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 |
Ulpiana beckons I'm as conflicted as Kosovo, constricted by history and heritage to consume myself, leaving nothing but crumbs among ruins. Under Serbian cornfields shards of Rome rest to be uncovered as if peace could be discovered between the bombs and besa of Albanians. I feel passion tearing me to pieces. I have always been content with crumbs. (I've always survived/lived off of crumbs) © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.69] (27.prill/Април.2021) I have a flag of Kosovo on my kitchen counter. I look at it and wish I were there. There are many places, so many places to visit that I'll never visit; yet, I have been blessed. In a blog entry 27.04.21 |
April in Costa Rica Summer's dust is washed away. 7 Big bugs come out to play. 6 Birds now sit upon their nests. 7 We thank the rains; we're blest. 6 Roads to somewhere go nowhere, 7 the bridge no longer there. 6 Holy Week is over now. 7 No need to go to town. 6 Miss planting, you'll go hungry. 7 No time to be angry. 6 Not idyllic as it seems. 7 It's time to plant the beans 6 © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.68] (28.april.2021) In a blog entry 28.04.21. |
Tucked away inspired by "1000 Stars" The east wind blew me away. When will the west wind blow me back? I ran to where the east wind never stops. A thousand miles isn't far enough. I left everything behind except what I tucked away. There you'll rest forever close to my heart. A thousand years isn't time enough. The stars above connect us with their eternal promises. The Moon shines kindly down on us. She knows a thousand miles is never enough. The ground waits to receive my bones. The empty sky awaits my soul. Unitl I depart let the east wind blow. Ten thousand years won't be enough. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.67] (28.april.2021) First sketched in a blog entry 28.april.21 |
Doubts You cannot count us; we dance before your eyes as motes or midges, enter you heart as pain or longing, myriad mounds of regret unmelting, closer than your life-vein. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.66] 8 line free verse (some alliteration and rhyme) prompt: myriad. For
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