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 LV 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 |
Autumn of Ebola We sat as far apart as decent, dared not breathe without our masks. We whispered, wailed, wondered. What would come at last? Crossroads of soil and flesh, these polluted waters of blood confuse us, lead us to question doubts before the storm and the flood. © Kåre Enga - 7 October 2014 Bare unaware Robert floated down the river, bare ass burning in the sun. The raft bouncing, slowly moving with the current, around the rocks. He slept arms and legs lashed together. Children pointed at him as he passed. Under the bridge, head turned, he breathed. Too bad he'd never wake up. © Kåre Enga - 9 October 2014 Two dreary poems. Posted because? That's what I do. |