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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 |
| We abide last hug, last handshake —don't call again— the message clear or muddled separation for a day, a month —forever— time never cares who cruel it treats us we abide in our hidden recesses until it's safe to come out again to say hello (albeit timid) to the world that has left us behind. © Kåre Enga [177.168] (30.juli.2020) Prompt: As The Daily Poem closes for another while, write about an ending, closing or goodbye. For:
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| Ingrid Fossensdatter she swishes her tail as if to summon a troll, her hovel hidden behind rock scree and waterfall, a handsome hulder if she must say so herself. it's been awhile and she's getting lonely, someone to share a night-long conversation, a cup of catmint tea, maybe her bed. she'd prefer a lad but no one has asked her to watch his charcoal overnight. no one has offered gifts in return perhaps she's become a myth, but she hides her tail when she goes to town. they think her kind's unwashed. she lives under a waterfall to cleanse herself. oh, to dance by starlight, tail twirling, her long skirt swirling, a diva or a dancing queen oh, to be seventeen — like a century ago. © Kåre Enga [177.167] (30.juli.2020) (30 lines) Since today’s winning poem has roots in Greek myth, write a poem inspired by a myth or fairytale.
A link re 'hulder' https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hulder |
| Book, wine and blinkers Ancient, ugly ... maybe ... hoary, hairy, hooked for sure. Call me Bundt-cake ... Baby ... but never your whore. © Kåre Enga [177.166] (31.juli.2020) (4 lines: 6/7/6/5 and abab) For:
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