Beach Scenes – Day 10.4.2018

Midway Beach Dec 2013

Beach Scenes


On the beach, singing songs, feeding seagulls,

walking around in circles figuring hieroglyphics

in the sand with a stick weaving motions as waves

weave, crisscross on currents continually move

in or moving out taking my sand composed stories

with them. Conversations on beaches; a wind

returned from out on the bay, the pages

of a notebook flecked with sketches begun and

abandoned. And because you are relaxed; mirages

out there which you know you are part of when

the sun goes down a beach fire lit. Eyes over

the flames. Are they mine?


Benita H. Kape © 10.4.2018

NaPoWriMo 2018 image 

Finally, here is our (optional) daily prompt. Usually, we take inspiration from our craft resource, but since our resource is about revision, we’ll go a bit further afield for this one! Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happing at once. A nice example might be Emily Dickinson’s “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died”, or this powerful poem by Sarah Green.




A second poem day 7 – 2018

NaPoWriMo 2018 image


DDDD   NNNN  AAAA     (A Day 7 poem)


Overgrown your garden.


Once you would have said it with flower.

You say it anyway, the poem about tall poppies,


You grieve the removal of trees.

And you plant another forest of words.


Too much ground

given over to garden beds.

You never get back to attend them.


Keep it simple. The more you say

the less people remember.

Less is not more when it comes

to mowing lawns taken over by flower-beds.


Gardens, or more exactly,

my garden, was fleeting.

So too the majority of all poems, it is said.


I’ve never won a garden show

but am prepared to take the risk with poems

in competition. Poems are so much riskier

than gardening. Only the elements

to contend with in gardening,

whereas with poems, it’s me: kiwi, kid, (cranky)

no, that’s an Aussie expletive The chorister, feminist

frankly a freak in garden clothes.


The many sides of me I will

free again and again; find answers

and journeys and excitement.

The DNA remains the same;

the creativity, the garden neglect.


I tried not to be my mother’s daughter,

but I was; the only one out of six.

And long ago the poet won out.


Benita H. Kape © 7/8.4.2018


This is not the poem I thought I’d be bringing you. Though my mother has several writers in her 2nd generation, I was the only one in the first. For her, it may not have ended up her strength but for me, it’s what drives me.



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.


Some Unusual Rules – NaPoWriMo, 2017 – day twenty – prompt: using the language of a sport or a game

Some Unusual Rules


Ahead of us a month of handicaps.

There was my two-stroke poem for love.

You played the greens,

I played the bunkers.

Fortunate, to not only

practice but also experiment.


I found things were going well

until I reached the water hazards.

Oh, the stick and ball of poetry’s game.

How we see the words and charisma

rolling out along poetry’s fairways.


We’ve some unusual rules;

we play thirty-one holes.

The rules of poetry, or golf,

give us plenty of time

in the ubiquitous ninetieth.


We birdy, we bogey, we eagle;

a provisional shot. I checked my line:

my line of play. If you cheat here

it’s only yourself you cheat. Beyond

the ropes, our come and go audience.

A good lie/a bad lie, or the sand pit,

the grit that flies from the pen. There’s

dropped poems and loose impediments

until a full month of poetry comes to an end.

But does it ever end for a golfer?

Does it ever end for a poet?


Keep your poetry buggy handy

and practice. Nice; but seldom

a poem in one.

Benita H. Kape © 20.4.2017


prompt for the day. Today, I challenge you to write a poem that incorporates the vocabulary and imagery of a specific sport or game. Your poem could invoke chess or baseball, hopscotch or canasta, Monopoly or jai alai. The choice is yours!


For the Women of USA,a poem re-blogged, re-titled. The Battle Ahead of You.


The Battle Ahead of You – Fight On


Because today they need us –

today I  claim my connection

to America. And I do this

through my grandmamma

who left Scotland and settled

near Boston, U.S.A.

And having made my explanation

and, because on Inauguration Day, 2017,

it cannot be said, as did Richard Blanco

four years ago; For All of Us, One Today,

the poets not given a voice on the podium today,

therefore in this divided and techno savvy world

I have decided I will make a ‘Virtual’ march (my

second since the poorly attended Presidential

Inauguration late January, 2017). And I find myself

standing beside the women of America. How

was it so many seem to have forgotten

“Leaves of Grass?” Walt Whitman!

But hope – a constellation for Emily Dickinson, and –

that new hope raised by Richard Blanco; that kind

of hope, yes that kind of…

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Seagull on Brunswick Heads