Experimental Entirely

way   my   pay


herstory economic

back to sideways

got it I

says he when

if ever could be


grow up babies

me mother

me for in stand

story the way in don’t

get it I good


don’t some

don’t one

wont many

wo wo will woman

foot other the on boot


misplaced words

right to left

do cultures some


years hundred

one another not

around things

turn to time


Benita H. Kape © 20.3.2018


A Country Takes Joy in Good News


A Country Takes Joy in Good News

       aka:  our P.M is up the duff


A country takes joy in good news.

I got goose bumps this morning,

reading that our P.M. has conceived.

And that this happened during the

election campaign, surprises us

even more. The infant will be born

in June. Oh, give me no silly clichés

about one hundred day plans. How

the media had grilled her, on her election

to party leadership, as to her ‘baby’ plans.


What’s acceptable? What’s my choice?

Jacinda’s finger wagging in an interviewer’s

face is everywoman’s finger.


Unacceptable,  unacceptable, her voice rings.

Wow, girl. You were working overtime

for your hormones. We loved that passion.

Let her get on with it, running a country

And having a baby if she wants to. But,

OMG none of us expected it so soon.


Jacinda discloses now, just how surprising

the news her partner Clarke, (possible

IVF candidates) and she received — a month

and ten days into her Prime Ministership:

October thirteen, two thousand seventeen.

The gods were smiling for Jacinda, which

maybe, should be the title of this poem.


The pundits are out there calculating

some new firsts for history. Who cares! Other

than a welcome child is welcomed. A country

takes joy in good news.


Though Clarke declares he’ll be

a stay at home Dad, they make a gift;

it’s up to us to reciprocate, help her in

her chosen walk as an expectant mother

and  our P.M.


“a baby brought up by a whole village,

                                     a very large village.”


Our country takes joy in good news.


Benita H. Kape © 19.1.2018  (all rights reserved)


Sunshine Bridge


Sunshine Bridge


Whose Mad Scheme

Big Blue Bin

Whose Mad Scheme?


Whose mad scheme

was this? Right on

Christmas time, to

hire a skip and make

a clean sweep

of clearing trees,

privet in the main,

which is a weed here;

and climbers

and wandering jew

and jasmine gone crazy

and which for so long had

had control of big

areas of the yard.


This big blue monster –

nine cubic metre capacity

sits down the driveway,

half full already and with

five more days before

pick up.


They say

it is going to rain heavily

on Monday all of which

will add to a chargeable weight.

Farmers, orchards

and agriculturalists may be crying

out for rain: but not me. I pray

for the fine and not too hot

weather. Whose mad scheme?


Benita H. Kape © 16.12.2017


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


Tease and Torment – NaPoWriMo, day twenty-eight – prompt Skeltonic verse

storm clouds

Storm clouds over my street – southern hemisphere in May

Tease and Torment


Every awful wet day

the cruel month of May

will heavily out-weigh

the short and the stray

of autumn’s fresh breeze.

winter’s cool auxiliaries

chasing us all overseas;

we love the Hawaii’s.


Or we might travel on

to China or Taiwan.

Come with me, Juan,

I wish to prolong

a happy arrangement;

promising it well spent

tease and torment

cancel every dissent.


I see you are willing

Our hearts spinning

place of good feeling.

Good times are building

our cup is over-brimming

Nothing is missing.

Nothing is missing.

Nothing is missing.

Benita H. Kape © 27.4.2017

And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Don’t worry, there are no skeletons involved. Rather, Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse). The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se. The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another. Here is a good explainer of the form, from which I have borrowed this excellent example: