%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    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 |
| In my galaxy To exist in my galaxy, faint stardust coalescing into ice and fire, the stuff we're made of --backbone, bloodstone-- be my friend and let my embers stoke your laughter, becoming a beacon of hope at night. If I could keep your joy in a bottle, I'd still let you go. For me, to exist in my galaxy I need to know— that you're free, Zmitri, and somewhere out there. © Kåre Enga (19.juin.2017) [174.149zm] /30:19.2/  |
 Graduation lottery: Mortar boards learn to fly before landing on a job © Kåre Enga (19.juin.2017) [174.148] /30:19.1/ |
 Beside you It was after everything burned blue, long after life had turned to dust when only light and darkness ruled and all that was left of justice was just us. I remember that day Zmitri, how we held hands until we froze gazing out at nothingness to see the dangerous paths we'd chosen. We'd show them! Yet now cold spheres again align; skies sparkle with a bluish hue. Wherever you are these same moons shine but I'd rather hold hands beside you, beside you. © Kåre Enga (19.june.2017) [174.147.zm] /30:18.2/ |
| Explaining to Jennifer: A woman gathers all she loves around her and loves all she has gathered, worthy or no. But a man's love is a lonely hunter, and no matter how much he holds, he hunts for more. For the man who loves must be pitied. He desires to be liked like a simile; he travels a lonely metaphor. As hunter, he expects to be hunted or gathered, embraced or adored. But men grow old at a very young age as they huddle from reality or hide from war. For a man is a lonely hunter... always in search for more. K Enga (18.june.2017) [174.143] After reading "A Woman's Love" written by Jennifer Finley. No idea what to do with it at this moment, but I put it here to contemplate and rework. |
| I walk alone I went begging for love. I never believed that you would find me. You never did. K Enga (1.junio.2017) [174.142] Could it become part of a longer piece? |
| The Friend We go to the gallery to see fine art, but you'd rather be free to ride your bike or skate over ice that glistens in sun than stand by my side, so bored beyond tears. I peer at paintings while you try not to yawn We need to leave but then I see it: Behold an orange tabby, a glittering fish, a gold-flaked moment like a still-life by Klimt. Behold, I beg; be still, behold! But then you turn to me and smile and all beams golden, golden, golden before we have to go. © Kåre Enga (18.june.2017) [174.144] /30:17.2/ For Gary... with all due apologies to Elizabeth Bishop and her rainbow Fish.  |
 Swinging on her star Smoke wafts through the congested void between a million separate worlds. A little girl feels their pull and cannot sleep. Awake, she jumps right up and skips right down to her swing to gaze at skies aglow with her best friends' moons. Their spheres sing celestial lullabies until she yawns when guided by her attic's light she climbs back home to bed. K Enga (17.june.2017) [174.140] /30:16.1/ |
 Angels at the Masquerade Behind the mask another mask outer layers that obscure the inner form protect the inner being fool us into thinking we have seen reality just what they wants us to see not the frail angels posing as some fearful fighter at the masquerade © Kåre Enga (17.june.2017.) [139] /30:16.2/ |
| Stories of stone What stories stones could tell of ancient laborers so long gone, even their ghosts have left. The stones remain. Hard bones of someone's bent ambition, placed or raised to repel the ravages of change, millennia after they've been forgotten. Those frail creatures, those land-bound laborers, eyes gazing at heights they longed to reach, short-lived, their dream of leaving a legacy for endless time. Yet, even stones must die. Not yet, whisper unlit lamps and empty streets. Not yet, respond the darkened windows. Prideful towers echo: not yet, not yet. © Kåre Enga (15.juin.2017) [174.138] /30:15.1/  Earlier version kept here for reference: Stories of stone What stories stones could tell of ancient laborers so long dead, even their ghosts have moved-on. The stones remain. Hard bones of someone's ambition, placed or raised to withstand the ravages of change, millennia after they've been forgotten. These frail creatures, these land-bound laborers, eyes gazing at the heights, short-lived, dreaming of leaving a legacy for endless time. Yet, even stones must die. Not yet, whisper the unlit lamps and empty streets. Not yet, respond the darkened windows. Even the prideful towers echo, not yet, not yet. © Kåre Enga (15.juin.2017) [174.138] /30:15.1/ |
| Children of Ra It's time. They hobble under the waxing Sun, their skin cold-hardened, turned to stone. They whisper through cracked lips: soon, soon — a quiet chorus, to entice the Orb's return, entrap it with their nets, to tap its rays, feel warmth return to depths within. It's time. It's time. Their crescendo begins to crack their outer skin. Inner embers lit, they blaze anew. Sloughing lifeless sheaths, eyes glow and supple arms rise to praise their Sun. They beam, beacons of a New Age that's begun. © Kåre Enga (15.juin.2017) [174.137] /30:15.2/  Earlier version kept here for reference: Children of Ra It's time. They hobble under the waxing Sun, their skin cold-hardened, turned to stone. They barely whisper through cracked lips, soon, soon, in a quiet chorus meant to entice the Orb's return, to entrap it with their nets, to tap its rays, to feel warmth enter the depths within. It's time. It's time. Their crescendo begins to crack their outer skin. Their inner embers lit, they blaze anew. Casting off their lifeless hide, they raise faces, supple arms, to praise their Sun. They begin to glow as a new Age has begun. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
![Merit Badge in Reviewing
[Click For More Info]
For your support and suggestions on my haiku "Lone Poinsettia" which took second place in the contest and will be published. Thanks for helping make it a winning poem!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Reviewing-2180.gif)
![Merit Badge in Nano Winner
[Click For More Info]
CONGRATULATIONS on your achievement! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Nano_Winner-2180.gif)
![Merit Badge in Funny
[Click For More Info]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Funny-200.gif)
![Merit Badge in Friendship
[Click For More Info]
Thanks for being my friend.
Hugz!
grannym](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Friendship-650.gif)
![Merit Badge in Appreciation
[Click For More Info]
For brightening my day with your delightful offerings ~ Thank you so much! *^*Heart*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Appreciation-1985.gif)
). That said, use what the Muse gifts.