Today’s Game 27.4.2018

The Charioteer

 

It was the thing, maybe least

to our notice, which caught my eye;

upper floating pupils of the Sphinx

on the left.

 

(I’m not good at this game.)

 

I do all I can to put aside all the –

in your face – Princely come-ons.

How annoying to always have a sword

close to hand! But, I like the honest eyes

of the sphinx I’ve already mentioned.

The heavy breasts of the other held

an honesty too.

 

Oh, please don’t make me

make a choice, one or the other.

They both seem so human.

It’s neither of them who

seeks an answer to the question;

to which shoulder will the Charioteer

raise his hand?  Whichever one;

one thing is certain. I am the

only one here who can make

that move. And so the game

was played.

 

Benita Kape © 28.4.2018

NaPoWriMo 2018 image

And now for today’s (optional) prompt. Following Lauren Hunter’s practice of relying on tarot cards to generate ideas for poems, we challenge you to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.

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Double trouble – Day 26.4.2018

 

The Bay 1

 

My Senses; My Dreams

 

My dreams are the expression

of things I have experienced

nothing is new; often recent.

What remains or is renewed

again and again; is what I have

seen and loved.

 

Like the ocean visited yesterday.

I see waves gentle to my toes. Here

in my dream I smell the ocean;

I smell small fish and large

and the seaweed which has

its own happy spot down

the coast. I go there sometimes

to gather it, take it home for

the garden. I sense its richness

as I touch its slimy goodness.

I taste where my next meal

is coming from. This time

the land, the garden I spoke of.

Tomatoes, so rich from barrels

of seaweed sprinkled;  a rich tea

of seaweed. I imagine I hear

the roses thanking me too. A

brush of a velvet petal to thank me.

Now we are back in the garden

hear the birds sing, hear the birds.

I heard them double, sensing they

too had been tickled by velvet,

rose petals touching my dreams.

 

I hear them as I heard other birds

Dipping and diving over those

seaweed beds. No wonder that

now in my dream I have become

a mermaid for the night. I see

the waves tickle her toes. I am

two things at once, seeing,

smelling, touching, tasting. I hear

both of us, the world of my

day and night.

 

Benita Kape © 26.4.2018

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And now for our prompt (optional as always). Taking our cue from today’s craft resource, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear.

Happy writing!

 

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At 25 Days – 25.4.2018

WARNING LABEL  –  at 25 Days

This woman is the couplet she writes,

Sonnet she sings or acrostics activated

 

Weaver of words coming with a warning

Acrostic poems on her radar, she’ll never be remedied

Rondels arouse her irrationally

Nonets make her nervous and nickered, she has cutting edges

Inverted refrains, her change of heart, the warnings grow huge

Newsworthy warnings, twenty-five days’ worth

Gargantuan the warning;  Gra Reformata a new form she found

 

The real warning:  this woman doesn’t get out of bed until noon.

And on the 25th day, she blames poetry.

 

Benita Kape © 25/4.2018

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And now for our daily prompt (optional, as always). Today, we challenge you to write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself! (Mine definitely includes the statement: “Do Not Feed More Than Four Cookies Per Hour.”

Happy writing!

 

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ANZAC DAY – An elegy extra for April 25.4.2018

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As I publish this it is early on the morning of ANZAC and in an hour or so hundred upon thousands of people in NewZealand and Australia, as far as the peninsular in Gallipoli and later in London they will gather to remember with sadness the men and women of all the overseas wars our personnel have served in. We will remember them.

My Uncle Paul, my godfather, served and suffered but came home to us the loving man he had always been. God Bless you, my beloved  Uncle. Benno in the poem is my father.

 

Dear Brother Benno

to:  Uncle Paul

 

My father, eleven years of age at the time, Paul

was twenty-three. A postcard from France, 1916.

 

Received mail from home some time ago.

Enquires of Benno new teacher, better

than the old                                And, I say

Benno have you grown any more since I saw

you last, or are you still as small as ever. Give

my best love to Mother and Father. I remain

your loving brother.

 

A curly letter  M – addressed to Mr Benno,

squeezed beneath which he wrote. I also received

a letter from Linda. Can you tell them that.

Again no question mark appears, though all

available space is used, taking care to show only

the face he most dearly wishes his family to see.

 

Turn the postcard over and on it embroidered

 

‘Greetings from the trenches’

 

Conservation work is needed here with flimsy

fabric and cardboard lifting. But in this small

card you confirmed us in the family of ANZAC.

You remain for me a hero, the kindest of men

and of the suffering you never spoke. I often held

the hands that from the outbreak of yet another war

never ceased to shake. For how long then could you

continue at your trade of carpentry? An old man

before your time. And, when yet another war began

in 1939 Benno, by then, soldiering in the Homeguard,

because he too past a prime for warring as Paul had done

in World War One: four long years Egypt, France, Gallipoli.

 

Benita H. Kape © 27.10.2013

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Elegy (2) NaPoWriMo – 24.4.2018

Elegy (2)

After Twenty-four Years

 

You were so tired. I’ve never

seen rain like it when you went.

How often does it happen? The

undertaker had to take you

back. We would wait, and

tempers would flair before

the morning when finally we

laid you to rest beside Dad.

That waiting was such a shame.

I’ll bet it was the worst night

you’d ever,

or ever will have.

 

One thing I’m sure of:

the next morning it was you

who determined the weather.

In your slight, gentle Scots brogue

you put things in motion. You’d

had enough.

 

Last evening, I’d done my best,

singing as the hearse moved

not to the graveside, but back

up the street. I’d failed. So,

as I remember it; at the quiet

graveside that morning, only

the minister’s blessings. All

else was whispers. I heard

your fading voice in the wind.

From you, I’d learned forgiveness.

Others had too, and others had not.

 

Benita Kape © 24.4.2018

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Today for NaPoWriMo we have for our suggested prompt Elegy.

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Sweet As – phrases local (NZ) – 23.4.2018

Things I Hear Every Day

 

Sweet As,         the day’s going well

Can’t you tell

Sweet As

 

Ka pai                         in the same frame

Sweet As                      for those bi-lingual

 

Ka Pai             serve him right

                        to be hoped he won’t make

                        the same mistake again     Sweet As

 

I’m a box of fluffies      Sweet As

 

Crash Here     Sweet As           a good night’s sleep

 

Git Y’ laughin’ gear ‘round that           think mouth around this

 

Wachit Mate   Watch it, friend! Mind how you go!

 

See Ya Later    which, of course, I may not

                        or it’s to be hoped so

 

Sweet As

 

Tu Meke (Two MeKee)

Sweet As          awesome, good job

 

Tu Meke, TuMeke,       Sweets As

 

Benita Kape (c) 24.4.2018

NaPoWriMo 2018 image 

And now for today’s (optional) prompt! Kate Greenstreet’s poetry is spare, but gives a very palpable sense of being spoken aloud – it reads like spoken language sounds. In our interview with her, she underscores this, stating that “when you hear it, you write it down.” Today, we challenge you to honor this idea with a poem based in sound. The poem, for example, could incorporate overheard language. Perhaps it could incorporate a song lyric in some way, or language from something often heard spoken aloud (a prayer, a pledge, the Girl Scout motto). Or you could use a regional or local phrase from your hometown that you don’t hear elsewhere, e.g. “that boy won’t amount to a pinch.”

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Elephant? NaPoWriMo – 22.4.2018

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Look, I’ve found an Elephant’s Leg?

 

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

 

Cat’s don’t find daisies and sit stripping petals,

asking silly questions about love for instance.

 

My cat is in no doubt – she’d eat an elephant for me;

that is, if she really had to.  And even if it took her

the rest of her life she’d do it. And she’d get up before me

in the morning; lasso the sun and get him started from

west to east. Something she’s been wanting to do for years

to surprise me with a poetry of her own.

 

But we’ve no elephants in our garden, only this;

one cat and I suppose, a couple of strays,

who steer clear of me. They, poor creatures, know nothing

of a love that is never in doubt – in which a cat eating an elephant

could possibly figure, and it does. Don’t ask me why it just does.

 

…………………….. And I’m just

thankful they (meaning the strays)

keep the yard free of rodents.

 

Well, I believed it was them – but this morning, here

on the bottom step was a tiny mouse, lying on its side,

eyes closed, looking soft and sleepy. And it could

be no other than my cat who presented me with

the next best thing to an elephant; this mouse:

which puny gift I gathered into a wrapping of newspaper

and binned. It was stiff and very dead.                    Imagine

if that had been an elephant. By the time the cat had noshed

her way through at least one stumpy leg, (not two, or four even)

the house would most surely have been overrun with several

families of mice. And the sun might have got back to his old

ways of arriving from the east.

 

Best not put ideas in her head. But by noon today, I had a feeling

I was going to write a poem about the gift of a mouse because

I’d found this one on my doorstep. I just never knew my poem

would include an elephant, plus a sun un-direct –

ional. The person responsible for the inclusion of an elephant,

a strangeness in the skies as well, is someone called Maurine.

She must know how huge my pussycats’ love is for me.

Yes, Slippers Cat would do anything for me. At the moment she is

twitching in her dreams. I think, dreaming of chasing

the flying pigs who arrived when the elephant didn’t

quite make it. Such is her guilt at poetry.

Benita Kape © 22.4.2018

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And now for our daily prompt (optional as always). I’ve found this one rather useful in trying to ‘surprise’ myself into writing something I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. Today, I’d like you to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens:

The sun can’t rise in the west.

A circle can’t have corners.

Pigs can’t fly.

The clock can’t strike thirteen.

The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.

A mouse can’t eat an elephant.

 

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