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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 |
| Sidewinder Parting hot quartz crystals, your forward progress at a slant, you cross hostile country without a blink or backward glance. You travel through these burning sands, eyes slit that never gaze at skies. For nightmares fill this Dreamtime land, where ere you pass. O Slim Rope that winds through fallen stars, your sidewind trek leaves but a trace, your passage just a trance. © Kåre Enga (23.mai.2017) [174.94] |
| Your little spears —stabbed the slabs of beef, tore at meat, as if— they did not belong in a human mouth, as if—no one else had teeth. Descendant of sharks, you told us, not monkeys like you apes, you scold us. We just nod and protect our napes, never turning our back to you. Each white flash— each bloody slash— admonished us. Reminded us how much we value our life. As if— your little spears could end it. As if—we were grade A meat— and you were a butcher. © Kåre Enga (25.mai.2017) [174.100] |
| Ha —ha—ha— I do not smile, the gloom of my mood clouds my eyes, my lashes flash and the clap of internal thunder seeks to escape my lips. Pray that they stay sewn shut—by courtesy— or respect. Laugh if you must, but do not force me to smile. For grimaces are small coins in the Land of Ha— and you dare not afford my ire. © Kåre Enga (27.mayo.2017) [174.102] |
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