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.

 .

Benita H. Kape © 4.5.2017

Standard

Forestalling, a Nocturnal – NaPoWriMo 2017 – Day seventeen – prompt: a nocturnal poem

My moon

Forestalling:  a Nocturnal

 

Celebrating the things of the night.

The expanse of stars across an ocean.

The moon in its many phases.

.

Moon friend beneath the trees

A wise old face is winking at me.

Winking forever in sunlight and dawn.

Celebrating the things of the night.

.

I kiss your cheek and a star appears.

The cat comes by to nuzzle

before an evening of prowling.

Returning to sharpen her claws on the

nearby tree trunk.     And, to camel her

own celebration of night before resting.

.

I do not see all that goes on in the garden

at night.

I am saying my prayers celebrating

the things of the night.

I am inching my way to the forestalling

of eternal night.

Scatter my ashes at the foot of my moon friend.

24/7, he’ll wink at you.

We will be celebrating the things of the night.

The kiss of a star on his cheek.

Benita H. Kape © 17.4.2017

 

camel  found from  “Of Jeoffry, His Cat” by Christopher Smart

And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, I challenge you to write a nocturne. In music, a nocturne is a composition meant to be played at night, usually for piano, and with a tender and melancholy sort of sound. Your nocturne should aim to translate this sensibility into poetic form! Need more inspiration? Why not listen to one of history’s most famous nocturnes, Chopin’s Op. 9 No. 2?

Standard

Twilight Cat – NaPoWriMo 2017 – Day nine – a nine line poem

 

glopo2017button2

Twilight Cat

Cat on bed 1

 

I am never alone in the evening hours

If Puss is not on my doorstep, I’ll call her.

She never waits for dark or the evening stars

Sometimes at twilight, she’ll come with a rush

Because every move I make indoors, she’ll decipher.

She has no tactics, no hidden ambush

Her evening ritual is usually to be mild and patient.

We always spend our evening hours together.

But mornings, to be outdoors, sees a new agreement.

 

Benita H. Kape © 9.4.2017

 

“Finally, here is our prompt (optional, as always). Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem. Although the fourteen-line sonnet is often considered the “baseline” form of verse in English, Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms. You can find information of various ways of organizing rhyme schemes, meters, etcetera for nine-line works here. And of course, you can always eschew such conventions entirely, and opt to be a free-verse nine-line poet.”

I have chosen to write a poetic form called a Nocturna. Nine lines, eight of which deal with the night and one with the morning.

Standard