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 |
Weightless The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift as my eyes looked elsewhere and my thoughts began to drift. What was once a promise unraveled with the lies I'm as much at fault as you, more so in your eyes. What at first seemed weightless began to take on weight as the burdens of two lives added and multiplied. I want to go back when thoughts had wings of feathers, when once we soared together weightless through the sky. © Kåre Enga (30.april.2025) [182.46] 16 lines The weightlessness of us as things around begin to shift is a line from |
No faggots Children laugh and poke fun at me, do they think that I am deaf? No faggots are allowed, they say, we beat them till they're dead. And my cheeks are burning, blushing as I hide. I'm not welcome in this town. Am I welcome in this life? I can be whatever I want as long as they agree, long as I'm not too this or that they'll smile and nod at me. As long as I'm not a faggot, long as they can't see. But my cheeks are burning, blushing as I hide. I'm not welcome in this town. Am I welcome in your life? And I want to be your friend. Am I welcome in this life? © Kåre Enga [182.45] (30.april.2025) 20 lines Based on No Gringo. |
Pink portulaca Red geraniums are getting old; the green onions wilt. The bird-of-paradise may never bloom; Yet, spring has sprung outside the window. Today one pink portulaca brightens up the view. If I were a flower in your garden I would blossom as well. Unless I were a jade tree, jealous of the others, only blooming after decades, long past our prime. I stop to smell blue iris, admire blue columbine, then pluck two dandelions to brighten up the hall. Spring has sprung outside the window and here I sit aware that this spring may be my last and these words never read. But here inside my windows, pink portulaca blooms and nasturtiums strut their finery as April yields to May. © Kåre Enga (30.april.2025) [182.44] 24 lines April theme #3: home/garden for "Merit Badge Magic" ![]() |