Buy pencils

[tectak]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure.
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.
Not sure the two ings work that well and the insane tells the story but its too obvious and also not guaranteed (listen or lie down reference could be more subtle. the internal rhymes work well though.
Are we on the same poem, Keith? What two ings and what internal rhymes?
(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe? the repeats work really well and the signal change allows the reader to be part of the session
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose. nice image and distraction

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies.
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days; not sure about the repeat me
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B. I like the end line there's nothing you cant work out with your thoughts and a pencil

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

There is a lot to enjoy in this and its better for a couple of reads the switches are clear and this allows it to flow for the reader. the person in therapy being more interested in the floor comes across really well and I like that we get to know why they have visited them that work there. It is a little wordy in some parts, I read the I know repeat differently every time sometimes angry sometimes softly...I like that as it changes the tone. Thanks Keith

Thanks Keith,
See my reply to erthona but I agree on the two me's. I will work on that...if I don't dump it!
Best,
tectak

---

I gather from what other people have said that the speaker is a therapist who is employed by some institution, and whose mind is wandering onto such things as the wooden floor and the pencils. If that's the case, what's throwing me is the setting. If this is an institution, the floor is more likely to be rug or linoleum than wood. I can't think of any institution, besides a university, where a therapist would be employed to give sessions in such a fancy room that it would have a parquet floor with three or four different kinds of wood in it.

Actually, Keith thinks that the speaker is the patient and not the therapist.

I think the idea is clever, but I would execute it differently. I would scrap the references to being employed and put the therapist in private practice, and then I would give more of the therapist's mental meanderings as he/she comes to grips with whether he chose the right profession.

I also think that there are comic (comedic?) opportunities that are missed here. The ridiculous details that the therapist could be revealing about his patients in such a poem are nearly endless. Instead of day-dreaming about what kinds of wood are in the floor, have the therapist evaluating the sexual attractiveness of his patients -- that could be very funny.

But again, maybe I'm just missing the point.

Hey caleb,
It's yours. Rewrite it
Best,
tectak