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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 |
| Weightless The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift as my eyes looked elsewhere and my thoughts began to drift. What was once a promise unraveled with the lies I'm as much at fault as you, more so in your eyes. What at first seemed weightless began to take on weight as the burdens of two lives added and multiplied. I want to go back when thoughts had wings of feathers, when once we soared together weightless through the sky. © Kåre Enga (30.april.2025) [182.46] 16 lines The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift is a line from |
| No faggots Children laugh and poke fun at me, do they think that I am deaf? No faggots are allowed, they say, we beat them till they're dead. And my cheeks are burning, blushing as I hide. I'm not welcome in this town. Am I welcome in this life? I can be whatever I want as long as they agree, long as I'm not too this or that they'll smile and nod at me. As long as I'm not a faggot, long as they can't see. But my cheeks are burning, blushing as I hide. I'm not welcome in this town. Am I welcome in your life? And I want to be your friend. Am I welcome in this life? © Kåre Enga [182.45] (30.april.2025) 20 lines Based on No Gringo. |
| Pink portulaca Red geraniums are getting old; the green onions wilt. The bird-of-paradise may never bloom; Yet, spring has sprung outside the window. Today one pink portulaca brightens up the view. If I were a flower in your garden I would blossom as well. Unless I were a jade tree, jealous of the others, only blooming after decades, long past our prime. I stop to smell blue iris, admire blue columbine, then pluck two dandelions to brighten up the hall. Spring has sprung outside the window and here I sit aware that this spring may be my last and these words never read. But here inside my windows, pink portulaca blooms and nasturtiums strut their finery as April yields to May. © Kåre Enga (30.april.2025) [182.44] 24 lines April theme #3: home/garden for "Merit Badge Magic"  |
| David's Day the sun woke me up I put on socks and shoes, hop between the shadows ring ring the bell rings I add subtract and read, look out frosted windows hot dog or corn dog? Ice Cream Cones! I scream with joy make smiley faces I go out to play clouds gather and speak to me gleeful I splash back I wait for the bus snow wind or rain tomorrow I'll do it again. © Kåre Enga (28.april.2025) [182.43] |
| No answer your dusty robe hangs outside the closet — inside bones await the key © Kåre Enga [182.33a] (17 syllables) Task Prompt: Write a haiku that breaks the rules of traditional Western haiku—but still feels like a haiku. Note: 17 syllables is haiku-ish (not a haiku) in my opinion and haikus don't really have a title. More like a haiku (still needs work imho): bones inside a closet — dusty bolted door [182.33b] (11 syllables, 1, 2, or 3 lines) Another breaking of rules: Waiting for a call Without friends I sat inside my closet, hid for what seemed an eternity. I waited over twenty-six years, for what seemed almost an eternity, then we met in South Carolina, our friendship destined for eternity. I rejoiced for twenty-four short years, knowing we would last an eternity. I haven't heard your voice for two decades, must I wait until eternity? My wrinkled robe hangs outside the closet, inside bones await eternity. [182.33c] (6 lines of 19 syllable lines, like a ghazal or a vahid) |
| Baaad dust bunnies We wrap ourselves around a firestorm, shroud ourselves inside a waterspout. We seek to settle our dispute with fire, wind, and water. © Kåre Enga [182.32] Prize Prompt: The most nefarious thing dust bunnies are likely to plot. |
| Duty Like a pigeon on a mission I strut to-and-fro each task an homage to other people's goals, Responsibilities assigned from without, a loyalty that comes from within. What burden it can be to stick to roles that do not suit me. Truly, my part is only part of the whole; but with all due respect to myself I must let go. I must unleash commitments that weigh me down. What onus it is to have duties one cannot carry nor carry out. Who asks the camel what breaks its back. © Kåre Enga (24.april.2025) [182.37] 13 lines Duty synonyms: 1. responsibility obligation commitment obedience allegiance loyalty faithfulness fidelity respect deference reverence homage fealty 2. job task chore assignment commission mission function charge part place role concern requirement responsibility obligation work burden onus pigeon office |
| Earth Everyday The Sly-ones piss on us. The Ravens just soar on the winds, never touching ground. The Gryffin-fires just burn it all down. All live on this same rocky sphere; but we humble Huffers inherited the dirt. With that guy Sly we fashion mud; we join Rave to spread the dust; we build bricks with old Gryff's flame. No blame, no shame, no glory. No one knows our faces nor our names. We are the salt of the dried up puddle, the honey, the spice and vinegar, the bitter-sweetness of life itself. We are servants of these fertile soils. We never lord over it. Our power resides with our healing charms and our respect for ALL. We will always count our blessings and heed the curse, "We have given you this Earth, if you can keep it." witches warlocks work the roots — trees flower and fruit © Kåre Enga (22.april.2025) [182.35] I always think kind thoughts for THANKFUL SONALI 18 WDC Years! |
| Are you happy when I'm sappy? Roses bled red and violets wept too Until the day that I met you. And now the sun beams whenever you talk. Now flowers bloom wherever you walk. © Kåre Enga (20.april.2025) [182.30] |
| Dear Frank Dear Frank, Remember our adventures! How I tamed your wrath, how your fire roared, burning all that stood in it's path. I rode you into combat as blood splattered and gushed, then we fought until battles were won and foes hushed. We laughed together as waterfalls splashed! And watched dying embers glow beneath ash. But dragons are dragons, must be true to their kind. Tales seldom end happily. I truly don't mind. Still, dear friend, I wish we could chat like we did. I'm lonely, it's quiet inside my own head. © Kåre Enga (20.april.2025) [182.29] 10 lines "A quiet poem..." |
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S
much!
I just went with the flow. Could use a minor edit but I'm happy that you like it.
