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 |
In Cathedrals of the Book In cathedrals of the book they turn the pages of the tomes in search of hallelujahs, comb for insight, wisdom as they look, through ancient parchment treasures, at ornate scenes inked from herbs; they consider the weight of words worth more than gold stamped leather. The stories of their childhood, the doleful angst of every youth, the search for universal truth, the battles of evil and good, all lie hidden in the pages brought to them by thoughtful clerks who help them search through massive works of sinners, saints and sages. © Kåre Enga [175.117] (7.juli.2020) 4 quatrains, 16 lines (abba) Prompt: image of a bookstore/library. For:
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Peace until the rise of dawn1 A solivagant2 seeks a night3 better than one thousand months —finding peace on soft hay— sleeps till dawn. © Kåre Enga [177.116] (2.juli.2020) For:
104.405 Footnotes |
Comforting Sophie I can't leave her side; Sophie's my eyes; "Eternal Night" they call me. She whimpers and snuggles; that's all I can do. Her ears must hurt more than mine. Year after year, the same celebration, every July until she died. She's deaf now, stuffed with cotton filling; when I cannot sleep she comforts me. © Kåre Enga [177.113] (31.juli.2020) (16 lines) FIREWORK DISPLAY taboo words: fireworks sparklers crackles bangs bright or any derivatives of these words. For:
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Once upon a time in Ontario There once was an asshole from Guelph who hid behind books on the shelf who would jump out to frighten the librarian from Brighton who blamelessly pissed on himself. Till one day some fine fellow elves, who highly respected themselves, decided this was tragic so they stripped him of magic and now he's an elf on a shelf. © Kåre Enga [177.112] (7.juni.2020) (10 lines, limerick) Prompt: elves For:
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In a garden Handsome beseeched with a voice so melliloquent we never guessed his words concealed malevolence. © Kåre Enga [177.111] (1.juli.2020)
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For: "The Daily Poem" July 1: petrichor. Antidote The ground thirsts in the silence as mud dries to dirt, turns to dust and leaves fall, too weak to hold on and we look with weary eyes at clouds that bring nothing but far off thunder, promises never kept, a fearsome taunt that threatens fires or powerful gusts lifting debris as we flee and cough until that moment when leaden skies have had enough, and overflowing, dump its despair over all of us turning dusty fields into a flood of mud that releases its pent up anger and angst in bursts of perfume that welcome us to dance in puddles and inhale the antidote of death. Petrichor! Before we knew your name, we knew that rain delighted worms and bugs, the birds, the flowers, the trees, and us with your aroma of renewal. © Kåre Enga [177.110] (1.juli.2020) |
This was my draft. Now edited and made a permanent item: "Abdication [108] (lines)" ** Image ID #2223063 Unavailable ** the May Queen is pissed it seems and throws her crown of daisies in the trash she's done with that it's June and time to change her tune no good girl now she scowls and plans devious ploys to fool the boys who think they're men. amen to that! they'll soon know where it's at those poor lost souls whose hearts as dark as coal cannot imagine darker still ready for the thrill to see them beg she lifts a leg to put on boots, festoons herself with lace and skulls; her place could use some new ones. she needs no gun she grabs her sceptre, claps to summons bats now heady: the moon is full she feels its pull she's ready. © Kåre Enga [177.108] (28.june.2020) 30 lines For:
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Wavelengths Sharp bones of pelicans and fish poked at the margins of her mind. Here where pebbles waged war on her soles as warm liquid tried to soothe them. This dank place of death and renewal where verge of mountain and water met, as if — to make a resolution, as if — to help her forget. Glass glistened among grey stones while seals watched from afar. Even here there were eyes — did they judge her? The day cooled as a breeze picked up; it blew her thoughts across the bay. There behind a rock she could not see, her lover summoned the spray — to send her back an answer. © Kåre Enga (24.juni.2020) [177.105] 17 lines For June 2020:
A DAY AT THE BEACH taboo words: beach,sand,sea,shells,beachball or any derivatives of these words |
Anaconda The snake left its cold cave, (the glaciers had melted) and wound its way through the canyon to rest. It woke; fresh meadows waved; it cavorted for centuries, searched for a companion to share its nest. But men ... threw spears at it. It slid back to its den and hid in its copper lined depths and slept. Legend faded to myth till new men sought treasures, brought loud machines to claim diamonds and rust. Belching copper innards, the snake tried to defend, but men abused, refused to show respect. They built fortunes and banks, raised up a great chimney, smelted ore, let leavings, poisoned the soil. The snake, hot and thirsty, wallowed in the river, sickened among stunted willows; slow death. Visit Anaconda, named for legends and myths; once a town built on lust and greed: now dust. Linked cinquains, 40 lines. A creative 'tale' about Anaconda, Montana (dying but not dead yet). For
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PP#2 "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Prompt: A time when you waved to a neighbor Once I waved to a neighbor... ... and the ocean between us rippled as fog lifted from repeated dreams and the stippling shades of pewter faded with the harsh light of noon, and I saw you clearly across the fence, that pile of stones dividing mine and yours, heat waving as if the breeze could catch it to blow these thoughts over where you've layed these past ten years. © Kåre Enga (16.juni.2020)[177.98] 9 lines, free verse |