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 |
Anatomy of a pochette Was it how you worked the leather, when suede pieces sewed together, a brown strap became a tether, caressing your heart. The one you guard inside your chest, the one you seldom share nor test, the one I love more than the rest, kept at a distance. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.50] (27.juli.2022) 8 lines; rhyme aaax; 8/8/8/x; ovi, a Marathi poetic metre. Pochette: wallet, handbag. Prompt: structure For "EXPRESS IT IN EIGHT " ![]() |
Cherries before chores Morning has broken when the sky opens up. Dreams interrupted by the flashes and claps. Chores still await me; it's cooler than before. Cooler to watch rain, pop cherries in my mouth. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.48] (24.juli.2022) 8 lines; no rhyme; 5/6/5/6. Note: line 6: 'before' or 'last night'? |
One beat —I'm here to return a heart. —We don't... —It's slightly worn and very tired, but it still beats. —We... —don't accept hearts. I know. This place operates without one. — ... —Don't look so shocked. I used to live here. I had to leave just to find a heart. None for sale or rent within 100 miles. —We... —like it that way. I understand. But this heart is special. —How is that? It looks just like any other heart. —Oh... are you sure? Look closer. — ... —Don't act so afraid. — ... —I traced it back to its owner. —And? —It once belonged to you. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.47] (22.juli.2022) |
Fruits of inaction The other shoe dropped and we were tearful—and wailing. it couldn't be stopped, so we sat there sinking—and bailing. We knew it was coming, that day when no rights—would be left, but we'd done nothing, so we mourn, distraught—and bereft. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.46] (21.juli.2022) 8 lines abab. For
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Well-worn copper Lincoln never visited Denver, a mob-ruled town where "a man's life is of no more worth than a dog's". Now I gaze at his worn face minted in 1999, stamped with a D. But not D for Dad who died in 1999 when this coin was a shiny copper. And not dust as surely both now are, as surely as I will be some day. How can a penny be worth so little when once as a child I counted every one. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.43] (6.juli.2022) 10 lines * Quote is from William Hepworth Dixon May enter into "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" ![]() |