Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel" Reader's Choice of Poems: "Zmitri" "In Lagada, la vita" "A radiant moon has set" "Speak soft my name" "Plain cover jacket" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" : "Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Winter: 18 Mas'il (December 29)" "In a garden of roses, baby" "Half-naked dreams? 'Getting the stain out of genes!" "Poems inspired by maps. Remember 1963?" FACES PLACES Kåre Enga ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
High. Low. Hello? No. Hi? Lo! Oh... Lo... like Hi and Lois? Not Lois, not a person named Lo. "Lo, the nightingale singeth upon the tree..." Oh, Lo's a bird? Just be quiet or you'll never hear the nightingale singing. |
"So small, like glitter flitting between flowers." Jojo-the-dwarf sat in awe at tiny flickers of light gathered by the hundreds. A truck swooshed them out of the way. They gathered again. Safety in numbers. Jojo smiled, then joined his friends. |
Thinking of Cubby~Cheering House Florent!'s June prompt for "Chapter One " . Waiting for Jack Forgotten among the faded-to-sepia zoysia, all color drained after Summer fled south... one lone baseball faces the coming cold and Jack Frost's arrival. Will Jack want to play ball? silence on the field — a round object hidden by bleached out grass Kåre Enga [180.52] (3.juni.2023) I wonder whether I could make this go somewhere? I write/do bittersweet better than humor. I imagine Pollyanna putting bandages on her scars after getting hit by a bat. Horror, not my preferred genre, would entail tearing them off again after they're infected with maggots. Fortunately, Jack, Pollyanna's brother, is fond of her. Will he pick up the ball? Ah... Chapter 2. |
At the bottom he lies crushed, the crystal vase of his soul broken. Yet this weight of water holds bones and thoughts in place. In the shallows all sorrow would be released. He returns to the depths clenching his treasures. |
A golden retriever smiles, happy to be loved, happier to return that love. Throw something his way. Nothing's ever lost, not a ball, not a toy, not one stray happy thought. He always finds what's tossed. For him, that's enough. |
I've never broken my heart. Torn it a few times? Sure. Broken bones? A few. What about promises? Ah, you've got me. And me in the mirror? I've learned to love you... but... I'll always remember... how you hurt me. |
My resolution: give up being perfect as there was never a past—present—future that was perfect. I loafed. I lied. Spent all my money on a lottery ticket— And won! I swear, goodness had nothing to do with it.1 Footnotes |
Crow Ashishishe stood at bat. He'd show the Braves2 who was brave today. He wore his name "crow"3, like an emblem, in honor of his namesake4. Strike 3? Tomorrow, he grinned, and all the tomorrows left. Apsáalooke5 always rose from defeat6. Footnotes |
Alberth stood there ignoring me in Uvita. We'd met before; he'd seemed friendly. I thought... maybe he didn't recognize me? I said nothing. I saw him again back home and mentioned this. He said, Oh, that's my identical twin Ivan. |
Stench fills the air anew, afresh — again. Durian — abounding gift of SiSaKet — an abundance tongue-sweet, maw-filling, nose-frightening. You eat. I eat. We inhale each other. Folks stay far away, say nothing about us holding hands. Afterwards, they'll leave us alone. |