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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 |
| Daffodil weather Bright splash of gold on a cold white-sky day. 10 The mud of March freezing, thawing; 8 no real illusion, warmth will be delayed 10 until the Ides of April's dawning 9 (or maybe May). Kelly counts his colours Is that blue-green or green-blue, two of the forty shades of green or the chartreuse of peeling pain or hidden liquor? The lime in the coconut or still on the tree, the hunter in the evergreen forest of pine, the sickening pus that must be cleansed of the putrid pregnant pimple, as jars of pickles, emerald gems hidden at the back of the shelf, cry out to be remembered like the gems and malachite stashed in your freshly painted drawers. Sea green you said? More like sage that mirrors the colors of a damp drear day, dripping on grey-green snow covered moss. Can we count copper coins and spires now viridian shades of antiquity or the verdigris of regret. How Heineken in glass-bottles, apples, pears or pistachios, neon-spring or kelly green define us. Ah, that's my colour. © Kåre Enga (17.mars.2025) 23 lines 121.707 |
| Craters of Your Moon Like a pimple, becoming pink, then red, pain, discomfort, gathering beneath taut skin, then pop! OMG — the gush, the flood. Then the clean-up to remove all debris, hoping to restore what once was loved; but, in vain, craters remain, stark memory that beneath the placid surface forces rage; and, no matter what, will surely erupt again. © Kåre Enga (12.mars.2025) 8 lines 121.324 views |
| Now we are two I was a unicorn; you were a mage. I asked for something to contain my rage. You offered stardust and bits of wet clay, then laughed at my scowling face that day. So I pranced to the east and cantered west, knowing that I only knew what was best. I only returned when I heard good news another like me had been found. Bemused I gathered my thoughts and began to groan, could it be true that I wasn't alone? Would they look like me with my stunning physique? How would I cope with not being unique! Would they become my friend or my rival... and what about our race's survival? No one said whether they were a he or she. I didn't care as I knew I was me. So I cantered west and pranced to the east to where stood a colt, a young handsome beast. And there YOU stood standing, grinning at me, laughing, waving your wand for all to see. "I noticed how lonely you were that day, so with some stardust and wet bits of clay, I fashioned someone to help quench your rage. Yes, you're magical but I am a mage." © Kåre Enga (28.februar.2025) 24 lines, 12 rhyming couplets, (Fantasy) for "Merit Badge Magic"  |
| Harrumphed Splatched spadgecocks twitched with glitched goldbricks! Imma coughing coffined dwarf inna fraught gnostic Bronx, aghast, stretched, betwixt staged acts on da Pnyx. Harrumph? Why not Knox? © Kåre Enga (9.november.2024) |
| There comes a softening to the brain... ...and to the memories stored — most forgotten, the painful lost, a blessing time to bid goodbye, let go, move on, become as one. ...for there were sunflowers — and an old windmill, it's blades still churning, faces forever turning to the sun. © Kåre Enga (3.november.2024) |
| Remains of the weekend Remains of the weekend a four hour bus ride spent in tears kept to myself leaking like the lies I told to try to fit in. Now fifty years older and still tearful; I never fit in. But I still remember that Monday, standing out of body behind myself then smoking Derbys as if that could lessen the pain in that land of personal strife, now only memories, the remains of my life © Kåre Enga (20.octubre.2024) |
Dull knife of a long life I can't die young; 4 that bridge to immortality 8 was crossed so long ago, that when I look back, 11 the beginning's shrouded, 6 by what's been long forgotten, faded 9 memories of what never was, 7 fog that seldom lifts. 5 [50s] The sharp knife of youth has lost its edge, 9 no longer cleanly cuts, 6 no longer severs what ought to be let go to have been abandoned, 13 bruises and the bruises fester; 8 better to have lived fast and died young. 9 [total 45s] I was never wild, 5 never lived life to its fullest utmost, 8 never learned to loveembrace the precipice, 10 that mortal edge; instead, 6 I've endured the dull knife of a long life 10 as each choice came with its own price. 8 When will I learn to let go. 7 [total 54s] © Kåre Enga (15.oktober.2024) 19 lines Inspired by Lyn and |
| Paved with gold ... but no one cares... no angels here. The roads leading to Hell are empty; but, the bars are full. Sad stories of shame or blame, but — never taking into account that in every story, they — were the one who was always there. Center of Creation. Maelstrom of Destruction. The Roads to Hell are paved with gold; but, nobody's sober enough to care. © Kåre Enga 2024 (9.oktober.2024) [181] 10 lines Inspired by
#48 116.227 |
| I want to be happy know the warmth of someone who loves but does not suffocate my spirit, my freedom, who'll let me go, let me breathe until we become one with stars again, become dust transversing the universe, commingling into mud to fill the void with bird- song; unless, we're out of tune, put existence at risk; best then to go our separate ways, forget the longing, lust, now pitiful, perish. © Kåre Enga (30.september.2024) 22 lines 115.993 |
| Second Spring Late summer's dark forest green shifts to yellow as time recedes then back again green on green as spring rains bring a cooling breeze and temperatures drop day by day as wild creatures go back to sleep, I feel life's joy before wind's blast feel the flowers share their fragrance, feel your warm embrace again... as all rejoice with gentle sunshine, the gentle rain, the gentler mist, return to a time before the melt when frozen we were encased in ice before the heat of our kiss. © Kåre Enga (17.september.2024) 115.360 |
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