Poem Meta: Changing the Dates! – Day 28

GloPoWriMo 2019

 

Day 28: Prompt to write a Meta Poem which is a poem which talks about itself.

 

Poem Meta: Changing the Dates!

 

A charcoal etched date on the walls of a house.

The sad bones of an adult and two children

lying on the floor nearby: the search goes on.

 

The poem is the excavation of

a destroyed city. The poem is

a frightening year, 79AD.

The poem has a struggle as to

which month exactly. And that’s

the reason the poem is interrogating itself.

 

The poem is beauty and rediscovered art

on the walls of the grand houses

of Pompeii.

 

The poem is a ‘maybe’, nothing more

than a scrawl; charcoals’ life use

is limited. Maybe it was a date

set aside for some other reason.

Someone’s relatives coming to stay?

The time some crop or other must be picked?

The poem is not changing her mind.

She has more questions than answers

but she has no mandate to solve this riddle.

 

The poem is the remaining mystery:

Vesuvius and that all important date.

 

Benita H. Kape © 29.4.2019

 

 

 

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High Maintenance – Day 27

GloPoWriMo 2019

Day 27: Prompt to write a sonnet. I took Shakespeare’s Sonnet 4, line 8 as my starting point.

 

High Maintenance    

 

So great a sum of sums yet canst not live.

So early in the piece and you are broke.

A girl like her with many charms should thrive.

New this, new that, that which stands bespoke.

 

The smartest clothes, hats, shoes, newest trends;

I struggle to keep up, to keep this girl in style.

She began as she meant to go on, high flying at the week-ends

And when not partying hard, checking out the mercantile.

 

She has never in her life made do; high maintenance.

She tries her best but she cannot do a millionaires’ mile.

While I, it’s true, am trying to introduce some measure of prudence.

I am working very hard at setting up an easy come, easy go profile.

 

So it had to end; it’s been going too hard, too long to overcome.

I can no longer pay her bills; she is too great a sum of sums.

 

Benita H. Kape © 27.4.2019

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Rink On

Rock and rink

Nuptial Photoshoot

 

roller rink at the beach …

rock & roll, hand in hand,

wave after wave they get the balance.

 

the high shot

looking down on them,

 

and that high sweep

 

don’t turn to look

artfully netted rocks, beachside:

 

(a city setting itself against future storms.)

 

later, upon opening up the photograph,

choose “Paint;” and having chosen text,

font, size and colour, in a blue wave

write on that big sweep of the rink

 

rocks

ignore them

rink on

or swim for your life

 

Benita H. Kape © 26.3.2019

 

 

 

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Schmettern (forget loud, but with a certain force, yes.)

Dean Martin has the tone I was working for.

 

Blue Moon: Singing is good for you

 

There are reasons singing is good for you.

I sing because it makes me feel good.

 

This is a strange story. I was in hospital.

An ultra-sound had been ordered.

(That’s all you need to know about that.)

 

I went into the ultra-sound singing Blue Moon.

Don’t ask me why.

 

Halfway thru the ultra-sound

I thought why am I doing this

so I ceased singing at such

a strange time.

 

And then a voice; from where

I couldn’t say; not above, so

it wasn’t God. (And I wasn’t

that far gone though I sure

could have been – long story.)

 

The voice said “Don’t stop;

we were enjoying that.” (Truth

being; so was I, both the effort and sound.)

 

So I went back to the ward singing.

 

Now I read that singing

is good for the heart.

 

Good, I’ll keep singing,

not the cure but a tool.

 

Benita H. Kape (c) 12.6.2019

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HANDS

HANDS

to Ray

You sit at my bedside

not speaking

your hands clasping mine.

You have worked hard

mostly your skill with wood.

 

Your hands are beautiful.

They are holding mine.

Benita H. Kape (c) 10.6.2019

 

Obviously these are not our hands. But hold the message my brother. I had a near death experience recently. My brother was quick to come to my bedside. He is my brother.

Hands pexels

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HOLDING HANDS

Songs that make one cry for d’verse.

Image

I reach for Sandy’s hand when she was tiny. It is unusual for Sandy not to be smiling.

 

HOLDING   HANDS

(Bridge Over Troubled Waters)

There’s the bridge to nowhere

but I’ll take the bridge to everywhere:

and I did, like it or not.

We all did, the prayer chains set up.

Two days before we knew

what your diagnosis was.

You’d been struck with meningitis.

 

I could not move.

All I could do was pray.

Kia Kaha,

you fought through;

heroic, a miracle.

 

I seek simple words,

words that don’t exaggerate.

They, though are the ones

that hurt the most.

 

There was now another person

on this bridge of all bridges …

it was me. A simple procedure

for a stent but the inserting

wire broke; it was retrieved

not easily.

 

Mother and daughter now

in the same hospital ward.

We took that main bridge,

your journey much much deeper

than mine.

 

Now on the other side

we grasp hands. Let us

walk across the footbridge

of return, meet

hold hands together. We

are strong. Kia Kaha.

 

Benita H. Kape (c) 5.6.2019

 

The Story — May has been the most dreadful month. But June sees us both home and slowly recovering. I cannot tell you of the full extent of it for Sandy. Complete deafness in one ear, the loss of the tops (to the first knuckle) on most of her fingers. She died twice and they got her back. For me it was a 4 hour operation to retrieve the broken wire. Unbelievable pain, unbelievable kindness along the way.

I have always loved Simon and Garfunkel singing “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”. The resonance of that sound they give fit my feelings for this poem.

 

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I Only Have Eyes For Prince Harry

benitakape

Prince Harry gets hugs Prince Harry, Luke Vincent and Megan — Photo Credit (AAP)

I  Only  Have  Eyes  For  Harry

for;  Little Luke Vincent

 

I only have eyes for Prince Harry

today when he visited my school.

The Principal guided me

in his direction, which was cool.

My name is Luke Vincent.

I only have eyes for Prince Harry.

I wore my sun hat and glasses.

I never noticed the world press

was here recording us. This, they

say, has gone viral. The Duchess

was there too and I gave her

a quick cuddle but, the truth is,

I only had eyes for Prince Harry

and his lovely red beard

which someone said; it was

a wonder of wonders, that

I was permitted to stroke.

I came back for a second touch

and a tickle. More cuddles

dear Prince Harry,

I only have eyes for you.

Please come again to Dubbo

and again…

View original post 34 more words

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Halls of Windsor Palace – Introduction

Archie (CNN photo credit)

CNN  photo credit

 

Halls of Windsor Palace: Introduction

               (Sonnet to Archie)

 

Her wrist is not that of a teenage Mum,

Meghan has squared cut short fingernails,

A sensible cut; nothing to get caught

In the fine threads of his royal garments.

He sleeps contentedly and a few hours later

We are advised of the name of the now

Seventh in line to the throne of England;

The first dual citizen royal: but very US of A.

 

Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor.

 

Harry looks a natural as he holds his son.

He touches the infant face making new parent

Discoveries even as we watch. Bless you, Harry,

That is what we call downy, the hair of the new-born.

Meghan says their baby is of sweet temperament:

A dream, very calm. Sleep little man: we rejoice.

 

Benita H. Kape © 9.5.2019

 

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Window Stay – Day 30

GloPoWriMo 2019

Day 30:  Prompt minimalist poem

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Window Stay      

 

lost

one small pin

in a strong gust of wind

 

Benita H. Kape © 30.4.2019

Our final GloNaPoWriMo 2019 day.  You will see there are two versions of the poem here. I prefer the first due to syntax.  I messed for ages with the visual and not till later did I realise I’d missed two words. Whether I can reverse that picture above I’m not sure. I just go until I get it right. Cheers to all who have taken part. See you next year. But will continue to catch up on our April writings. ‘Til later.

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We Have the Best of It – Day 29

GloPoWriMo 2019

 Day 29: Prompt, a poem of meditation

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We Have the Best of It.  

(a meditation on a change of season)

 

There is outside my window a hibiscus bush.

I meditate on this; a few florets, a rich engrossing

red. They become smaller at this time of the year.

 

Though smaller in width the blooms assume

a blowsy show with closer packing of this

their double bloom, for lack of thorn

cannot parade as a rose. Nothing like

the rose either in texture and frills.

Next to it another hibiscus, single

in her bloom and being orange/yellow

more a sister to the sun.

 

I meditate on the survival of these

two sturdy bushes, the alcove

suits them well. They are hardy,

lacking water and nutrient

and never let me down.

 

Only one of these bushes is

in need of pruning back this year.

It’s the red and, as if she meditates

on me, she blooms these several

small but vivid blooms to a lack

lustre sun.

 

I beat the next grey shower, plucking

all blooms that opened for the day;

spent blooms of yesterday I gently toss

at her feet and go indoors to float

a summer brilliance of florets

in a bowl trying not to meditate

on the change of yet another

season. I wait now, a strangely

similar bloom, the camellias

early buds almost ready to form

and will be the next in show.

But today I meditate on hibiscus.

Here sturdy and subtropical.

 

Being on the cusp of things

our season changes are a little sad

but never severe. We have the best of it. a

 

Benita H. Kape © 30.4.2019

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