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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 |
| The dance of autumn leaves The time has come; the body's fed; in a blink the child within has fled yet stares at wrinkles, hides my meds. I'm lost without my memories, that twirl within my head! reside where I can't see! like wisps of fog now shred like shadows of the dead. and so I'm left with these instead: a cozy corner with my tea; a slice of pumpkin pie? Yes, please; the shuffle dance of autumn leaves that swirl around my head that land where I can't see, cold wisps of fog now shred, mere shadows of the dead. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga (29.oktober.2021b) [178.264] For October 2021
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| Anarchy This is how it started: a ring of stones, cold bare earth, a campfire lit meant to shed some light, some warmth, some heat, enough to boil water, brew the coffee, steep the tea, enough to awaken this world that preferred to sleep. And this how it ended: an errant scrap of paper lit then borne aloft carried on the wind to where the waiting tinder glowered, welcomed its glow its light, its power to fire the imagination of the angry world, enough to burn it up, enough to burn it down. © Kåre Enga (21.oktober.2021) [174.256] 22 lines For
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| PPC#19 As the sky lowers [257] (dream dust) As the sky lowers Dreamdust sifted over embers — a desperate attempt to assuage the dying fire. Oh to live and die again! Before it was cut the tree had provided shade while a child attempted to touch the sky flying high on her swing. Now logs die to keep her warm snug under an worn-out afghan she once wove — long ago. Dare we ask what were her dreams, what now her future — as the sky lowers to caress her flesh and kiss her cheek. © Kåre Enga (21.oktober.2021) [174.257] 14 lines For:
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| Weather or not Weather or not you believe in change I bring it with the slant of seasons, the slow movement of mist over cold waters, what cannot be contained released in rain. Never turn your back on me as if you can discern my next bold move. Be prepared; do not be fooled. I am the ruler. I cannot be ruled. © Kåre Enga [171.251] (17.oktober.2021) For: "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT"  |
| Continental Drift Riding waves through cracks of Time, we drift to our opposite corners then crash into the Immovable, raising the Alps and Himalayas as fortold, the orogeny of old worn by unrelenting winds and water, crumble, return to the uncaring ocean lapping the slopes of Appalachia. © Kåre Enga [178.250] (17.oktober.2021) For: "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT" |
| THE MID-ATLANTIC RIDGE Scar tissue Only in Iceland do I show my true colors: dark, mischievous and too hot to handle. No one sees each miniscule movement of magma, as I divide you from yourself, widening waters, isolating what cannot swim the seas, Africa, America divorced down the middle, Latter Day Vikings riding the ridge, conquering both. © Kåre Enga [178.249] (17.oktober.2021) For: "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT" Former title: Imperium of the Inner Core |
| Don't take me for granite I'm basalt don't take me for granite and don't leak silicon tears of quartz and muscovite. I don't speak Russian. At my heart I'm dark and dangerous. be careful walking the Giant's Causeway climbing the columns of Devils Tower. On the Moon I remain unmoveable. © Kåre Enga [178.248] (17.oktober.2021) For: "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT" |
| There comes a lean and hungry look There comes a lean and hungry look... ...to those who roam among the empty aisles in search of meaning or something to inspire them ...as what was once their youth becomes a cratered landscape of abandoned dreams and cast-off plans. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.245] (14.oktober.2021) Submitted to Express it in Eight There comes a softening — to the breath There comes a softening... ...to the breath when the neck is kneeled upon and the pressed into the earth by a burly man in blue. ...and to the witnesses of "No Lives Matter" perplexed that 'there, but for the Grace of God' they could be next. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.243] (14.oktober.2021) |
| Stone Wall & Heath for Petra Give us a chance; we'll paint your sorrows six shades of green, a gift of a soft day of mists and rainbows, each bruise healed with moss, each crack fused with a nest for flowers, blue and pink greeting the gull-filled sky. Abandoned corners provide a refuge from wind where woolly sheep snuggle against raw cold. Hear how they bleat, beckoning you to stumble across these fields of rock, clamber over these walls of stone graced with golden gorse. Let your fingers trace the landscape's inscription as the last rays of sunset guide your way. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.241] (26.septembre.2021) 14 lines free verse Sent on a postcard "Stone Wall & Heath, Co Down, © Tom Quinn Kumpf |
| ** Image ID #1983058 Unavailable ** 1. She walks to the graveyard where in Earth's womb she had planted the skulls by April's new moon when all was turning green, protected them through drought and storms; now she goes to her garden to harvest the fulsome fruits of her labor snuggled among tombs and gently plucks one from the ground and caresses the crannies now full of life. Sow and ye shall reap her granny had promised. Now worms and grubs were fattened and ready to eat. She would feast tonight by the light of the full moon and give thanks. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.239] (7.oktober.2021) Revised. Now in "Harvesting the skulls" ** Image ID #1983250 Unavailable ** Enter the dreams of the waiting crone. Learn her wisdom with each wheezing moan. As woods clothe you against winds that bite, Darkness becomes refuge from fiery light. In her embrace let youthful dreams swim. In her depths let outside worlds dim. Cast childhood aside along winding trails. Forget whatever gnaws, chews or ails. Let go. Do not be bewildered, For you were ancient before you were born. See life renewing itself every night. Everything now seems familiar. Seek guidance from the watchful crescent 'fore morn. Reach home by listening to your own inner light. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.240] (7.oktober.2021) A sonnet (not perfect rhythm) somewhat like: aabbccddefgefg Persepolis Sonnet as in
aabbccddefgefg (south african quilt) Originally aabbccddeefgfg as in "Life" by John Clare (1793-1864). Revised. Now: "Invalid Item" |
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