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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 |
| Fair Warning When the fields are set afire and I hear a fearsome choir shriek disharmony most dire I quickly lock my doors. © Copyright 2023 Kåre Enga [179.125] (17.januar.2023) Prompt ▼ |
| Once in a hamlet named Shakespeare dwelt handsome young knights who baked there; enamored with buns they loved just for fun and squandered their dreams for a nightmare. |
| sugarcane burns as smoke rings the horizon — Isan's murky dawn ash swirls around rooms — settles on newly washed clothes cool gives way to warmth — when will breezes bring rain we cough and cover our mouth — ash hurts worse than covid |
| I prefer reading prose or poetry that connects. Who cares what you call it? Only those nitpicking gatekeepers who can't write creatively and need to stick to technically perfect essays and/or get a life. Poetry is an oral-aural art form that depends on repetition of sounds and rhythms. Rhyme, alliteration, meter, consonance, assonance... It's even possible to recognize poetry in an unknown language as it doesn't follow normal speech patterns. Poetry is related to songs. My boyfriend is presenting traditional songs at a temple this week. I hear the rhythm and even notice the rhymes although I don't know the language... yet. That said... free-verse depends on the flow of words; alliteration and rhyme help with this. Because it doesn't depend on the exact placement of sounds and doesn't count syllables and isn't bound to meter it can be disparaged by traditionalists but it is far superior to some of their tortured verse. It isn't merely chopped up prose. But short prose can connect as well. And the best does so. Do you prefer reading poems with rhyme and rhythm more than others? What about writing poems? Is free-verse really poetry? ~171 words |
| Frozen beneath the pond you skate on, I look up and gasp at beauty as you glide over my eyes. Do you see me waiting? do you hear the ice crack? will you recognize me when I melt into mud? |
| DrSchneider posted a poem today and this is my silly 8 line response: Grovel for me nuts I hurry down a grovel path to hide from mighty blokes residing where the mountains scream at rabid city folks. I soothe my wounds from acid tongues among these squirrely butts and count my blessings every time White Rabbit brings me nuts. K.E.  [179.119] (2.januar.2023) |
| Defy the Sky! 'round and 'round we never know who'll fly off first, who'll live to go fetch our mother, father, aunt who'll rush to tend our bloody pants or bend to hush our wails and pleas and gently plead with us to please be more careful next time we fly 'round and 'round to defy the sky © Kåre Enga [179.113] (30.desember.2022) |
| Best-by date I have waited long past my best-by date and now — now you make an offer — I cannot refuse. Good things come to those who wait, even those who survive past their best-by date. KE [179.105] (14.desember.2022) |
| Solar reckoning Soon the eclipse... and all foreshadowing... lies on the other side... I'll pull the drapes... and shut it out. No one enters here... without my approval. Not even the sun. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.82] (25.oktober.2022) Posted in Express it in Eight. |
| A candle's kiss I would weep for you — if I could — wax melting as vanilla filled the air. I would gladly give my life to show you a way to safety with my flare. So trim my wick! Go find a match! I'm waiting to brighten all your tomorrows with my light. And as I melt away — inhale my fragrance — know how I yearned to warm your nights. © Copyright 2013 Kåre Enga [179.81] (30.september.2022) 12 lines: xxa xxa xxb xxb For September'22 "Personify Writing Contest-CLOSED"  |
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.