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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 |
| October Blues Slow and low — I moan a serenade, sung in a minor key in hesitation, with hope, that the death between us are mere embers, sleeping, awaiting our touch. I warm my fingers by their glow, look around yet know — like the weary leaves, you left — for good — long ago. © Kåre Enga (7.april.2025) [182.16] 9 lines |
For "PromptMaster !"  PRIZE PROMPT 8 lines: "To see you again" I open up the fortune cookie: Three locks of hair. Two toenail clippings One withered finger. A scrap of paper. Four words in blood scrawled by your hand. Burn these by midnight so I can return. © Kåre Enga (5.april.2025) [182.14] TASK PROMPT 8 lines. "Impatience" When will I get to taste your lips? So — this grape juice will not suffice. Then, I'll truly rejoice and sip. Know I nibble but do not bite. I nibble but do not bite. Know I'll truly rejoice and sip. Then this grape juice will not suffice. So — will I get to taste you lips? When? © Kåre Enga (5.april.2025) [182.15] ![Merit Badge in Wisdom
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| Café de la mort The fragrance of life has left us bereft of memories of murmuring brooks, the taste of full lips, warm and eager. Our empty sockets gaze at nothingness but we sense your presence as bones touch bones, as thoughts wander off and mingle. There are no secrets in the Death Cafe, no shame, no fame, as our names are erased from history — by the Living. We do not blame them nor complain, for they will join us soon enough. © Kåre Enga (6.april.2025) [182.12] Prompt for April 6th: Death Cafe (Thai: คาเฟ่ตาย) 122.653 |
| Like the moon Give me a wife, who like the moon, won't appear in my sky every day — Chekov Luna reigns all night Apollo reins the Sun all day They meet at dawn and dusk while Twilight, a liminal love-child, delights us in mid-May. Stars are their constant lovers, through seasons of rain and dust. © Kåre Enga (6.april.2025)[182.13] 7 lines April 5 Prompt: Chekov |
| God doesn't care what day it is Blue sky on a blue day, the blues sung low to not disturb the apathy of those asleep. Tomorrow blue will bruise, a myriad of colors: brown, black, yellow, red. Pale pink turning purple before the scarlet blood of Sunday. Monday it will yellow, unless the infected wound is cleansed. Thank Who It's Friday? God doesn't care what day it is. © Kåre Enga (4.april.2025) [182.11] 14 lines Note: In Thailand: Blue = Friday; Purple = Saturday; Red = Sunday; Yellow = Monday. |
| Recycled I put my life on a scale. It tips this way or that. My value's in the offering. Souls are comforted by that. I will not judge where it is bound. Pray it's happy next time 'round. © Kåre Enga (2.april.2025) [182.10] 6 lines April 3rd Prompts: assessment, evaluation, judgement. Just not inspired. |
| Oh, by gosh, by golly... It's Elon and The Folly. He built the folly. No, he bought the folly. He owns the folly. No, he is the folly. As in Holly? Oh, by gosh, by golly... There's is no holy holly. No holly can grow on desecrated land. But, isn't this the Promised Land? Only for the wicked lacking wisdom. It's crowded. Your point is? Here he comes now! Elon or The Folly? We circle round the Folly, bend and bow before the holly. No holiness required; no need to be inspired. He knows it all! We see his garden wither. Yes, he loves the color green; but, only if comes with numbers followed by zeroes and greed. He's just that mean. Just do as his Lowness asks and kiss his butt (as you must). You'll only survive at his behest for his demon's name is Musk. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Here they come regaled in gold. Now, don't be shy to shout out bold — Oh, by gosh, by golly — It's Elon and The Folly. © Kåre Enga (1.april.2025) [182.8] A. A garden folly is a decorative, often whimsical, building or structure in a garden or park, built for its aesthetic appeal rather than any practical purpose, serving as an "eye-catcher" or focal point. B. In a biblical context, "folly" signifies a lack of wisdom, understanding, and moral insight, essentially the opposite of wisdom, and is often associated with foolishness, wickedness, and a rejection of God's truth. |
| Daffodil weather Bright splash of gold on a cold white-sky day. 10 The mud of March freezing, thawing; 8 no real illusion, warmth will be delayed 10 until the Ides of April's dawning 9 (or maybe May). Kelly counts his colours Is that blue-green or green-blue, two of the forty shades of green or the chartreuse of peeling pain or hidden liquor? The lime in the coconut or still on the tree, the hunter in the evergreen forest of pine, the sickening pus that must be cleansed of the putrid pregnant pimple, as jars of pickles, emerald gems hidden at the back of the shelf, cry out to be remembered like the gems and malachite stashed in your freshly painted drawers. Sea green you said? More like sage that mirrors the colors of a damp drear day, dripping on grey-green snow covered moss. Can we count copper coins and spires now viridian shades of antiquity or the verdigris of regret. How Heineken in glass-bottles, apples, pears or pistachios, neon-spring or kelly green define us. Ah, that's my colour. © Kåre Enga (17.mars.2025) 23 lines 121.707 |
| Craters of Your Moon Like a pimple, becoming pink, then red, pain, discomfort, gathering beneath taut skin, then pop! OMG — the gush, the flood. Then the clean-up to remove all debris, hoping to restore what once was loved; but, in vain, craters remain, stark memory that beneath the placid surface forces rage; and, no matter what, will surely erupt again. © Kåre Enga (12.mars.2025) 8 lines 121.324 views |
| Now we are two I was a unicorn; you were a mage. I asked for something to contain my rage. You offered stardust and bits of wet clay, then laughed at my scowling face that day. So I pranced to the east and cantered west, knowing that I only knew what was best. I only returned when I heard good news another like me had been found. Bemused I gathered my thoughts and began to groan, could it be true that I wasn't alone? Would they look like me with my stunning physique? How would I cope with not being unique! Would they become my friend or my rival... and what about our race's survival? No one said whether they were a he or she. I didn't care as I knew I was me. So I cantered west and pranced to the east to where stood a colt, a young handsome beast. And there YOU stood standing, grinning at me, laughing, waving your wand for all to see. "I noticed how lonely you were that day, so with some stardust and wet bits of clay, I fashioned someone to help quench your rage. Yes, you're magical but I am a mage." © Kåre Enga (28.februar.2025) 24 lines, 12 rhyming couplets, (Fantasy) for "Merit Badge Magic" |
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