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:
passed away November 12, 2005
Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings.
More suggested links:
These pictures rotate.
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
|Monochrome in indigo
all color removed except for blue
this nighttime gift of shame you left me
towers I cannot climb
emotions that never set me free
here in the city
surrounded by millions
I shake all alone
Kåre Enga [180.55] (8.juni.2023)
I planted them every summer,
an oval of soft pink against
a backdrop of sage-green cedar.
They mirrored my youthful struggle
to be patient — I waited.
You never responded — should
I have chosen firecrackers,
rainbow explosions of color.
Kåre Enga [180.54] (7.juni.2023)
They climb trees. They eat fruit,
s*** and spit the nuts,
that we collect, that we press
into argan oil put on your face.
Rake the ground then comb your hair.
No woman's an atoll when goats
must be tended; no man's a reef
where women tend to them.
Kåre Enga [180.48] (29.mai.2023)
8 lines, ~53 words
|I would walk away.
I would say little.
Nothing if I could.
Don't want your crumbs.
I'm not so dumb.
I'm not your chum.
1 Like • Comment • View 1 comment
| In their worlds of morality, venality, normality,
we dare not show exceptionality or illumine their mediocrity.
In perfect worlds of better and best
we unbelievers forage for crumbs, along with the rest,
yet refuse to invest in their insufferable totality.
|HERE LIES A QUEER
after Amanda Gorman
That hill we die on will be blood stained
with the miscarriage of justice,
just us breaking through the silence
for those muted by dogmatic bigotry,
that gift from generations bound
by hatred and fear. Hear us
when we say queer. Hear us
when we shout queer. Bury us
with the epitaph HERE LIES A QUEER.
We will clap back from the graveyard.
Kåre Enga [180.44] (25.mai.2023)
10 lines free verse
"Poet Amanda Gorman spoke out after her poem The Hill We Climb, which she recited at President Joe Biden's presidential inauguration, was removed from an elementary school in Miami-Dade County, Florida."
|Write me a political limerick?
Lord Caoimhín O'Lim'rick's quite lucky.
Saint Ronnie O'Disney's just duckie.
They went to Time's Square
where sat in despair,
Don Juannie the twice loser suck-me.
What about Joe Biden?
Joe's not bad, just cheugy.
|Breakfast's at Eight
Spill beans into a bowl, then let them soak.
Wash the rice, remove the stones.
Chop cilantro, carrots, onions, peppers, add a yolk.
Cook when daybreak dawns. Don't eat alone.
Invite your family, friends and folk. Puts flesh on bones.
Kåre Enga [180.38] (19.mai.2023)
|Elegy in sepia
Gone, all gone
to the gutless and greedy,
no need to reach out
to the wandering sky
once roots are wrenched from paradise.
Even the color,
reduced to stark black and white,
now fades to sepia.
Kåre Enga [180.37] (19.mai.2023)
|Adagio in Armargh
to the sound of glass breaking
Mary Elizabeth sags —
slowly — like a Brahm's adagio,
tranquil but boring;
yet, tinkles like church bells when struck.
She's had ten too many children
and wants to punch through the glass ceiling —
before she's too worn out.
She's Thirty-six. A dash of hemlock? A cup of arsenic?
As the owner of her future, she'll rise to the top —
and give her offspring what their father could not.
Kåre Enga [180.35] (18.mai.2023)
Note: line 4 is an intentional double entendre