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 LV 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 |
Mouldering Anger floats on oceans of fear, the welling crests, the spray of outbursts, the untruthfulness of calm As once firm boundaries of land and sea erode, the being of my being decomposed, my flesh mutilated. Anger fuels this loss of freedom, the horror of disconnectedness, the numbing of my senses; worse, the ruination of my sense of Self. What orange-red coating stains my aging House: once diamond-hard, now rotting with rust. © Kåre Enga [174.7] (1.avril.2017] Version from earlier today: Mouldering Anger floats on a ocean of fear, the welling crests, the spray of outbursts, the untruthfulness of calm. As once firm boundaries of land and sea erode, the being of my being decomposed, my flesh mutilated. Anger fuels this loss of freedom, the horror of disconnectedness, the numbing of my senses; worse, the ruination of my sense of Self. What orange-red coating stains my aging House, this once diamond-hard body, rotting with rust. © Kåre Enga [174.7] (1.avril.2017] 80.590 |
Lesser Prophet Who few will remember my visions? obliterate me by time and ennui, like Obadiah barely notice my voice, my solitary chapter, my 21 verses? © Kåre Enga [174.6] (1.April.2017) |