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 ![]() ![]() 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 ![]() ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
Ancient Axe From the Ancient Axe the roots of peace spread out. The blood of millions barely enough to feed it for a thousand years, red turning black then fading. Even stones forgot how it had covered altars and splattered walls. All trace of it was gone. But a breeze began to waft across the land that war forgot, rippled wheat fields, stirred deep waters. Ancient forest-trees were too late to react, their branches hewn to handles as ploughs were forged into blades. Peace was sundered. The Ancient Axe revived at last. © Kåre Enga 2011-11-26 [168.255] (edited 2022-02-27) 16 lines, free verse Original in "Knapweed No.4" [December.1. 2011] |
There was a time I held the key to your heart. Once there was time. No more. I hear an adagio from the cellist next door. Better than the explosions coming closer. Soon. Very soon. Why lament about life when there's so little left. I should ask him for a beer. You would find that funny. I still don't drink beer. Lips that taste wine... Your lips are not near. And they are dust. Has it been fifty years? There's no story left untold. No last wishes to be undone. I hold your watch and key. Soon. Very soon. |