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 |    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 L  V 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. Beyond hearing I vibrate to your voices that do not answer. I quiver in the echo held deep within. We were never in harmony, our notes tuned to alien scales, two dischords that never touched even when we met. Pluck now the heartstrings to whatever rhythm that defines the color grey, play the instruments of whatever symphony you choose to light the way. 2. What lisp is loss between the lips that cannot part to receive my spit that lies now spent between our hips when love means loss and loss means we never quit. 3. Random: As I draw myself you pull out your eraser. You transform into all my discarded lovers but refuse to leave. Suffering like cotton candy—the desire of your mouth. At the poet's orgy, we sit on our chairs until our buns are numb and need to be spanked awake. The Eucharist your body, my thirst your lips. We know he has gone; the piano now silences the days. 4. In nightmares I couldn't find you even though you were my skin closer than thoughts or beat of breast or breath. In dreams you flew and spread your sunshine; blinded, I saw you behind my eyelids. With my tears you wrought me rainbows. In the heat you were the glistening of sweat, the hoarfrost on my whiskers in winter. "you were the clothes I never took off". Lay my out washed and shrouded. Beyond the misery of spent flesh, keep whatever memories still persist (that you wish), forget the rest. © Káre Enga [8.september.2016 at Shakespeare & Co.] |
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