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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 |
| Not letting go... Leaves and flowers come and go but deep roots hold on tight. Snags whisper ancient tales to eagles tired of flight, and to those who make it home at night avoiding raptors eyes as roots that once rived the rocks still hold fast their prize. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.341] (29.januar.2022) for
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| hyacinth = regret foxglove = protection plumbago = hope Regrets Her hyacinths bloomed a month late red-purple tears clinging to a stalk small fleshy stars, fragrant, almost cloying. They couldn't bring her back, not her fingers planting their bulbs, not her waiting all winter long, not her longing. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.337] (27.januar.2022) Protection Snug in the foxglove, the faeries hid from the rain, the bumblebee too, the occasional fly, the hungry spider. All sought refuge inside the cloak felt the storm sway the stalk as if to ring the bells to sing "you are safe". © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.338] (27.januar.2022) Plumbago The sun fell, leaving a carpet of light blue blooms on bright green leaves irrepressibly cheerful. Not matter how often the gardener clipped and fashioned them they always sprung forth with joy for where there was there joy ...there was hope. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.339] (27.januar.2022) For
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| the morning dew falls from winter's ornaments one tear too heavy © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.319a] (januar.2022) For January 2022 "Haiku Hunt Contest"  2nd. ![Merit Badge in Eastern Poetry
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| January's bloom Red geraniums sit back from the window sill: too cold, too drafty; peer out at the snow (shudder). Frozen fog blurs the divide between greys: dull and bright, defined now as white on white beyond splashes of crimson. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.334] (26.januar.2022) For
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| Bamiyan The blast, riven the rock as Buddha's face fell, stirring up dust that slowly settled. But the heart cannot be denied as over the rubble moss grows like stubble, slowly reclaiming its own. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.333] (24.januar.2022) Bamiyan Buddhas destroyed 2001. |
| Recent jottings: grandpa's orchard on a wintry day — baked apple pie © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.330a] (23.january.2022) In response to a fb post. spumoni ice cream chocolate-pistachio-cherry Naple's drumstick © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.330b] (23.january.2022) corporate walls talk when suits have left furtive sparrows (bored penguins) © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.330c] (23.january.2022) In response to a fb post. |
| Hammock in the sky Rise me up above this ennui let me fly where eagles soar where ghosts and unicorns once played fashioning the wispy hoar. Here thoughts have wings and dreams range free where I can stretch and let time flow; between two fluffy bunny ears, let me rest where daydreams go. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.328] (22.january.2022) In My Hands I hold you tight. You're in good Hands. My Love will guide you through the storms, and keep you on this Path; but, do not fear heights nor depths. Go. Walk in peace. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.329] (22.january.2022) |
| Sparrows Gave up on Life long ago 7 Gave up on feasting, content with crumbs 5/4 Yet birds survive on very little 9 before winter's icy blast. 7 Then they snuggle in a tree 7 or abandoned freeze at last alone. 9 For without friends we often struggle 9 Hold me tight my (childhood) chum. 5(7) [326] (21.januar.2022) Selvedge 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, bowing to the New Moon's ebony when Void's brighter shade, fills the silent air as thick blankets of clouds move in and smother hope with despair. [327] (21.januar.2022) Mirrored in the buffalo's eyes To see sunrise mirrored in the buffalo's eyes, glinting off the flooded fields where thin blades of rice 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 buffalos know. The elephants too. They tried to slow down the two-legged ones who scurry among them. They gave up centuries ago. [316] (18.januar.2022) Butterfly #1 In Space no life, no death, no wind, no need for wings, in emptiness, no words Be! Be! Give life to words that breed the need for wings that flutter, start a breeze [313] (17.januar.2022) |
| Little scratchings Faded jottings, grey on yellow, fill the space between the margins, crawl across long lonely lines, stumble over each erasure, circle doodles in torn corners — long forgotten. Once — but that transpired long ago, my mind constrained, this notebook blank; dour thoughts spilled and stained the pages, now stacked journals holding secrets, jaundiced like abandoned ivory — turning sallow. But in the back — a pristine sheet! My hand trembles, grabs a pencil — scribbling once more. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.323] (20.januar.2022) 15 lines 2nd place  for Jnuary '22
Prompt: A BLANK PAGE. Taboo words: fresh, clean, new, promise, resolutions, or any derivatives of these words |
| Blue bubble Nesting here in my blubble, the spring-green meadows beckon; the darkest purple waning as indigo shifts to blue. When will this lonely blubble burst forth in golden smiles, your laughter sundering world, blue, blue, so blue without you. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.325] (21.januar.2022) 8 lines Blue + bubble = blubble, a sad lonely place. For
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