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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 |
| On Naw Ruz In the balance twice per year a bright yellow star waxes or wanes but on that edge in this liminal space between our lips we wonder how many more are left as autumn fades; yet — come the month of March hope blooms along old twigs as buds that braved the dark and chill beg for those syrupy flows that burst into flowers, caress our lips with kisses, fewer each year; but, still — until the pith of self has rotted away we sway to glad tidings of one more day among the grateful. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.15] (29.mars.2021) 20 lines free verse Naw Ruz = new day = renewal: observed culturally on the spring equinox throughout Old Persia and religiously by Baha'is and Zoroastrians around the world. For
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| The flavor of sunshine no sugar needed in my coffee cream enough to lighten this day of errant sunrays pouring in through window panes of this cooped up haven from pain where now bewitched I savor a tuna sandwich and inhale the flavor of sunshine © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.13] I was drinking coffee with my tuna sandwich; sun wasn't in the forecast.
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| Before I leave I have a need to be loved, a want to be kneaded, an urge to connect while I'm still alive. It's the warmth that a ghost beseeches to feel, the sourdine of your voice, in tune to deaf ears. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.12] sourdine = a muted (organ) stop. For
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| Mazed I can't remember dreams. I don't feel safe inside them, too afraid I'll never find my way back out — like these nightmares where I search for you beneath each desk, going from room to room — all doors locked and blocked. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.9] (27.march.2021) 8 lines 24/24 syllables |
| Not giving in The east breeze eases and the rustle of leaves hushes as he briskly paces down the slushy path, hands in pockets, cap askew, coat zippered tight, scarf wrapped twice, muffled against the morning ice and pain of swollen joints he tries to ignore keeping up with teenagers, pretending he's a youngster, repeating with each breath: use it or lose it... use it or you will lose... © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.7] (26.mars.2021) 8 lines lengthening: 5/8/11/14 // 8/11/14/17 For
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| Dwindling What's left when mugs are drained and bowls once filled, consumed What remains of days long past save flesh and bones entombed. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.8] (26.mars.2021) 8 short lines For
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| Fifty years later her wrinkles still laugh A kerfuffle would break out each time she drove up bedazzled from chasing moonbeams and neon lights on nights filled with scuffles o'er who'd sit beside her, recite flowery nonsense that she'd yawned at before. She always seemed to relish in their silliness that followed her and her new '66 Sunbeam, glinting racing green, making faces as she grinned at rumpled reflections in its smooth polished paint. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.6] (25.mars.2021) for
8 alexandrine lines (some rhythm, rhyme, alliteration) Shakespearean prompts: bedazzled / moonbeam / scuffle / silliness / flowery / dwindle |
| Transition Each morning, shadows of ponderosa shrink as songbirds flit from trees to drink at moss lined pools wary of owls winging back to nests or an eagle about to soar — as between grey boulders fox kits frolic till mother calls them back to their den safely hidden in this pine-shadowed glen where soon after sunrise the night hunters rest and this day belongs to others. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.21] (24.mars.2021) 13 lines Written for
Prompt Words: pine, trees, moss, boulders, eagle, soaring, nest, and sunrise. |
| What cannot die survives in this corner of the universe where no one bothers to look i wait knowing you follow me no matter where i hide my lava quenched i huddle within this cave on the far side of a long-dead star it's lonely without you but my embers won't die out and i hear your searching for me across the void oh, zmitri, look for me deep within your heart where stars burst forth millennia before we argued © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.5zm] (24.mars.2021) For
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| Homage to the letter Thorn or þorn (Þ, þ)) Þimbleberry Þieves Þick along sylvan paþs þorns brush bare þighs as þrongs of bumbles, bees þrive as þunder rumbles in the distance, þongs itching, Þelma bitching, þoughts of hitching home; but — þumbs sweeten as me and Þelma sigh, þieves among ripe þimbleberries. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.4] (23.mars.2021) Modern orthography: Thimbleberry Thieves thick along sylvan paths thorns brush bare thighs as throngs of bumbles, bees thrive as thunder rumbles in the distance, thongs itching, Thelma bitching, thoughts of hitching home; but — thumbs sweeten and Thelma sighs, thieves among ripe thimbleberries. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.4] (23.mars.2021) Homage to the letter Thorn or þorn (Þ, Thorn or þorn (Þ, þ)) For:
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