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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 |
| No answer your dusty robe hangs outside the closet — inside bones await the key © Kåre Enga [182.33a] (17 syllables) Task Prompt: Write a haiku that breaks the rules of traditional Western haiku—but still feels like a haiku. Note: 17 syllables is haiku-ish (not a haiku) in my opinion and haikus don't really have a title. More like a haiku (still needs work imho): bones inside a closet — dusty bolted door [182.33b] (11 syllables, 1, 2, or 3 lines) Another breaking of rules: Waiting for a call Without friends I sat inside my closet, hid for what seemed an eternity. I waited over twenty-six years, for what seemed almost an eternity, then we met in South Carolina, our friendship destined for eternity. I rejoiced for twenty-four short years, knowing we would last an eternity. I haven't heard your voice for two decades, must I wait until eternity? My wrinkled robe hangs outside the closet, inside bones await eternity. [182.33c] (6 lines of 19 syllable lines, like a ghazal or a vahid) |
| Baaad dust bunnies We wrap ourselves around a firestorm, shroud ourselves inside a waterspout. We seek to settle our dispute with fire, wind, and water. © Kåre Enga [182.32] Prize Prompt: The most nefarious thing dust bunnies are likely to plot. |
| Duty Like a pigeon on a mission I strut to-and-fro each task an homage to other people's goals, Responsibilities assigned from without, a loyalty that comes from within. What burden it can be to stick to roles that do not suit me. Truly, my part is only part of the whole; but with all due respect to myself I must let go. I must unleash commitments that weigh me down. What onus it is to have duties one cannot carry nor carry out. Who asks the camel what breaks its back. © Kåre Enga (24.april.2025) [182.37] 13 lines Duty synonyms: 1. responsibility obligation commitment obedience allegiance loyalty faithfulness fidelity respect deference reverence homage fealty 2. job task chore assignment commission mission function charge part place role concern requirement responsibility obligation work burden onus pigeon office |
| Earth Everyday The Sly-ones piss on us. The Ravens just soar on the winds, never touching ground. The Gryffin-fires just burn it all down. All live on this same rocky sphere; but we humble Huffers inherited the dirt. With that guy Sly we fashion mud; we join Rave to spread the dust; we build bricks with old Gryff's flame. No blame, no shame, no glory. No one knows our faces nor our names. We are the salt of the dried up puddle, the honey, the spice and vinegar, the bitter-sweetness of life itself. We are servants of these fertile soils. We never lord over it. Our power resides with our healing charms and our respect for ALL. We will always count our blessings and heed the curse, "We have given you this Earth, if you can keep it." witches warlocks work the roots — trees flower and fruit © Kåre Enga (22.april.2025) [182.35] I always think kind thoughts for THANKFUL SONALI 18 WDC Years! |
| Are you happy when I'm sappy? Roses bled red and violets wept too Until the day that I met you. And now the sun beams whenever you talk. Now flowers bloom wherever you walk. © Kåre Enga (20.april.2025) [182.30] |
| Dear Frank Dear Frank, Remember our adventures! How I tamed your wrath, how your fire roared, burning all that stood in it's path. I rode you into combat as blood splattered and gushed, then we fought until battles were won and foes hushed. We laughed together as waterfalls splashed! And watched dying embers glow beneath ash. But dragons are dragons, must be true to their kind. Tales seldom end happily. I truly don't mind. Still, dear friend, I wish we could chat like we did. I'm lonely, it's quiet inside my own head. © Kåre Enga (20.april.2025) [182.29] 10 lines "A quiet poem..." |
| As we rot Disciples held their nose, raised their robes, and walked around the rotting corpse. The dead dog had beautiful teeth, said Jesus. Who dared disagree? But we do. We point out other's faults, forget the good, amplify the bad. So shout out loud: Praise be to God, what beautiful teeth we all once had. © Kåre Enga (17.april.2024) [182.27] 8 lines https://www.huffpost.com/entry/jesus-and-the-dead-dog_b_1265657 |
| My Lifelong Friend Two days after the Ides of April, the Tax-Man looms casting shadows gloomier than the collapsing market. He wants a pound of tears and flesh regardless of whether the crops came in or customers paid their debts. Life is such a bummer. First you slobber then you work until skin wrinkles, teeth fall out and knees no longer bend. Give me Death — at least it ends when My Lifelong Friend takes me by the hand to a neverland where taxes cannot follow. © Kåre Enga (15.april.2025) [182.25] 12 lines 122.825 |
| Age of Iron Pyrite On a soft day over Cashel Rock 'twas morning mist and evening rainbows. whilst in London black skies loomed over noble greed and unseen hardship. And cloud blanketing 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 nostalgia that they longed for. But life blooms forever anew to those who only see 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 |
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