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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
   L'aura del campo 'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos' ♣ Federico García Lorca ♣  L'aura del campo. A breeze in the meadow. So it began the last day of Spring, 2005; on the 16th day of the month of Light of the year 162. This is a supplement to my daily journal written to a friend, my muse; notes I do not share. Here I will share what the breeze has whispered to me. PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS! I L  V COMMENTS!On a practical note, in answer to your questions: IN MEMORIUM VerySara  passed away November 12, 2005 Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings. More suggested links:  These pictures rotate.   Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
| (Don't like to leave anything without a title. I be looking for one.) And Day rushes in to clear out the cobwebs with news from another side of Night. Sighs give way to madness, scant joy. What was said, it whispers, you'd love to hear. What was done, you'll never do. Rise up for the Living or lie there. Moan for the dying, O Dead One! Even Night knows it cannot dream without Moonlight. Open up the drapes clutching your heart. Feel the flow, grasp the glow. Grow to meet what awaits you. © Kåre Enga [27.June.2016] 79,812 |
| FRAGMENTS (of June ennui) ...written down to come back to some day... The poets final poem An ode in stone holding down broken bones forgotten flesh 26.june.2016 No joy We chatter about nothing, gone beyond joy. Bitter words dripping. Clipped wings do not fly. 26.june.2016 Unleashed The power of poppies seen through translucent petals flimsy pink ruffles waving back. 26.june.2016 ..and then a canoe walked by... Traffic humming over the bridge behind you, pine panting to blue sky and sun, the breeze teased the balm-of-Gilead. Bird song. You wished you could understand them, their chatter muted by bright green leaves, listened to by long dark needles. Were the bugs in the grass forewarned? Were they as deaf as you were? 25.june.2016 Rites of Spring You sat there golden basking in the dappled breeze, waiting your turn. Bees went about their business intent on bringing home some supper and longed for sweetness. They ignored the butterfly dancing on the orange lantana, A myriad of indigo florets beckoned. The globe thistle saw your desolation and commented: "It ain't all butterflies and bonbons, Buttercup." 25.june.2016 79,806 |
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