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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 |
| Serenade to Odin's Day Even half-blind I see how you brighten our north-western horizon, sky shifting from orange to red to purple — how only puce remains to greet the pinpricks of your ancient cousins — those who bide their time. This is your realm. As long as you are lit they blush respectful, bow before your golden glow — but soon — twilight diamonds sprinkle greetings through your dreams. Far into the cooling night they twinkle — until you yawn — stretch out your fiery fingers to wake our dawn. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.28] (8.juni.2022) 14 lines |
| Net We weave our words in and out, in and out, weft and warp, in and out and end up tangled. We laugh and circle, some go right, some go left, in and out, in and out until we're tangled. We do not care; leaves are green and petals pink; the lawn's been cut; its fragrance fills the air. We laugh until we're tangled, then we laugh some more; the day is done and we have won— until next year. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.27] (6.juni.2022) 16 lines For May/June 2022 "The Taboo Words Contest ~ On Hiatus"  Prompt: MAYPOLE DANCING taboo words: ribbons, Maypole, dance, children, music |
| Solace for my eyes Grey-greens, lime-greens, pine-greens. Greens upon greens — and the greys: silvery, lowering, thundering. Let June change her tune, become the dusty drought of a thirsty July — but before we fry: green under green over green. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.26] (4.juni.2022) |
| Ode to the oriole dreams of a ten-year-old Oh, to have been old instead of young, to have glimpsed you building your swaying nest in an old elm tree before it became ill, before it was felled. All those sunsets aglow behind your silhouette. Now I drink your sunshine every morning in Portugal, an old bird pecking at ripened cherries, a mirage missing the pitch, strike three. Ah, the memories of a ten-year-old... now casting shadows midst dreams. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.25] (3.juni.2022) |
| A dog in Uvalde He will wait at the door until you come home. Time does not matter. He'll wait there forever. Your scent will surely fade. Your voice will be no more. But he'll sit by the door, wait and remember. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.24] (2.juni.2022) Based on a political 'cartoon'. https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=455391709966167&set=a.219620833543257 Earlier version: He will wait at the door until you come home. He will wait there forever. Time does not matter. Your scent will surely fade. Your voice will be no more. But he'll sit by the door and always remember. |
| [When I'm depressed] When I'm depressed do not try to cheer me up and don't be distressed. Clouds will disperse as always they must; so, let me be terse: DON'T TELL ME I NEED TO CHEER UP. Sit with me, walk with me, distract me somehow. This gloom will break up when it does... Don't bother to ask why, or when, or how, because... it was what it was. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.23] (27.abril.2022) April 27—“Define” or “explain” something difficult, like a feeling or abstract concept… |
| Static We barely touched, sparks flying, depression dying, amazement dawning at what we never knew existed, a solitary moment when time stopped until the clock reset itself and life moved on. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.22] (21.abril.2022) |
| Paid for with your arrogance We provide the means, less than you want, yet more than it seems until you forget and then — and then — we deem it's time to remind you. We scarcely complain of unforgiving abuse, the bruises and wounds that remain regardless — until — we cleanse our hands of your stain — and then we bury you. Time erases all thoughts — of the lies you sold and the truth you sought; the way to the stars now forever lost; your graveyard bought, paid for with your arrogance. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.21] (13.april.2022) 18 lines - axaxax, bxbxbx, cxcxcx. For
April 13—Intersection of nature and civilization… |
| Oh. No. Oh. No. I don't care what you're selling today. Ain't buying that load of crap, no way. No. Oh? When you're acting like yo' shit don't stink. Do you think I give a damn; ya think? Oh? No. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.18] (9.april.2022) 10 lines. aa,bb rhyme For
April 9—Persona—write a poem in the voice of a person who is not you. Reading the other entries, I didn't answer the prompt in the same way. Like... were we supposed to pick a specific persona? Mine is non-specific and although this is how I often think, it's not how I speak (I'm either totally polite or go off and use more colorful language; shit is not my go-to word). Also... I use the word shit. Purposely. But WdC reduces that to s*** because my p-log is 13+. I lowered it to 13+ because too many readers here refuse to read anything that's not allowed in grade school and contests have 13+ limits, as do reviewers and newsletters. Like... 13 year old kids don't say SHIT! ??? Color me pissed, but I'm tired of fighting the censors. It is what it is. 106.090 |
| You've got mail I'll get there. I'll get there. And if I get lost? I slime a trail to find my way back. No need to hurry. No, never a need to hurry. And when I'm tired — I stop. I'll get there, wherever, some day, perhaps. My home, my fortress sits snug on my back. I'm no slug. No, never been a slug. Just a slow moving snail delivering your mail. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.17] (8.april.2022) 16 lines |
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