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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 |
| In the garden He approached me head held high, open arms suggesting more than a hug. I thought about his offer. Sure, he was tiny, but as cute as a bug can be. Unless you're me, big, bold and constantly hungry. It was my job to maintain the bowers. Make sure that pests didn't take over flowers. I earned my security badge daily. But I am who I am, no praying mantis but predator and — he was so cute — and eager! We mated. I bit off his head. Lament not for the dead. His sacrifice made a bountiful meal. Our offspring will protect this patch until winter comes. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.373] (28.februar.2022) 14 lines... almost a sonnet.  For February, 2022
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| 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. |
| The Connoisseur He was a connoisseur of living before he died, age twenty-two and — holding. I'm leaving before I fall apart; now, don't be grieving. I savored every moment — breathing. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.370] (18.februar.2022) For:
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| Dappled Day Dawning \\\\\\\The||frisky////breeze||played| |with//the|leaves//leaving\\patterns of///dark-green|||and///green-gold ||sprinkled///across||||////||the//////// ////lawn////////  //////\\\The//young|||||sapling//joined//\\in||swaying///// ||in//a//////dance/// And//me?\\\I//////sat//there/mesmerized/entranced, \\a\\\chameleon,\\changing//colors —from—/////||\\\\\this||||to||||that\\\\\. © 2022 Kåre Enga [178.369] (17.februar.2022) For
Dappled Day Dawning The frisky breeze played with the leaves leaving patterns of dark-green and green-gold sprinkled across the lawn. The young sapling joined in swaying in a dance. And me? I sat there mesmerized, entranced a chameleon changing colors —from— this to that. © 2022 Kåre Enga [178.369] (17.februar.2022) |
| Beggar's Song We gather together to ask our lord's blessing, to beg for a handout, a rub or a crumb. We'll wait here forever. We've nothing else planned. Just open the window please, number one man. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.368] (16.februar.2022) For February 16
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| Wednesday morning, ten o'clock Cotton balls bloom from bare branches. Ermine blankets cloak peaked rooves. Flags wave to sullen clouds as if to shoo them west. My morning coffee, light and sweet, greets me at ten a.m. Winter's dawn has fled. Mist shrouded mountains will not budge. It's still cold out there, they said. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.367] (16.februar.2022) |
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 |
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much!
I just went with the flow. Could use a minor edit but I'm happy that you like it.
