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,
|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.
|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.
|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.
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
when mugs are drained
and bowls once filled,
of days long past
save flesh and bones
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.8] (26.mars.2021)
8 short lines
|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)
8 alexandrine lines (some rhythm, rhyme, alliteration)
Shakespearean prompts: bedazzled / moonbeam / scuffle / silliness / flowery / dwindle
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)
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)
|Homage to the letter Thorn or þorn (Þ, þ))
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)
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))