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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 |
| 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 |
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