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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 |
| Shrek's Trek - The Movie On the way to the outhouse to sit with a pun, may I laugh at our ogre's last trek past the sun? KE [177.288] (23.november.2020) 24 syllables 12/12 aa rhymed couplet. Unfortunately when I saw Trek I thought of a big green ogre on a voyage to the stars! Word associations are amusing aren't they? For
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| After our defeat Too few left to rue those games. We dig holes, gather reeds and tarps. We cover our wounds that weep with shame. © Kåre Enga [177.287] (20.november.2020) 5 line free verse: 3/4/8/5/4 Prompt:rue For:
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| Tawny Born of spirit and dirt, she was raised to be proud of her fruitful body: splendrous, fulvous, unbowed. © Kåre Enga [177.286] (18.november.2020) 24 syllables: 6/6/6/6 xaxa Prompt: fulvous, a yellowish brown. "splendrous" is a less common spelling of "splendorous" that spell-check doesn't like... too bad... I looked it up at Merriam-Webster. Note: I had a co-worker named Tawny. She was proud, loud and unbowed. For:
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| We are the vamps! Over the river and through the woods on nights when the moon is new, we flutter and soar as we sniff the gore of a cow that no longer moos. Over the mountains and though the dales we fly and start to croon: we are the vamps coming to camp; we're ready to make you swoon. Over the cities and through the yards we fly on winds that smell of guts and breasts and sumptuous flesh that soon will fall under our spell. Over church towers and through the graves we spread our joy; we must! to snuff out the aches of the lives we take, that come dawn return to dust. Open your eyelids and stand up straight; we never feast on the dead; we like your blood in crimson floods; scream if you must instead. Over the river and through the woods where werewolves begin to howl, vultures scatter as if it matters to vamps that are on the prowl. © Kåre Enga  [177.285] (29.november.2020)For:
Notes: 1. Start your poem with the same first line as the prompt poem. 2. Maintain the syllable count 9, 7, 10, 8 9, 6, 8, 7 9, 6, 9, 8 9, 6, 10, 7 9, 7, 8, 6 9, 7, 9, 7 3. Maintain the Rhyme Scheme of the prompt poem. xAxA 4, Put your own dark twist on the poem. Your version can be mysterious, dark, or horror. 5. This contest forum is rated 18+. Your entries can go as high as GC, but please no sexual assault, pedophilia, scat, or racism. 6. Entry must be submitted in 'bitem' or 'entry' format. 7. You may edit your poem after it's been submitted, but not after the deadline. |
| A procrastinator gives thanks every November I'm grateful for January, March and December for giving me extra days to catch up, for February that cuts winter's grief short, and September to remember golden autumns past, and for May when spring's warmth returns — at last, and every month that adds to the years, hopeful that I may live long enough to let go of my fears — and all my stuff. KE [177.284] (14.november.2020) 15 lines of no particular form (some rhyme and rhythm) probably free verse For
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| A prayer of submission Cut out my tongue if it betrays my heart; good words mean nothing if my deeds are not. Allow me to rest at Your feet in submission for nowhere is peaceful without an admission that my spirit withers cut off from the Ark alike the Moon that can't shine should the Sun go dark. KE [177.283] (14.november.2020) For
A short poem of 6 longer lines (aabbcc). Prompt: "giving thanks" |
| Chest-scape of survival I wear these tattoos on my chest. Glare, if you must, where I once had breasts, not to remind you of what I've lost, to honor who I am — and still remain. Stare now at this chest-scape of survival, the designs I chose to give me hope, these flowers that you'll never pluck, this flow of water that you long to touch. It cools my thoughts as I boldly strut, my chest bare and proud to defy your pity. Don't ever berate the choices I've made. Be thankful — they've led me out of the grave. KE [177.282] (22.november.2020) 12 lines: thankful for:
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| The turkey speaks before dinner Kalkunen snakkar før middagen** Yes, I know that you think I should flee but I live in the land of the free. So I'll peck at my feed as they chop up the swedes.* What could possibly happen to me! © Kåre Enga [177.281] (14.november.2020) *swede is another name for rutabaga (a bit of a Sven/Ole joke) **translation of title into Norwegian (nynorsk) 5 line limerick: 9/9/6/6/9 For:
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My room facing south snow on mountain tops cocoa in a pot mist wafting through my room windows tightly shut murmurs from hallways noon traffic calm aroma of onion chili touch of soft wool yarn sun slips in at a slant autumn's waning glow my radiator coming on to banish wintry blows [177.280] Written for "The Whatever Contest."  "The Whatever Contest -- Closed for Now"  Word/Line Count: 12 lines |
| hay ripens in green fields — fresh goat droppings in cropped pens KE [177.279] (14.november.2020) For:
*Sun* focus on the moment as observer X *Frog* no caps, periods, rhyme, X *Bug* present tense X *Spider* Kigo or seasonal word X hay *Flowerb* one main verb X ripe / ripens *Cat* 8-17 syllables {not complete sentences} X 11/12 *Flowery* the 2 contrasting images that create an "aha" or puzzle for reader to discover what you know. ?? |
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