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,
|No safe place
Nightmares may thrash me tonight,
flashing back to other times
when I feared I was cornered,
madly trying to escape.
This time I must punch through.
Some lifetime it would be nice —
to feel safe, but I'm too tired
to run and — there's no such place.
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.48] (17.april.2021)
In the space between high mountains
lies new hope and possibilities
but not one drop
of clean cool water
In the space between my ears
lives a universe of capabilities
but not one brain cell
talking to another
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.47] (15.april.2021)
Fingers slide along the keyboard,
as soundless as feathers,
making "water" reappear
as if magic could quench a decade-long thirst,
followed by "hyacinth",
but not its fragrance.
Indigo flowers bob on the reservoir
below the ruins of Ujarrás,
taking no notice
when bells peel after two hundred silent years
as this day becomes muggy.
The storm gives warning, gathers its hatchlings
before a tap tap tap,
like a clap of thunder,
wakens the poet from dreams.
He answers the door
leaving me on hold
viewing the water hyacinths at Cachí
until I disappear from his thoughts
never reaching the dam
nor the page.
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.] (15.april.2021)
21 lines free verse