L'aura del Campo

There comes a... (C1-K4)

A group of 'poems' that have been slightly edited and eventually will have their own entry to be rated and reviewed.

There comes
a softening
to the empty bowl
when filled with noodles—
a warming broth
—when winds freeze all—
a moments hunger
blessed

© Kåre Enga [171.C1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to her womb
when flushed
the afterbirth—a gift—
to eat or bury

© Kåre Enga [171.C2] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
come September
when Dragon's breath
of July's dust
and August's swelter
once southward bound
leaves but embers.

© Kåre Enga [171.D1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to coarse sand
when wave upon wave
sorts the shells
and stone grit
knocks off edges
sharpness only
a memory of life
the beach can never know.

© Kåre Enga [171.D2] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to castles built of sand
awaiting waves
to fill their moats
to undermine their towers
until tomorrow
when they're built once more
from dreams
that will not wash away.

© Kåre Enga [171.E1] (23 November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to mathematics
when straight lines
and straight perceptions yield
to fractals
of rocky shores
of sandy islands
and melting icebergs
to equations
of you and I
and us.

© Kåre Enga [171.E2] (23 November 2014)

There comes a
softening
to dungeon walls
when excrement casts spells
in a sadist's crave
for rhyme or reason
where no remorse
among lost syllables
cries out
I will not be forgotten
nor washed away
by time.

© Kåre Enga [171.F1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to old stone walls
where flowers perch
in sunshine
where now I lean
to gather warmth
around me.

© Kåre Enga [171.F2] (23 November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to a marble bust
when scarf-covered
to add some color
draped to warm
its inner heart
of stone.

© Kåre Enga [171.G1] (23 November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to the crystal vase
when filled with acid
tongue and cheek
the spit of lies
and the corrosive cries
of whine and roses.

© Kåre Enga [171.G2] (23 November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to new brick
when ivy climbs
and covers it
in a cloak of green
its nakedness
caressed by moss
small cracks
the wildflowers home.

© Kåre Enga [171.H1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to the royal pew
the altar of the chosen few
when once chagrined
now welcomes others
to sit and join
their feasts

© Kåre Enga [171.H2] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
of the light
stone cold
that rules my night
of ice
of Summer's Winter.

© Kåre Enga [171.I1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to new shoes
when each day's walked
to and fro
and there are no others
to take their place
to give them rest
until replaced.

© Kåre Enga [171.I2] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to unknown fear
when faced
and better still
when the other face
shows kindness
smiles.

© Kåre Enga [171.J1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
to frozen meat
the wild caught salmon
the hunted elk
the neighbor's cat or dog
when storms come through
and down the lines
connecting civilization
to refrigeration
returning all to mush
to take out
to the compost heap.

© Kåre Enga [171.J2] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
of flesh
when heavy lid
weighs down the bone
when stone of tomb
proves mightier
than the sword
of intellect
or pen.

© Kåre Enga [171.K1] (November 2014)

There comes
a softening
of the soil
when rains drench all
and slake our thirst
of flower, fog and frog
the dying mind
that strives
to birth
a thought.

© Kåre Enga [171.K2] (November 2014)

The comes
a softening
to dough
when probed by fingers
cut and weighed
stretched out then measured
cinnamon sugared—rolled
then cut again and shaped
to rise in warmth again.

© Kåre Enga [171.K3] (13 January 2015)

There comes
a softening
to spite
when light
streams in
and hearts connect
or when darkness (humbles)
makes us huddle
extinguishing
the space between
us and them.

© Kåre Enga [171.K4] (January 2015)

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