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 |
1. If you could be here I'd make the stars come out at noon, guided by the light of your face. No need for the sun to show the way. Grey skies numb this day. A breeze tries to clear the cobwebs. Discontent overrules it all. No word from them... no word from you. No one dispels this weight of silence. The city bustles about oblivious, un-caring. It doesn't know you, doesn't know how much I miss you. [blithered in my note book, 28.julio.2016, PZ] 2. O Ancient Face lit by the Southern Sky! Your halo rides high on her clouds. Your visage as stony as this beach. These waves the children of your tides that grind each rock into course black sand. Across this vacuous weep between us, a journey of ebb and neep, the knead of this night conceals stars that whisper to our emptiness. Fill us, Harsh Mistress! At this hour of our daily death before we sleep. © Kåre Enga [22.julio.2016 Montezuma] |