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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 |
| A Typo Life It was a typo poem, a typo essay, a typo rant about a typo life that no one cared about. becsaue bceaseu because the grammar nazi at the front of the room and nazi wannabe sitting next to me beatitoutofme Beat . it . out . of . me . So why bother if my non-existent brother and ever-present mother didn't know. I was on my own. With a typo life that I absolutely refuse to disown. © Kåre Enga [177.153] (23.juli.2020) (use of long/short lines, repetition of words, some internal rhyme and rhythm ... 7-8 lines, but who cares ... not I, said the fly sitting on the shit.) TODAY'S PROMPT IS: TYPO For:
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| How all journeys end Consider the sturgeons' trek up streams where they birthed; how their numbers burgeon until their lives cease, earthed. © Kåre Enga [177.152] (24.juli.2020) (Couplet: 12/12 ab/ab) For
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| I grew up with the Japanese poets. Whether haiku, tanka or haibun, they spoke to me. Their keen observations of the natural world instructed the child who started gardening at age 9 and loved simple things. red geraniums look out the window—a fly swats the screen. I loved the juxtaposition of images. The short snippets, a freeze frame of daily life. I didn't need a story. I looked, saw, felt. the toy sits by the path—no one ventures out in the blizzard today I didn't know how hard it was to write one. 17 morae, a seasonal word, a cutting word, emotion elicited not provided. Later I learned there were senryu as well. lemonade in the shade—I remember her laughter most I think of Bashō and wonder whether I would have traveled with him and taken notes or intensely observed the world sitting under his banana tree. Could I have understood and valued Busan's sketches or shared the joy of Issa. When I traveled to Japan at end of winter 2015 I climbed Yamadera and thought of them. two umbrellas descend through heavy snow— the sun comes out  © Kåre Enga [177.151] (23.juli.2020) PROMPT: Tell me about why one of your favourite poets is one of your favourite poets. Possible bonus points if you tell me about it while emulating their style. Just sayin’. For:
Did not win.   |
| Dealing with it The door is closed, the light turned off, my thoughts composed, was it the stroganoff? I sit here in silence without a doubt, accept the science: what goes in must come out. but, thump thump thump as if they don't know I'm taking a dump; this ain't no show. I'M TAKING A SHIT (you dumb-ass schmuck) and continue to sit till it comes unstuck. © Kåre Enga [177.150] (22.juli.2020) (16 lines, rhymed quatrains: abab cdcd ...) NOTE: I share toilets and showers where I live. Here ... if the door is closed it's occupied, no need to knock. Although fictionalized (it wasn't the stroganoff) this truly happened recently. So yeah, I loathe being interrupted when I'm dealing with it as best I can. PROMPT Pick something you loathe.
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| Illiberal, Kansas: visceral beading the strings with wood, clay, and glass; never onyx, no mixing between Whites and Blacks. © Kåre Enga [177.149] (12.juli.2020) (couplet, 12/12, near rhyme) 1. Prompt is visceral: obtained through intuition rather than from reasoning or observation 2. illiberal: narrow-minded about cherished opinions 3. onyx: a banded chalcedony (stone), black/white, red/white, etc. 4. It may be obtuse, but there actually is a city called Liberal in the 'Free State' of Kansas where I went to school and lived. Free State = 'abolition of slavery' to Northerners but a better definition then and now would be 'free of Blacks'.
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| Five minutes till there once was a human named jayne who laughed till her sides split with pain with five minutes to write my words won't take flight and there's no time left to explain. © Kåre Enga [177.147] (21.juli.2020) (5 line limerick)
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| Clair de lune A silver moon shines on its blue companion and a bat flies through the beams as the silver moon shines on its blue companion for a nightingale sings as a bat flies through beams of the silver moon shining on its blue companion and the angry clouds part while a nightingale sings as a bat flies through beams of silver shining on the moon's blue companion as the far away rumble of thunder fades and angry clouds depart when a nightingale sings to a bat flying through beams of silver that shine on the moon's blue companion. I spot a fox as the rumble of thunder fades when angry clouds depart as a nightingale sings to bats flying through beams of silver that shine on the moon's blue companion and a young child jumps as he spots the fox as the rumbles fade when skies clear up to the nightingale's song of bats flying through beams shining silver on the moon's blue companion then a couple with binoculars shouts and the young child jumps and the spotted fox runs as rumbles grow faint and clear skies now listen to the nightingale's song of bats flying through beams shining silver on the moon's blue companion. The comet! The comet! the couple shouts to me and the young child who spotted the fox as rumbles go silent and dark skies listen to the nightingale's song as bats fly through beams that shine silver on the moon's blue companion. Six thousand eight hundred years pass ... and the comet returns as aliens shout to their offspring who play with the offspring of the child and the fox, as rumbles of thunder encroach on midnight skies listening to the nightingale's song and bats fly through silver as the moon still shines on it's blue companion. © Kåre Enga [177.146] (19.juli.2020) (55 lines) I don't know whether this 'form' has a name. I 'borrowed' it from "Crashing Waves "  [E] by lezismore-moreislez  .Prompt: Tell me about something you love to do to relax. Watching the skies, the weather, just being ... in tune to whatever. For:
or harp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVTPbLhlbfI |
| I like my friends to come with warnings They entice: not with jewels, jiggles, the flaunting of gems, but with garlic on bated breath, dirt under broken nails. No diamond is better than rhinestones in this rough tough world of fake perfume. I want the truth, the warning, the back-off-or-die! I want to know they want ME, not just my gothic finery. © Kåre Enga [177.145] (19.juli.2020) (6 lines) Prompt: Use the following 3 words in your poem: - Perfume - Warning - Diamond For:
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| Monday night out she blithely wrestles with her prey while they writhe across the pitch-black sky—mute—like a drunken comet © Kåre Enga [177.144] (20.juli.2020) Prompt: writhe 24σ, 3 lines, 8/8/8 note: owls, vampires, politicians ... For:
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Prompt: Make the title of your poem one of your favourite songs.
Våren I will plant this tree for others to see to sit in its shade while they caress the sweet blades of grass that cover its roots. They'll have no need to know who put it here as they congratulate the bird that sings by its nest it has hung from a limb. I won't live to see this coming winter, but I've already seen it standing here for hundreds of years. I only need to plant it. © Kåre Enga [177.143] (18.juli.2020) (9 lines) |
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