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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 |
| What month am I? This month begins as winter fools us. "Make up your mind." We fuss. Crocuses hide beneath white snow, the sun behind black crows. We take a nap until those days when warm winds bring soft rains and color fills our daily dreams as grassy lawns turn green. Clear skies burst out in brilliant blue and yellow fills our view as dandelions and daffodils cover cool fields and hills. The apricots bloom pink and white. If frosty nights don't bite, we'll harvest their fruits come August before the autumn's dust. We salute the Earth for all she gives that helps all wildlife live. We gather her blooming tulips, then plant new tulip trees. I follow March. What month am I? I bring wet cloudy skies, dance in puddles that welcome May, pick hyacinth bouquets. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.63] (30.april.2021) 24 lines. 8/6 ballad; aabb rhyme (more or less). For:
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| ** Image ID #2247530 Unavailable ** Call us Boss We wear our human costumes daily, but this is who we are. Whether happy faced or gruesome, our ruler wears a crown. We speak in gruff or dulcet tones, no two of us alike, at midnight take our costumes off so we can have some fun. We're all upstanding citizens and thoughtful to a fault. We hang signs on the boardroom door: "Private; members only", then gnash our teeth and lick our gums, begin to laugh, cavort, and joke away until the dawn while stripping flesh from bones. Call us fools — but every Monday we're back to playing tricks. We're the bosses you love to hate. Oh, if you only knew. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.61] (30.april.2021) 20 lines unrhymed 8/6 ballad form. For:
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