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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 |
February 14th prompts for "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT"  Jim Jimson He burst forth from the weed patch, losing speed with every second as friction wore him down. It was hard being a jimsonweed, too touchy, too explosive, they all said. But he was who he was as he landed on soft mud. He'd show them! Next summer he'd do it all over again. Prompt: velocity © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.364] (14.februar.2022) Lines never meant Shorelines shifted with each high tide as palms held off at a distance; but, change comes, even to those who tarry. The moon had seen it all through centuries. Rivers wandered. Mountains eroded. Glaciers came and went. But humans insisted on boundaries that were never meant. Prompt: boundary © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.365] (14.februar.2022) Nit-wits The glacier descended like a ski slope, icy tongued rimmed by rocks, ending at a cliff that tumbled into blue-green waters carrying the mountain's grit. Men tried to scale its slopes, slipping every time. It spared no time nor tears for nit-wits. Prompt: slope © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.366] (14.februar.2022) |
| Frayed The Sky's hem unravels. First the golden thread, then the scarlet, leaving only indigo and puce. Night's curtain descends, a charcoal shroud with pinprick holes, as frayed edges dim. All bow to the New Moon's ebony as the Void's brighter shade fills the silent air, as thick blankets of clouds move in and smother hope with despair. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.327] (21.januar.2022) 15 lines |
| Sunrise mirrored in the buffalo's eyes To see sunrise mirrored in the buffalo's eyes, glinting off the flooded fields where thin blades of grass wait for a breeze to bring it news. The morning's traffic sings the market's dawn song, those precious moments before the day warms up, as it has for hundreds of years. The monkeys nod. The buffaloes know. The elephants too. They tried to slow down the two-legged ones who scurry among them. They gave up centuries ago. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.316] (18.januar.2022) 15 lines |
| Rice fields when I was young and my body bent like a young green blade and my arms were strong and my fingers nimble as I planted the sprouts that would flourish with rains that once ripened and gleaned would nourish our bodies till the end time came leaving only stubble and now as I tire as the sun retires too tired perhaps yet my heart full of joy and I open my lungs and sing of deeds done to the glow of the fireflies dancing © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.320] (20.januar.2022) 19 lines |
| Molt Hollowed shells, an empty husk, of use once but now — no longer, like fur that kept us warm in winter, left behind come vernal breezes. When will you leave your aging husk? When will you join us in the stars? Transformation's normal, needed. Death comes to all no-longer-useful forms. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.357] (9.februar.2022) For
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| At the center of it all I'm the core of the universe, atoms spinning 'round inside you, the answer for your questing soul the essence of all existance. At the center of it all, I'm still unknown, unseen, enigma, measured by what is and isn't. Without me — you are nothing. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.356] (9.februar.2022) Prompt: nucleus For
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| Chlorophyll on a bun My greenness is my greatness, the gift of sun becoming life, the energy that feeds you — moving you from shadows into light. Hail my magnesium core. Bow to the hay that cattle chew. Chomp down upon my lettuce as my greenness nourishes you. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.355] (9.februar.2022) For
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| Circle square Do-si-do, allemande left swing your partner, tug their heft around and around. The race is not won by those who stand ground. Swirl and twirl like a flock of crows; who'll fall first, nobody knows. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.354] (9.februar.2022) Posted in
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In Ferizaj... if I write all my hopes on a paper boat, light a candle — and set it afloat, where will it go when the waters divide what obstacle will make it decide which sea to empty its burden in which to set aside — and which to abide. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.353] (9.februar.2022) |
| Point-of-view She sees a face. He sees a squid. I fear the paddle. We see what we choose to see. She wants to walk. He wants to run. I'd rather swim. You mount the horse waving goodbye. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.352] (8.februar.2022) for
Or... You mount the driftwood waving goodbye... Based on the image of a horse made of wood/driftwood. |
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