thanks, commenters.
Yes, Andrew, I do now see tercets are not ‘it’.
Max
On Mar 30, 2016, at 8:13, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Catches the halts & the worry, Max.
>
> And a bunch of fellow older poets feel for/with you….
>
> It’s worth considering Andrew’s point….
>
> Doug
>> On Mar 29, 2016, at 10:47 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> Not Complaining (twice)
>>
>> 1. On the Stair
>>
>> Climbing first time today the stair,
>> began again saying to myself:
>>
>> up the stairs that keep me fit
>> to the room that proves I’m not,
>>
>> resolving yet again to count
>> my climbs per day - but soon forget.
>>
>> Not complaining! This my day
>> till bedtime, is spent downstairs,
>>
>> on my mind the well-timed tray
>> she needs from early oatmeal
>>
>> through to nightcap herbal tea.
>> See to the dogs, keep the fridge
>>
>> well-stocked, read, wander the web,
>> write emails and would-be poems.
>>
>> Climb the stairs that keep me fit
>> to the room that proves I’m not:
>>
>> the tray is lowered on her knees,
>> I sink into the bedroom chair.
>>
>> ‘Strenuous!' I exclaim, a word
>> I over-use. My share of lunch,
>>
>> our sandwich, is the lion’s share,
>> watched by two Labradors.
>>
>> They’ve had their midday snack,
>> tend to forget - sense a lack.
>>
>> When I get my breath back
>> the three of us will clatter down,
>>
>> check weather at the window,
>> settle which goes out first
>>
>> (one at a time is easier)
>> and where, avoiding stairs, to go.
>>
>>
>> 2. Carer’s Lament
>> for Marilyn
>>
>> Upstairs the lonely sound of coughing,
>> not what I expect, but no doubt
>> part of the symptoms just now.
>>
>> It hurts to walk, bed is not
>> comfortable, is there some
>> pillow not yet tried, might help?
>>
>> I, when I step out,
>> look alertly about,
>> needing to report back
>> to the bedridden one
>> current images - what
>> she’s missing, may yet
>> enjoy should she be up to it.
>> How the high bedroom window
>> teems with life! - so long as
>> her visual sensitivity tolerates
>> its brightness. Clouds are better,
>> dark ones moving their shapes
>> animals of every sort, calling
>> to be photographed. Many
>> reappear on Facebook, for
>> friends to Like. I leave
>> teasingly sceptical remarks.
>> Cellphone and laptop are vital
>> conduits to the free comings
>> and goings of others, who may
>> or may not feel for the bed-ridden.
>>
>> The sky obliges with many birds.
>> High slow hawks, they must be.
>> There! aren’t these hummingbirds?
>> newly hatched in the neighbors’ tree?
>> We have no ledge to lodge a feeder.
>> When outside’s too bright, down
>> comes the blind till soft evening.
>> All night the electric town glitters.
>> Car headlamps thread far streets.
>>
>> We will go out together, some
>> time soon. Meantime, what did
>> I see? was it fun out for the dogs?
>> Here they are now, exercised but
>> not exhausted, no off-leash time.
>> They’d love to show her the park.
>> They’re looking out the window
>> high above their street, where neighbours'
>> dogs walk (‘woof’); the bus starts up for
>> Downtown, where she never goes now;
>> beyond descends one more
>> seaplane to the level lake, sliding
>> out of sight to some cheery dock.
>> I remind her how three of us went
>> up without her, her two friends and I,
>> in such a plane high in that sky.
>> Shapeless clouds I see nothing in
>> move over at an invalid’s pace.
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>
> Done in by creation itself.
>
> I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
> The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
> We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
>
> Robert Kroetsch.
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