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 |
The chartreuse swamps of home Zoom past a vast green expanse sweeping between horizons: islands of jade colored sticks, puddles of seafoam, emerald quagmire and quicksand oozing in between arranged like a still-life under a gloomy sage bowl. It could be Kansas, except for the water; its emptiness will remind you of bears in Belarus— but this isn't Earth— and you're not human— anymore. The moaning wind never stops; yet, you only feel it on slick skin. The smell of rot surrounds you but you can't tell without a nose. Your friends can't see you; no one has eyes. Once you had a thousand ears; now you hear nothing. Wiggle roots where once you had feet. Let your blueblood rise to stretch out what once were your arms. Mouth at a vermillion star: PRY OPEN OUR BUDS and wait for the gloom to part. Far from the chartreuse swamps of home you bloom © Kåre Enga [176.25.gz] (6.abril.2019) Written sitting in the tub. The prompt was "bloom". 100.891 |