In a Fog

Original painting by Jason Weaver, 2016

Original painting by Jason Weaver, 2016

A fog of cool, white
winter-wet clouds curled across
the landscape in long, low wisps
and settled in at a wooded edge.

Here within I was
(pleasantly surprised) to find
a sudden, simple clarity of mind,
cocooned in a butter-balm of calm
a world-away from the
cacophany of clutter,
far from the voice
of white-noise news and views.

Unbound of ego and need,
unchained to doubt and fear,
I frolicked free amid the trees,
climbing, swinging,
dancing ’round arm-in-arm,
playing hide-and-go-seek and
sparring like sword-wielding warriors
with rampant abandon,
falling to the ground
in heaps of laughter and shouts!
Never shall I forget!


A fog of cool, white
winter-wet clouds curled across
the landscape in long, low wisps
and settled in to free me.

by Jason Weaver, 2016

Original painting, Trees and Fog (2016) by Jason Weaver, (acrylic on canvas, 70×100 cm).  Dedicated to my dear friend Magaly Haasper. You showed me how to believe in myself, never shall I forget!


In a Sense

A late morning sun warms my back
and casts a shadow onto the concrete slab underfoot.
It is Monday,
the First Monday
after a string of Forever Fridays.

I feel new.

The air is immense
as it holds me in my place
filling in the empty space where nothing else seems to exist
but colors, intense
reds, blues, yellows.

I feel that yesterday may have all
been just a dream
and that tomorrow
perhaps may never be
and so
I breathe it all in, deep
and as it rushes into my lungs and blood and bones
it binds within me,
pulsing into my mind it combines with me,
creating this very perception and memory
of all that I have seen,
of all that I have been,
of all that I know and feel,
all of this love has never been so

natural. Real.

It is Monday,
the First Monday after eternity
and here
is where I shall begin again.

by Jason Weaver, 2014


Margaritas Brancas_Jason Weaver


Threads of sleep quickly slip
between wistful fingers in my mind.
I squeeze tight my flitting eyes
against the tide of conscious intrusion.

But the last still frames of dream scenes fast unravel.
What a mere moment past
seemed to me so blissfully certain
is now illusion
dispersed in sunlit pools that seep in
from behind the curtain.

I awake.

I rouse to blink away the gauze
that has draped me in morning drowse.
I awake to rhythm of my breathing
to the burn of thirst in my throat
to the burst of life that wells up
beyond these man-made walls.

I am awake.

by Jason Weaver, 2013

Painting, Margaritas Brancas, by Jason Weaver 2013, acrylic on canvas (70cm x 100cm)

Linking up with DVerse poetry blog for OpenLink Tuesday night– a day late but that’s nothing new. Stop by and read some great poetry 🙂 ~peace, Jason

Onde Eu Moro

Onde eu moro

Where I live
is in a valley deeper
than the peaks are tall
in a rift
behind the sun-drawn lines
of an unseen wall
between two lives
with too many whys
and too many times that I
fall to my knees and plea
to the first kind god I find
to the first god to reply
and ease the fears I’d
sewn in the frayed seams of my years
a confusion
grown in daydreams and illusion
and now
this box I’d built, this
life on stilts
with no sides to save me
from all sides betrays me
without choice
awaiting prophetic voice
graffiti-writ on the ways
of the unfit and the stray

by Jason Weaver ©2013

Reconstruction Time Again

I built upon a hilltop
where the sun shone brightest.
But here I dried to brittle sticks,
and by the slightest wind,
I was reduced to bits.

by Jason Weaver, 2013









Author’s Note:  The above poem, 140-character semaphore, was inspired by Samuel Peralta’s prompt at dverse poetry blog, check it out here!  The photo was taken of a house here on the mountain top that was left to ruin. I couldn’t help feeling as though, in my own “home”, it is reconstruction time again. The title is the name of a Depeche Mode Album.