It’s Been My Annus Horribillis

Avocado at Liz's

retorts a poem written on the thirteenth day

of the penultimate day of the month:

feeling fine, feeling remarkably fine

and I’m trying for a re-birth

at what should be, probably is:

close to the end of a reasonably long life.


Earlier in the year an attempt was made

to insert a stent to my heart. Thinking one,

they found two, the more recent

quiet small: and dealt to it: went on

to the larger one. The patient (myself)

watched them as they worked. And

then the nurse leaves her monitor duties

and comes to my side.


I have little recall of her words

so soon, as they say, I was out

like a light; inserting wires had

snapped, not once but twice.

There followed an emergency retrieval.


Next morning the little surgeon

came to my bedside; and said

“I may never touch you again.”

And though I struggled with

that deep cobbled wound in the groin and what

is called “referred pain” in my shoulder:

(strange as that may seem.)               I’d

screamed and moaned. And later

I would think “And maybe I just

will not let you touch me again.”

But I’m determined and I’m hopeful.

I live in hope.


I am determined

to heal, alter diet, exercise.

I don’t regard myself as desperate;

but I’ve heard of vegan miracles.

Each day I chip away

at what I regard as my re-birth.

How far will I get! Only time will tell.

This is the pen and the thoughts

of a forever optimist.


It’s near the end of the year.

A new year is waiting to be born;

feeling fine; feeling remarkably fine;

metaphorically young in heart & mind,

I’m working on some re-birth.

Benita H. Kape (c) 13.11.2019

This poem is shared in dVerse Amaya hosting has requested poems on the subject of birth.


Green Springs the New Year



  Green Springs the New Year

(First poem for the New Year 2019)


It grows, it grows I want to sing;

this Hoya cutting at my door;

well, all three cuttings; one struggling

more so than the other two, which have

sprung so gorgeously, greenly into life

as we slip into the New Year.


It seemed right there should be one

loitering, one which held onto the force

of the year just gone with its unique

ups and downs.


Hoya are long-lived plant life. These

Hoya have the company of a kitsch cat;

the bewildered look on her metal face

was not to be resisted and in the presence

of my sister, who loathes cats, I purchased her.

She is the first thing that greets me at my

back door this, and every morning. The Hoyas

will be moved on to more suitable Hoya

growing cavities within the house. They

could take over the house because who

in their right mind would want to cut

them back. And so the cat goes on

looking bewildered at the strange things

I do year in, year out. Her head on a spring,

I make sure she nods her approval. At a push

she could maybe wave her head in disapproval,

a much harder thing for this cat to do.


And walking into my New Year,

greeting cat,  who gives me such hope.

(This cat does have a name. It is Noeline;

and yes you’ve guessed it, for my sister).


By the time next Christmas and New Year

arrive, how much will have changed,

or should that be – how much the world

will have again changed? Much more so

than three struggling Hoya cuttings springing

greenly and gorgeously into life. And life

will have ways other in which we will remember

both the sad and the beautiful.


Benita H. Kape © 2.1.2019