pining for “you”
In melodramatic pantomime
Says nothing of the person
YOU are or want to be.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Recorders Ages Hence”)
Seeing and seen,
Friends, unguarded
Sitting sharing round.
We ask each other
The deep questions,
Excavating worries,
Unearthing brilliance,
Metabolizing doubt.
Here we are together.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Base of All Metaphysics”)
Little dots of color
Red, green, blue
Turn on, turn off,
No shape or form
No stories to tell.
Yet, before me I see
Black and white,
Faces and things,
Comedy and tragedy,
Digital illusion.
-T. Weeks
(A response “Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances”)
The second dream came on fast and wide,
A cyclone dark and churning.
I stood above a raging expansive ocean,
Black forms riding in the waves.
Moving as dreams do, I was cast into the sea,
Sinking below the surging tide.
Suspended in blackest ink, fear swallowed me.
Choking, I spun, helpless.
Lightening flashed above the wrathful surf,
Glowing spasms soaking up the dark.
Above I saw the unsympathetic black creatures,
The ones that ride the waves.
Peering into the depths I saw strobing schools,
Coming at me fast, swarming.
My panic climaxed, the storm erupting above,
And reverence gave me breath.
I wept. My tears flowing into the tide,
This fluid chaos that held me.
-T. Weeks
I had two dreams in two nights time,
Both striking me with terror.
In the first I saw a beautiful woman
Staring back with lusty eyes.
Powerless to resist her I reached,
Hoping to caress the beauty.
In that instant, catastrophic decay
Overtook the woman’s face.
The skin of her cheeks falling away,
Exposing rotten black teeth.
Ambushed, panic rushed upon me
But I beheld the panic.
I cradled the once beautiful face gently
Below the chin, shaking.
The creature screamed savage shrieks
Snarling at my presence.
Dread assailed, demanding I run for safety,
But I would not yield.
Determined, I licked the curdled face,
Victorious. But over whom?
-T. Weeks
A splendid treasure I have found,
As I wandered by the pond, lost.
It may have always been there
Or maybe it was left by another.
Shall I share what I’ve found?
It is spectacular and dangerous.
Or should I scrap it as blunder?
That might be safer, but for who?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “These I Singing in Spring”)
Why do you say you love democracy?Democracy will never love you.
Yes, it feels good when you’re lonely
But don’t expect tricks for free.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “For You, O Democracy”)
The desert holds a quiet disappointment,
The loan tree, silent misplaced hope,
A jackpot almost again and again.
Do poems tell anything about the poet,
Or just the transient passion of one night?
Do they also bloom in splendid desolation?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand”)
In a secret lonely place
Death will come to me
With a trowel not a scythe.
For what I leave is all I am
And I hope that’s fertile soil.
See the happy Sugar Skull
With blossoms and buds
Filling its empty sockets,
Painted naked bone
Vibrating in electric color,
And that long toothed grin
Cast in blooming satisfaction.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Scented Herbage of My Breast”)
Mischievous twins before me,
Option one and option two,
Both claiming black and white,
When I see only shallow gray.
How precious such ambiguity,
For I am free to paint my path.
If the wiser twin were clear
I’d be a prisoner to propriety.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As Adam Early in the Morning”)
Life Immense 