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!
passed away November 12, 2005
Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings.
These pictures rotate.
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
|An elegy for Katya
You read my daily thoughts
that wander lost
among the dead I once wrote about,
now saddened by doubts
that I cannot leave
caught by the weave
of life yet tired beyond
exhaustion. I'm not fond
that I may still be of some use.
Maybe I'm being obtuse.
Should someone hold me,
I'd hug them back for free;
if not, please let me know
so I can go
and wander lost
until I shed this dross.
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.45] (14.april.2021)
I've written alot about death. Being homeless meant witnessing death.
"A radiant moon has set"
"Knowing it lies beyond"
"Picking up the trash"
"Dream a bigger dream"
But not only the homeless die.
"The sound of lavender"
"In a twinkling [#11 Robert French]"
A friend wanted me to write from the mouse's perspective.
"Of mice, owls and moonflowers"
And there's always famous people.
"Scotty's last lament (James Doohan)"
"You always knew how to fly " I may have to make this into an item.