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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 |
| Old Mother told us You bullied your way south, tearing through the pines and plains of Saskatchewan, a hungry polar bear on the hunt. Then you found a gap in the earth's stony teeth and took a turn west to terrorize us. Old Mother warned long ago: take cover when the east wind blows down the canyon; it brings the death-breath of the north. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.55] (23.april.2021) 8 irregular lines, free verse, 75 syllables. For
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| Cymbeline Why read Shakespeare, we ask. So many other simple straight-forward stories. Why did we choose this one. What were we thinking. We still don't know. I was raised in a fog of snow mist and ice, a gathering of wisps that could not be possessed. I chased rainbows that came out on soft days, locking the hurt in a closet Then sunlight banished the gloom as it had done before and will do again. I would have healed if it weren't for the sunburn of drama coming in the front door, stirring up a tempest exiting to the lot where the hopeless parked with a bottle to drown their depression till sundown quenched their mania. So much confusion. So many stories and characters and utter nonsense. The lies, the lies, the lies. They died one-by-one in the cleansing. Who was king-of-hill, who was the queen-of-evil — no one knew for sure. The quicksand sucked at us all and we got lost in the quagmire. I moved to the desert, hid, snug between mountains. Sighed in relief as I watched the sun set in silence. I prayed for misty days and rainbows. I had left the drama behind. I never bother to read Shakespeare. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.54] (23.april.2021) Prompt: a Shakesperian play. I chose "Cymbeline", a later work that's very entangled with typical tantrums, evil and revenge. I describe my own experiences and views based on surviving homelessness. For:
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.
