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 |
Needs work, but do I care? It's metrical: 8.6.8.6.8.6.8.6...6 with an annoying rhythm and regrettable rhymes. I already see some editing... maybe "hard tack" for "fried fish". Anyhoo... thankfully tomorrow's poem is short and sweet and already written. There must be something better to do... There's nothing that's more horrible than going on a hike as if this climb's equatable to flying frickin' kites, as if fried fish is edible for more than just one bite. I'd rather be invisible than stay at home tonight, said no one who's not tight So off we go to bag a bull and pant to unknown heights lest friends should think us scarable and frighten us with tripe for all this crap is doable for all of us ain't right. And so we trod to fetch a fool, foot sore and such a sight with only thoughts unprintable: f**k off now, take a hike. © Kåre Enga [176.28] (6.april.2019) 100.901 |