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 |
Not one iota He won't pull off the mask he's worn since childhood, the mist and mirrors mere camouflage, for his childish fits, his golfing outfits. He won't reveal the layers behind his lies. They fit like corsets, dark, constraining; he speaks in monosyllabic voice, a juvie choice that never grew like the belt around his belly. Button his lips, cross his tees, un-gag his Xes! Let loose the asses from his tottering cart! Not one dot, one jot, not one iota... dare to masquerade as his tiny heart. © Kåre Enga [174.18] (6.avril.2017) Dew Drop Inn Day #7: "tiny" |