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 |
Anaconda The snake left its cold cave, (the glaciers had melted) and wound its way through the canyon to rest. It woke; fresh meadows waved; it cavorted for centuries, searched for a companion to share its nest. But men ... threw spears at it. It slid back to its den and hid in its copper lined depths and slept. Legend faded to myth till new men sought treasures, brought loud machines to claim diamonds and rust. Belching copper innards, the snake tried to defend, but men abused, refused to show respect. They built fortunes and banks, raised up a great chimney, smelted ore, let leavings, poisoned the soil. The snake, hot and thirsty, wallowed in the river, sickened among stunted willows; slow death. Visit Anaconda, named for legends and myths; once a town built on lust and greed: now dust. Linked cinquains, 40 lines. A creative 'tale' about Anaconda, Montana (dying but not dead yet). For
|