Water Stars (2)

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Water stars

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Troll at the edge of the wood 001

Troll (haiku)

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Rhapsody of Courage

Rhapsody for Courage

to: Glenys

 .

And as I sat reading Billy Collins

all through this beautiful autumn morning,

I listened first to the lawnmower next door

struggling through an overgrown lawn.

And as I did so the clouds, which have

only just come on the scene, scudded by.

I was, though, in the middle of thinking

about this when disturbed by the cat,

who, as she washed,  did so

with a particularly raspy sound and shifted

a little with the sun; a sound I may not have

heard had the mover not ceased its strange music.

.

The cloud movement increased and I thought

about the music of the morning. How the music

of clouds scudding was so pure, so high above me

and yet so beautiful as to make something within

me sing. And now the cat who may or may not

be aware of this has slipped further into sleep;

the sky now a total blue and silence give me

its beauty, its own very special sound. And the

cat stretches one lone paw toward that shifting

span of sunlight.

.

The cat is still sleeping, the sun has shifted into

a corner of the room and begins an afternoon ascent

up the wall when the phone goes; a sibling with news.

.

And what would be the music in that you may ask (as

we see you have come back to the poem:)  though yes

I did leave the poem for a long conversation. I left off

reading Billy and carefully, sadly wrote the final stanzas.

.

Our youngest sister begins her radiation treatment today,

another is having a hip operation. So, I come back for both,

but especially for the sister who is in and out of chemo or

radiation treatments saying, every time;  “No long faces here.”

 

That’s so god-damn difficult because the music of the morning

is now so different and yet she makes it so necessary to write on

into the late noon with No Long Faces Here and she can, and she

does make this sound both musical and courageous. This is the music

I now hear. A rhapsody of courage. Then on request, No More Visitors.

And this is when silence is at it’s most strange. But for you

No Long Faces.

 .

Benita H. Kape © 4.5.2017

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This one is for You – NaPoWriMo 2017, day thirty – prompt: write a poem on something you do again and again.

This One is for You

 .

Who would do that?

Well, I have to tell you

that my ophthalmologist

does it, but only because

we don’t just talk about eyes,

we talk poetry. I write the poems

he is the one who files them.

.

And, it goes like this.

.

For the past four years

he performs on me, a procedure

which is fodder for my pen.

The more remarkable moments

in the continuing course of injections.

Yes I said injections and they are to

the eyeballs (both of them.) Though

I have now had twenty eyeball

injections, on four of these occasions

I have written poems for his team.

It happened with the very first visit

and I thought that would be it. But

it intrigued, sometimes frightened,

me so that I continued to write about then.

Each one is different.

.

Things could not have been worse,

when on one occasion at that critical

moment of needle entry to eyeball

someone knocked the chair, Connie,

I wrote one for her to set her mind at rest.

It’s to the patients’ advantage to keep

the team cool and relaxed. If I can

do this so can you, is the approach

I take. And when they jab I have

already put my mind into the ancient

practice of ‘nothingness’. It works.

.

Two more poems have followed;

four for the team but this one is

for you because you asked me

to write a poem about something

I do again and again. So I started

afresh on the subject. This one is

for you about something I do again

and again. My ophthalmologist recently

said, “this is getting boring”. I think soon

he will try something new. Let’s hope

whatever it is it will be a once only thing.

Benita H. Kape © 20.4.2017

And finally, our final prompt – at least until next year! Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something that happens again and again (kind of like NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo). It could be the setting of the sun, or your Aunt Georgia telling the same story at Thanksgiving every single year. It could be the swallows returning to Capistrano or how, without fail, you will lock your keys in the car whenever you go to the beach.

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Petals: Now Let Us Engage Her Elsewhere – NaPoWriMo 2017, day twenty-nine – prompt: choose concrete noun from fav. poem then free writing, adjectives, other nouns – go ahead write a poem.

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Petals: Now Let Us Engage Her Elsewhere

.

Somewhere in the poem

there will be a small child.

She is always talkative, and busy.

Sometimes she is deeply engaged.

We must explain everything at

her level so that she may

more fully understand.

.

Today her animation centres

around flowers. But wait,

she goes back for leaves;

another flower, or part thereof,

plucking so quickly she brings

little in her hand. She is running

back for more but we must call

her in from the rain.

.

When she comes, her warm hands

brush mine with a single petal

and staring back at the blank, barely

discernible, space,  certainly not

a half plucked bloom, she begins

to cry and cries the more

on seeing that the oblong petal,

having been singularly plucked

can never be put back whole.

.

When the rain stops we show her

this happens to plants anyway.

Flowers drop petals, drop flowers.

She pulls back unconvinced.

.

Now let us engage her elsewhere

lest our/her small timeframe is lost.

.

Benita H. Kape © 29.4.2017

And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, I’d like to challenge you to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. For example, if your favorite poem is this verse of Emily Dickinson’s, you might choose the word “stones” or “spectre.” After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem.

The poem I chose was by Brian Turner, Otago, New Zealand “Flowers”.

Petal was my key noun. Petal, in that poem, was used in a way one didn’t quite expect. There was definitely no child in Brian’s poem.

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