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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 |
| Clouds in your coffee for... Your unlocked door only opens inward. Rugs are worn with your daily pace from chair to kitchen garden to bed. You drain your coffee cup, pour another. As close to Kenya as you've ever been: dark, unsweetened, earthy. Clouds swirl in their reflection between sips — You dream about how life continues beyond these walls. You watch deer pass at dawn and dusk, hear flickers peck away at wood, once a week waiting for a van and a cheerful greeting from ...Amanda? as she lets herself in. You look at piles of mysteries, old guide books, the newest from the bestseller's list. You rest with a blanket covering your empty lap. In the silence since Simon was put to sleep you hear the march of ant-troops, each rain-drop's cry, the weeping of pines, the cedar's sigh. In the morning you lift a sash to let the day enter. Every night, you notice how those blackberries seem to be closing in. © Kåre Enga (20.aprille.2019) [176.50] Dew Drop Inn prompt: clouds 101.264 |
| Anticipation Dark as molasses sweet when I was born it was a tunnel propelling me into the light and cold day of tears and disbelief to be discarded abandoned was cruel but years have taught me life is crueler still when I die the tomb will be my womb dark as molasses sweet © Kåre Enga (18.abril.2019) [176.49] |
| Before the fall Lighten my load. Place me in a dark hole away from humanity. Make it warm. Let me wallow in knowledge, the light that shines from within. When I read your book I hear your voice clearly. Why are your followers still so ignorant? I would be your Angel of Light. I only want to share my knowledge. © Kåre Enga [176.47b] (17.april.2019) |
| W.O.R.K. W.hen words wobble, kamikazis, O.rgasmic saucy repetitions, R.hythms, rhymes, alliterations, K.åre brews more coffee. © Kåre Enga [176.46] (17.april.2019) 101.134 |
| A view of April from Mt. Jumbo Will it rain or snow was our question. Among clouds there was no argument, just shrugs to let loose drops that fell like dandruff, like shedding dead skin in the shower. Whether it melted or not before it touched the ground was none of their concern. Foraging ducks—call of geese flying north © Kåre Enga [176.45ab] (16.abril.2019) 101.108 |
| In this season of buttercups In this season of buttercups I wander among sage—grey greening, sky bluing, river rising from melt and cold rain. They squat on the ground, raiment around them, royalty among shy blossoms, those impatient harbingers of spring—turn their faces up to me as if I were— a Sun. But on this cloudy evening I cast no shadow. Their iridescent yellow beckons the bees... and me. © Kåre Enga [176.43] (14.april.2019) 101.087 |
| As pink as a pearled dawn Droplets slide down a clear shower curtain. A youth stands naked in shimmering steam, soaps skin as fragile as poppy wings, as pink as a pearled dawn in spring, untouched by searing sun that brings the drought, cold roaring winds that clear spent leaves off trees. Behind an opaque curtain—better to not peer too closely, better to mist mirrors to soften the ravages of tears. When chapped lips cry out in pain... better to pray for rain. © Kåre Enga [176.42] (14.abril.2019) For the Dew Drop Inn, prompt: rain. |
| I'm not vegan Cricket flour— to bake some bread. Dried meal worms— for a snack. I crave the juicy honey of an ant. As for the movement of worms—the early bird's still hungry when I'm through. Movement's life... better when fresh... like you. So— when you order your three- layered bean-burger oozing with cheese—add a side of squiggling maggots— for me. © Kåre Enga [176.39] (13.aibreán.2019) For the DeW dRoP iNn prompt "insects". 101.056 |
| Megatherium I'm huge but you've never seen me. Only the Cherokee knew I existed, before they hunted me to death. My bones remain like the woolly rhinoceros, like the mammoth, mere legends. For nothing larger than you— can ever exist. © Kåre Enga [176.38] (12.abril.2019) Megatherium - giant ground sloth. |
| Tad and Polly He was just—Tad pole, and she—Polly wog. They put their heads together and wiggled all day long. But he grew up a tad— short and poly— amorous while she became a toad. So once they grew new legs they croaked at each other and hopped away back home. © Kåre Enga [176.37] (11.april.2019) The Dew Drop Inn prompt was "aquatic creature". |
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