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 |
Double Espresso, please! Put off! Put off! those charcoal thoughts that dim the morning's glee. And don't come back until they're gone when sunshine sets you free. © Kåre Enga [181.8] (9.april.2024) |
UNDER CONSTRUCTION [Spring will come but not for me] Spring will come but not for me said the orange leaf to the tree My time was fun but now it's done. I'm longing to be free. but I have heard that spring will come, your sap rise from the ground. Another bud, another leaf will cover up your crown. The maple sadly waved a branch she'd heard this every fall and smiled as she fell asleep until next springtime's thrall when trunk will groan with rising sap she'll gladly burst forth buds of fresh green leaves and blooms for bees to make and set new seeds that grow and grace these naked hills through winter's snowy lull adorn with summer's emeralds, rubies ablaze each fall. © Kåre Enga [181.7] (1.april.2024} |
In the beginning We slipped into each other effortlessly — like otters into cool waters — the river's eddies barely lapping nearby shores. We adored those moments mesmerized looking out at stars, the warmth of our slick skin melting the ice flows beneath us. Thus, our thrusts forged gems as heat and pressure could barely hold back the steamy ▼ eruption of what we created. Oh, Zmitri, what eternity we created! © Kåre Enga [181.6zm] (8.april.2024) |
blast of wind — saggy pants stoop to pick up scattered red leaves © Kåre Enga [181.5] (5.april.2024) |
Softball (circa 1986) the black cat chatters — two birds mate oblivious outside her window © Kåre Enga [181.4] (3.april.2024) |
It will not snow today, unless it snows in Hell. Nor will I burn for you under your spell I cannot live with lies, but only for myself. Time for me to fly and leave this mortal shelf. I've sought your cave for shelter but found it empty, cold; yet, thought that you were better than me alone, It's time for me to search now. Hope stays somewhere near where spring and autumn rule, but never here. It's not that I don't love you but whether you love me. Do you think that I'm some fool? I set you free to happily find another, to somehow stay alive. I can only send you love that you may thrive. © Kåre Enga [181.3] (1.april.2024) |