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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 |
| A sympathetic roomba you google sights and sounds megabytes of artificiality simulacra of reality no taste no smell you sit inside your cubicle your safely boxed existence wonder what it's like outside afraid to step outside your door your oven cleans itself room temperatures stay even automatic billing keeps used coins from dirtying your fingers you long to hear a voice Alexa keeps you company for hugs a sympathetic roomba will come and nudge your feet © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.37] (10.april.2021) For
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| Napping my world from the bed to the chair to the bed to the other chair looking south to the chair by the window facing north to the bed to the chair to the bed as mist blankets snow-covered mountains as my blanket covers my head as the world spins without my presence as I nap in my chair then my bed © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.36] (10.april.2021) For:
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| Gifts of the graves Abandoned by Spaniards greedy for gold, jade lay among metates until the land was sold to a poor farmer who planted white corn to grind on stone metates in the cool of the morn who, before his wife reduced corn to cornmeal placed a jade charm 'round her neck as she kneeled. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.35] for:
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| My name is Kåre You can't spell my name You can't even pronounce it. Even after I explain You say Kari or Kara — Damn it. Because names do not matter. Because I do not matter. I've visited Gdańsk,* had a dorm-mate Cudziło.** No, I didn't complain I learned how to say them. I owed'm. Because their names mattered to them. Because they mattered to me. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.34] (8.april.2021) * gdañsk [practice it] ** sujeewa I deal with my own misspellings, wrong word, misunderstandings daily. But you ask and my mind goes blank. But then ... you've hit a sore spot. My name is Kåre. And no, I'm not being 'cute'. It's pronounced a bit like Cory. Can you say C O R Y? Can you repeat that after me? But no ... many can't. Can't be bothered to look it up. Immediately assume that I can't spell my own name and write back to me: Kara, Kari, Kare [which I do understand as [å] isn't on everyone's keyboard but my tablet has it and copy/paste takes extra effort] ... thinking maybe it's Karen without the 'n'. I am also guilty of typos it seems. My name is Kåre. It's Scandinavian and been around for awhile. It was most popular in Norway in the 1920s. If you google the name like I just did it comes up: Kåre Dæhlen (Norwegian b 1926 d 2020) ambassador Kåre Hedebrant (Swede b 1995) child actor Kåre Schultz (Dane b 1962) business exec Kåre And the Cave Man (Norwegian rock band 1990-2000) An older spelling still used is Kaare like Kaare Vedvik (American-Norwegian footballer b 1994) and a whole slew of other famous folks named Kåre, mostly damn Norwegians. I'm Swede, by-the-way. I'm not on the list. Sorry. But that doesn't mean that I don't exist. For:
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| When I ran away my problems hitched a ride with me. No... you can't leave them behind. Life doesn't work that way. But one s.o.b. hasn't found me yet; which is okay, because I'd be dead not sad. Yes, I'm sad. All the friends I made. All the memories stuffed into the back closet of my mind. They come out at night to haunt me. But I should be glad. I had a very good year and then the s*** hit the fan. When I finally got back on my feet I moved again. One doesn't leave one's problems behind, but one can get a respite to breathe. So I breathe. Many years later I still run away but politely say, "I travel". Don't be mad I'm way less sad I'm running running I'm running running I'm running running — I can't stay running running running, I'm way less sad running running running, running away I'm running running I'm running running I'm running running — don't be mad running running running, running away running running running, I'm way less sad © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.32] For:
And: WDC 48 hour media challenge based on AJR's "Way less sad". |
| Kryptid I write about you in invisible script worn into rock over thousands of centuries. I saw your kind born and will be there when they die. This tale isn't finished. You call me by a hundred names and a thousand others long forgotten by relatives who you can't remember, those myth-makers who handed down warnings that I still existed. I've outlived them all. And now you search for my secret hiding place and for immortality. They aren't for sharing, but I'll give you the same hints that I gave long ago. I'm everywhere around you. I hide where you never look. Those who depend on eyes to see will never find me. I'm closer than your life's vein. The script I etch upon your soul's indelible, my words eternal Truth. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.31] (7.april.2021) For
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| April commandment let him go for someone else to find him fulfill his needs his let him go it doesn't matter anymore you loved him love him still so, let him go cut the strings to let him soar or sink but know that you don't own him let him go © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.30] (6.april.2021) For
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| Prompts: EXACT CLAIM STAY Being exact Write to abstractions *sigh* like a coloring book devoid of color, being told to stay inside the lines with the smallest box of stubby crayons: black, red, blue, green, yellow. No fragrances, no sound, no touch ... other than wax on off-white cheap rough paper. Now to divide this by eight, claim it's a poem, as if being exact makes a life worth living. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.29] (5.april.2021) For:
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| I don't mean to cause grief When I leave, my plants suffer, in spite of plans to have someone water them or plans to take them out of the window, soak and let dry... Some survive... better than my african violets that dad kept alive for years until my sister decided they needed to be outside in June's burning sun. Dead in a week, my attic room cleaned out, personal letters tossed and high school projects trashed, emotionally pushed over a cliff, no warning. I speak soft so my geraniums don't hear. they may be on their own this summer... I swear I don't mean to cause them grief. It's a relief when I come home and they've made an offering of one last bloom. They've survived. I've been home for a year now, a very long year now. Do they suspect? Or are they like me, age 20, innocent about Death and Life's relentless cruelty. Like them, a survivor. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.28] (4.april.2021) For
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| 2:22 and thinking of you There is nothing bluer than deep blue over the hurting-eye green of Kansas after spring rains have rinsed prairie dust so we can see clearly past the horizon where Oklahoma red lies a deep shade of rust. But bruises and blue-bonnets bloom then fade under the heat of a relentless sun. No — there's nothing bluer than blue unless it's eye-blue, a color I cannot remember and can't quite forget, once I have fallen into your depths. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.27] Inspired by a poem written by Rhyssa  For:
Earlier version: There is nothing bluer than deep blue over the hurting-eye green of Kansas after spring rains have washed away prairie dust so we can see clearly past the horizon where Oklahoma red lies a deep shade of rust. But bruises and blue-bonnets bloom then fade under the heat of a relentless sun. No — there's nothing bluer than blue unless it's eye-blue, a color I cannot remember, and can't quite forget, as soon as I've fallen into your depths. |
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