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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 |
| Spaces 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)
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| Delible 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 For:
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| 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 of staying, just praying, 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"  "Byron Lynn" "Knowing it lies beyond" "Picking up the trash" "Dream a bigger dream" But not only the homeless die. "The sound of lavender" "Joseph's Coat" "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 [366]" I may have to make this into an item. For:
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| Uncertain We sit here, me, myself and I, a lonely trilogy of when and how and why, wondering if I should ask, now or on the by and by, "Do you really love me, ____?" fearful of "Nay" or "Aye". © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.44] (13.april.2021)
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| Three views Each noon we yawn and look up at the day, mere mud-bound moments on this misty mirror, pistils perfuming our petaled array. We soar beyond your caged captivity whimsically whistling as we wander through the atmosphere of creativity. She sets a fine table for tea-at-three: tasty tarts, terrific tidbits, tempting us to join and peck her splendid tapestry © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.43abc] Ekphrastic kōels. Prompts found in "EIGHT - 04.12.21" : a. "Water Lilies" by Claude Monet b. "Umbrella Dancers" by Jonathan Winter c. "Soiree" (Lady Having Tea with Birds) by Andrea Kowch I purposely took a point of view from the waterlilies, dancers, birds. Notes: Kōel is a widespread form, that originates in South East Asia. Kōel is all about sound, as is reflected in it's structure. It is said to mimic bird song. It would not be amiss to use some onomatopoeia in your kōel, although it's not a requirement. So, what makes a kōel? Theme: Traditionally, the poem is used to explore a singular emotion or state, such as joy, innocence or surprise. Structure: The kōel consists of one or more stanzas. Each stanza has three lines. There's no general rule for the length of each line, but they must follow a vowel-consonant-vowel structure. That is: Line 1 and 3 must end with an open vowel rhyme. Like "no" and "go", "cry" and "sky" etc. The rhyme does not have to be the same for each stanza. Line 2 must have alliteration. That means that the main words in the line must start with the same consonant sound, although connector words don't need to be included in this. For:
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| April shadows Ice clings to winter deep in furrows where April shadows water-seeps still frozen waiting for June's melt. Should spring ne'er come — like high-peak snowbanks persisting year to year, like traces of life that lie in wait in dark bleak reaches of the Void, will I hold on? Whence then your sun and when — come to soften stiffened hearts, to mend these scars of frost and drought scratched across the sleeping landscape of our thoughts? When you waken them, what then? © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.40] (13.april.2021) 20 lines For:
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| We are Yellow Yellowbells rang to buttercups, beckoning bees and the Salish starving for fresh food in this mud season of death, and tired of fish. They rang silently on slopes of the mountains, flats along the river, wherever there was moisture or a crevice. Yellow, they rang in clear tones, we are yellow, the sign of the last snows as melt fills the river. We are Yellow, a harbinger of plenty to come. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.42] (24.april.2021) For
Wilflowers taboo words: flower, field, scent, bunch, pretty or any derivatives of these words |
| Minnesota Mayday We saw Chauvin murder Floyd, saw it with our own two eyes. What are we now supposed to deny? We saw speeches spewing hate, saw hatred ignite quiescent flames, saw tiki-torches marching. We watched the silent films depict goose-stepping callow beardless youth never asking how nor why. We read how Hebrews called upon Heavens to slaughter their appointed enemies; heartless, we cheered them on. We don't look in mirrors tarnished by time, fearful of what monster therein resides, wearing our unmasked face. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.40] Inspired by ridinghhood-p.boutilier  |
| So much remains taboo in the post-British-colonial world. The Puritans and Victorians ... left a legacy of joyless rules. Do I write a poem about sex? Do I write one without limpid rhymes? Is ghastly good enough? We mixed black and brown and white, added red and yellow, painted with our multi-colored palette to piss over your inhumanity, your insistence that you were better. We mangled Shakespeare's plays, strangled Lord What's-his-face's poems, as we dared to question your ignoble history of death, replaced it with our vibrant colors. You were never better than we were: your polluted water made us ill, your piss perfume hid your fetid odor, your glee angered us as you killed anyone who stood in your way. You stole our language left us with this bastard tongue of commerce, pride and treachery. We want our love back, our lullabys of bounteous lands and seas. We beg you go back to where you belong. You stole our culture, peace and harmony and left us fish and chips. [39] 24 lines ... so far. |
| Madonna in my mind 'Cause we are living in a sci-fy world and I am a sci-fy fan. Yes, we are living in a dreamlike world and now you know what I am. Some bots flatter, some bots not, but that's okay in the end. If they don't answer me correctly I just type "vanish" and send. I want my clothes and fancy toys, my dinner delivered on time. I have no interest in what you offer. I can watch hot sex on-line. 'Cause we are living in a sci-fy world and I am a sci-fy fan. Yes, we are living in a dreamlike world and now you know what I am. You're not Kirk and he's not Spock and neither of you can sing. But whisper Klingon in my ear, I'm open to having a fling. Once I was an avatar but now I'm just a dream planted deep inside your brain. Nothing's what it seems. 'Cause we are living in a sci-fy world and I am a sci-fy fan. Yes, we are living in a dreamlike world and now you know what I am. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.38] (10.april.2021) For:
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