Buy pencils

[tectak]

Hi Tom,
I 've read through several times (and read all the comments including your notes to Dale). I had picked up the idea of who cares for the carer - who counsels the counsellor. As for the back story of your inspiration, none of this came across (perhaps never intended too private and not for public consumption). I like the concept of this poem, but I feel that you might need to completely dismantle and re-assemble to get to the point of internal filing of this one, that will allow the poem to be written as it should be. (Sorry if that sounds a bit like I am now doing a counselling job on you - never...but I think you had not finished processing and cataloguing this experience before you did the first write and this is the underlying problem with the poem).
You are an accomplished writer and as such the crit that has been offered is just nit-picking through minor flaws in the delivery. I think it is the image / story that needs addressing.
I would not presume to even try to offer a re-write suggestion so what is below is just the order that my brain is processing the poem tied into the understory you gave,

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

Open the door, come blubbering. I will share your pain.
Gush -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop the slide into...

(... and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

We could just scream together, rage against unknown foes;
lie down on my parquet floor,
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?
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.

(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 no more than that; I don’t deserve).

I need someone to talk me out offf...
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 must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds of schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

(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)

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

Hi cider,
Good to hear from you. I am having a spring clean. I have a lot of stuff like this which I cannot objectively judge because I wrote it so long ago but felt it was worth keeping then...but am not sure now
This one appears to need the cyrysalis-butterfly metamorphosis. Shake it all up and reuse the goo.
It may never emerge.
Best,
tectak

---

Lesson learned: Avoid Tectak.

Caleb, you are treading on very thin ice. This forum is not for waging vendettas against your peers. Restrict you comments to the poetry. Consider this to be a warning. I am leaving your last comment on the board as an example of how not to respond, though I cannot promise you that other mods will be as tolerant. I suggest you take some time to look through past posts before you say something you may regret.
Mod.