Poetry: Work through it

Work through it, he said,
more pain is good gain.
Can you go farther?
(implying the pain
I should endure)
To do more?
Through it, he said. I asked.

“I understand, Doc,
but do you?” Push
through — more pain—
limping, then numbness
and excruciating
pain, then physical collapse.
The pain.

Then I sense some gain.
Then more. Must I now confess
at the end of the battle?
Doc, you were right.
Muscles are tight
and sore as hell,
with pain and cramps,
but improvement costs,
some weight’s been tossed.

Should I go on, and on?

Pain goes both ways, some is beneficial, some is a warning to stop.
I Listen to, and learn, my body. I mind the gaps to learn the differences.

Poetry: Twilighting Verse

Day was turning to dusk,
soon to be twilight,
and a lovely sight, one my
muse would give me clues
to a perfect poem, this
sight to be the meter
of my metaphor
for the twilight of humanity,
but it was not to be.

Going to the pool
to swim my hour, to do
aerobic huffing and
puffing, to get my
workout, after a day
putzing while working
around the house,
the garage mostly.

Sometimes, even as poets,
the best we can do is to say,
“Yes, I was there, I saw that,
and it was beautiful.”

Then I jumped
into the pool and swam.
‘twas a clear dark night
when I got out.

Apparently, my muse
can’t swim and retired
early that evening,

Leaving me even
as twilight comes and goes,
to be a verseless but happy
semi-healthy poet.

Swim both ways to lap away the twilight looks.
Mind the gaps as we seek piquing peeks.