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 |
A certain sense of purple After the death of winter, I get on my knees to smell the hyacinths, then sit at a table where chocolate, and a bouquet of lilacs, entices me. Unless I'm sipping tea, avoiding the zenith's blast, while spent jacaranda flowers flutter, floating in a tropical breeze. Come autumn's harvest, you'll find me soaking in a bath, enveloped by the fragrance of lavender soothing tired bones. Yet, the haze of twilight after dusk summons me to travel among the stars, like the shadow of a snow drift, a shade more somber than blue. What then becomes me? I do not wrap myself in robes of royal hue. A hug will be enough... as long as it comes from you. © Kåre Enga (31.juli.2024) 20 lines responding to the prompt 'purple'. For "Merit Badge Magic" July 2024 |
Wish you were here Kev Twenty years ago, arriving with a headache. You finding aspirin for me, hugging me to let me know, I could just be me. We were where we needed to be: two opposites floating on this sea, the green fields of South Carolina, the ripe straw fields of Illinois, an expanse as flat can be. After twenty years, crossing this wilderness with you and twenty more years without you, I still feel the warmth of your hug, kindness of your love. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. After twenty years without you, Kev, still wish you were here. © Kåre Enga [181.42] (21.juli.2024) 19 lines |
Merry Mary, Quite Contrary She waters her garden — where she's planted her ex midst pansies, white daisies, belladonna, bluets. She'd sighed — do you love me — as they kissed one last time. Now she's planted his bones 'neath fresh compost and lime. Oh Mare, art thou merry — or merely insane? Oh Merry Contrary — Oh Mary McCain! You surely must know that they'll soon find you out when the neighbor's old dog sniffs his flesh with his snout. You'll make up a story how he left you betrayed but those selfies will sing of the bed that you made. Oh Mare, art thou merry — or merely insane? Oh Merry Contrary — Oh Mary McCain! © Kåre Enga [181.38] (8.juli.2024) Lyric response to "The One-Line Lyric Challenge" 112.563 |