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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/day/4-9-2017
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Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #982524
Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation.
*Delight*          *Rolleyes*          *Yawn*

L'aura del campo

'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣


Higgins Street Bridge, April 25th 2009, Missoula, Montana


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*Flower2*V*Flower2* COMMENTS!

On a practical note, in answer to your questions:

Gifts from NOVAcatmando Author Icon kiyasama alfred booth, wanbli ska Author Icon ransomme Iowegian Skye Author Icon

Merit Badge in Reviewing [Click For More Info] For your support and suggestions on my haiku "Lone Poinsettia" which took second place in the contest and will be published. Thanks for helping make it a winning poem! Merit Badge in Nano Winner [Click For More Info] CONGRATULATIONS on your achievement! *^*Bigsmile*^* Merit Badge in Reviewing [Click For More Info] For help finding a title for my first chapbook. We're not there yet, but your ideas are always interesting.
Merit Badge in Funny [Click For More Info] Merit Badge in Friendship [Click For More Info] Thanks for being my friend. Hugz! grannym Merit Badge in Appreciation [Click For More Info] For brightening my day with your delightful offerings ~ Thank you so much! *^*Heart*^*


IN MEMORIUM

VerySara Author Icon

passed away November 12, 2005

Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings.
More suggested links:

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 Kåre *Leaf5* Enga
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
The Fish
April 9, 2017 at 5:52pm
April 9, 2017 at 5:52pm
#908727
Hosted by the Ghost

         sing it

Write about a ghost
a holy host
no DNA of Jesus
in that Holy Host.

Write some ghastly verses
disappear like curses
banished by a ghost,
that Holy Ghost.

Share them with Our Father,
share them with His Son,
let them pass right through you
like a friendly ghost.

Speak with truthful tongue;
Let Their will be done;
embrace your inner spirit,
that Holy Ghost.

© Kåre Enga [174.23] (8.april.2017)

Earlier version:

Hosted by the Ghost

         sing it

Write about a ghost
a holy host
no DNA of Jesus
in that Holy Host.

Write some ghostly verses
disappear like curses
banished by the ghost,
that Holy Ghost.

Share them with your Father,
share them with His Son,
let them pass right through you
like a friendly ghost.

Speak with truthful tongue;
Let Their will be done;
embrace your inner spirit,
that Holy Ghost.

© Kåre Enga [174.23] (8.april.2017)
80.645
Dew Drop Inn prompt was ghost/ghostly (blinded by the light... sing it)
April 9, 2017 at 5:34pm
April 9, 2017 at 5:34pm
#908724
Unknown script

What script wrote itself across this asphalt;
what message can be discerned from scribbles?
We throw the stones to read the future.
We're left with bones now rid of flesh.
Do we press our thoughts between dead papers
or give them voice? What poetry expressed,
recited when the road slid side to side,
what verses voiced as Death embraced what slid
from Life. How can I read these bones,
bring what is hidden to light?

© Kåre Enga [174.21] (7.april.2017)

Written at UM at Kwasny/Bitsui reading.
April 9, 2017 at 5:22pm
April 9, 2017 at 5:22pm
#908720
Note that this poem uses present tense as if written in 1850.

Daylight robbery

In Donegal—in Dingle
in t' jingle—of t' keys
of t' jails—when t' English
tax t' Irish—who can't see

out small windows—sooty walls
of cold damp stone—past t' reeds
at crosses—of their children
newly planted—sprung like weeds

from fevers—from starvation
while t' nobles—spread their ass's
on benches—bought with taxes
on each window—filled with glass,

while t' Irish—robbed of sunlight
in t' darkness—bow with beads.
For tis legal—if not moral
that t' wealthy—hide dark deeds.

In Ireland—on yr journeys
heed t' wailing—if you please.
In Limerick—in Listowel
light a candle—pray on knees.

© Kåre Enga [174.22] (8.april.2017)

Dew Drop Inn prompt was "something illegal" but I chose to think of what was legal but not moral. Around 1690, windows were taxed. This poem came about after a talk with my friend Michele Mulligan.
April 9, 2017 at 5:12pm
April 9, 2017 at 5:12pm
#908719
Colorshift

Born yellow, I darkened to a luscious shade of olive,
took dry soil and sucked up each drop of water.
My shriveled torso plumped out.
I reached toward sunrays, spread out my arms,
but my ancient roots stunted my growth.
Without wings or height, I'll never fly
like Icarus before the fall...
or be flattened after.
Hug me, hoard each squeezed out drop.
In me, preserve your herbs and spices.
Let me color the palate of life's plate,
my youthful yellow, my ancient olive,
shifting with the light.

© Kåre Enga [174.20] (7.april.2017)

At Kwasny/Bitsui reading, UM.
80.644


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