The Touch & Taste of Grace

Greatford church 1. 1510801_716339275067600_1553918831_n

The little organ still the same. The photo was taken in 2015


The Taste & Touch of Grace


Just as it truly is, a small and wondrous worshipping place;

Remove all artificial growth. Leave no trace –

So that I may fill in all past and precious detail;

The sound, the smell; the taste and touch of grace.


The door was never locked, no key to turn.

A child, I’d enter there, an eager, tender heart affirm.

On a stool, I’d sit quaint organ keys to test.

This after-school sunset hour, a joyful hour for my return.


I’d kneel at the altar and make a little prayer.

No one ever entered and found me there.

Oft’, rather than enter I’d sit on the nearby bridge.

Neighbours listening: at dusk, I sang in the evening air.


I just happened to be living close, that church not mine.

Seldom used now, though not through the years left in decline.

This painting on my wall holds sweet sights I recall,

A row of trees extremely tall; the musky smell of pine.


I dream of that little church I see so seldom now.

Again fresh painted, when down that lane my slumbers slow.

The old red cottage demolished, an ugly grain barn built.

But church and those dear memories through my dreams and senses flow.


Benita H. Kape © 16.2.2019

Greatford church (2)

My nephew, a joiner, makes repairs to the pews


Game For Surprise for dVerse

I try to play games and then I find myself breaking the rules. Sorry, Sarah, I have taken more than the three words you asked us to play with. Still, it was fun. I could not get this to copy to WordPress as I had experimented in my Word Doc so I photographed it and wholla. I have a Game For Surprise. Enjoy




sand deeply insistently

Winged Wind


Poem at 4.43 pm

I’m ready now to leave the house.

My dressing gown

thrown on the bed.

I knew she’d go for that

and make her own bed.


And she knew I was watching her closely.

Nearby lay my Sunday best clothes,

just as tempting to her. Her claws

go out to them. It was not

easy to do; shoo her away.

And relenting she went back

to her favourite anyway.


Here is her church of thankfulness.

I go to commune with my friends

knowing she’ll stay here the rest

of the day. And we’ll both

have made prayers of gratitude.


Her devotion is unbearable.

It is now late in the day.

How favourite can my

dressing gown be

to my little cat?


Benita H. Kape © 20.1.2019




Influence for this poem from the lines “Do cats pray when they sleep?” Mary Oliver

Poem I Happen To Be Standing


Mary is the name on all our lips today (Mary Oliver)


On the Loss of a Poet who said:

“the tree is my sister”

                        Mary Oliver


Mary is the name on all our lips today;

those who love nature,

those who love poetry,


geese and ponds, snow –

things that are gentle

like all things in nature.


She gave us a thousand mornings

in but one poem

in many; spring mornings


or snow. She knows the sea

will go on doing its work.

And she is with Molly now.


Benita H. Kape © 19.1.2019



Variegated Leaves (Haiga)