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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 ![]() ![]() 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 ![]() ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
Iron Pyrite Age On a soft day over Cashel Rock it was morning mist and evening rainbows. In London black skies loomed over noble greed and unseen poverty. The skies of Düsseldorf and Dortmund rained missiles on the unsuspecting. How could anyone know that this — this would be the Golden Age that in the minds of beloved grandchildren would be the nostalgia they longed for. But life bloomed anew forever to those who only saw clear skies and bluebells ignoring the bruise upon the land amidst the weeping forget-me-nots. © Kåre Enga (14.april.2025) [182.24] 14 lines |
Here not here — Songkran 2568 Today, hills are tinting green; wary buds are getting ready. And in Bangkok it's hot and streamy. The mountains are alive with sleet and cold white rain. In Chiang Mai they splash water at each other. Montana's cold is slowly losing its grip. It's greening. Dusty soils await the rains in Sisaket. I'm inside at noon, writing in the cold and dreaming: Oh, to be dowsed in Udon Thani! © Kåre Enga (13.april.2025) [182.23] 122.781 |