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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 |
| This is a spoof on the haibun form and how Japanese forms are misunderstood and mangled by most. And yes, both Lilith of House Martell  and Lyn's a sly fox  'like' coffee and yes, Lyn has a sweet black cat, Macavity (real not stuffed).Holy Saturday sun glinting off plastic wrap 7 steaming coffee at hand 6 If the window weren't cracked it would be too hot already and the sounds of deconstruction wouldn't remind us that outside this decrepit hotel life goes on. But the call of the domesticated daffodil trumpets too weak to stir ancient flesh and bones into action. The day wears on: three hours before solar noon, two hours, one. Satan can't wait. quiet motes dancing in sunshine 8 egg salad glares at the fork 7 Lilli called yesterday. She wanted her cup back. Lyn called. She wanted Satan back. But His Majesty's mustache merely focused on his pink-bunny bowl. It was empty and he was tempted to take a swipe to knock it off the table. Black whiskers danced as if he were ready to let out a yowl, a gift from his Siamese heritage. broken cups hold rescued plants 7 my scalp needs scratching 5 The path from the chair to the bed is worn clean. Dust gathers in neglected corners and lies in wait on top of everything. Dirty dishes get done everyday but Satan just sits there glaring at me. What I've forgotten, he remembers. He remembers the day my mother was born. slightly chewed airplane plants 6 a geranium blooms hot pink 8 As if to defy me my pee doesn't darken. It's as yellow as mustard egg salad, as clear as the stick-plant's small flowers, as harmless as Satan's amber eyes beginning to swirl. Stuffed toys have attitudes bigger than their bite. Lyn calls. I demand ransom. Lilli calls. I drain the cold cup and put on a fresh pot of coffee. sun rays move west to east 6 Satan does yoga on the bed 8 © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.25] (3.april.2021) Because I couldn't come up with a haiku for the
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| Once glittered I thought you'd always be there for me guarding the slice of heart I lent you never expecting it to be refused stamped 'return to sender' as if you didn't know it broke in half — just for you. Now bereft with dull crumpled parts, I have no glue to mend it. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.24] (2.april.2021) For
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.
