Cat and Sun

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Cat in afternoon sun on her/my bed

Cat and Sun

You stretch

in a patch

of morning sun.

 

Nothing disturbs you;

pretending to sleep.

 

As the sun shifts

so shift you.

 

Earlier,

on one side of the mat

now on the other.

 

Back on the chair

You chase your shadow.

 

Benita H. Kape (c) 17.7.2019

Cat thinks shadows

Languid even when chasing shadows

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Sunshine Bridge

SUNSHINE BRIDGE - ANGUS

Sunshine Bridge

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NaPoWriMo 2015 – Take an old poem and write it bottom to top – To Hand an Empty Page

I Come Across an Empty Page

 .

A woman seated in a chair.

The sun shadows across the floor.

I draft words over phantoms

of other words, other times.

And looking back two and a half

years later I see I made

No diary entries that week.

The days so anguished

when we sat with you.

Benita H. Kape © 1.5.2015

I only looked at one other poem and it seemed not to want to be written backward. This one did, not because it was short, and yes I shortened (but only slightly) in the editing. This poem was written toward the end of 2010. I simply cannot believe we have moved on almost another five years. Maybe I should have titled the poem Days of Anguish but that was just too much.

So I bid a dear farewell to another year of NaPoWriMo. Thank my friends along the way. Bye for now on this front. What this poem shows me is there are no blank pages ever. Somewhere they remain filled in. And that’s how it will be for the next eleven months. Sometimes poems, sometimes not.

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NaPoWriMo 2015 – Day 6 – to write an aubade

Flipped Slippers

Aubade   for   Cat

As I open my eyes, the door is now slightly ajar.

Today, as most days, she is first up, stealthy;

intelligent, alert, and sometimes a jolly nuisance.

.

This cat, my precious, my bête noir.

Dashes through the door to her Shangri-La:

to bound, not, as you might expect, onto the bed,

.

but the desk, stepping gently over a bizarre

muddle of journals and pens, the repertoire,

the stockpile that is my life at the desk,

.

and having hurdled some, and nudged others aside,

sniffing out any overnight changes; reaching around her

I blearily feel for the window, (there’s a built-in window

.

next to that) so that I go to the next, lift the handle; both

now open to her slight size and she makes of this her cat

roundabout, back and forth: acting the newly arrived (via

.

window.) Who? Not me, who scratched at the door, her steady

eye through the curtains now seems to say. How reassuring, for

whom, puss or me? Sun on her back or a little rain I know with her

to greet me, this, or any other,  it will always  be a good day.

Benita H. Kape © 7.4.2015

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