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 Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  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" "Waterlily" "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" "Koan on an October sky" 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" "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "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 |
| 1. Because we choose to live alone, surrounded by walls topped with barbed wire, with AI security that only allows entry to those who know the magic password... we will die alone. We're already on life-support. Yes, there are those who cherish family and friends; but, for many, estrangement deepens as they choose to build higher and thicker walls to bandage self-inflicted bruises. There's no hope of healing for those who prefer to die. 2. If I had a balloon, dear Tina Shadow Prowler-Spreading Love I would see nothing but orange haze at the horizon and dusty city streets below. If I were to rise higher even that would be shrouded by haze and smoke that chokes. The air kills the lungs and the will to live. There is no breeze to clear it out, no rain to scrub it. Birds sing at their own peril and folks behind masks slow down and speak in a hush. There's no rush to die as Death walks the alley ways of the poor and aged; weary, yet aware of the waste, sends minions to the hospitals for the bountiful harvest. Higher up there's nothing to see. All directions cringe a sickly orange-tinted grey. Even my shadow lay muted and no breeze freshens to send us on our way. I hang there, suspended, listless, too depressed to summon Death or beg to die. 3. Dear stevengepp, At least you can respond with a sentence! Most folks seem to grunt (two word max). And you've been very open about your precarious situation as well. I used to get 10-15 comments/day in my blog when I was homeless and destitute. Howaboutthat! I got 4 views/day in my blog over the last year. Twitter and Tik-tok videos get thousands of views in one hour (and numerous comments, many of them incoherent, ignorant or hateful). Nowadays no one seems interested in interactions unless it's flinging horse manure. Not only is discourse not civil, it's non-existent. One would think that writers might be different, but they aren't. The isolation of covid and the ability to cut oneself off from the real world (physically, mentally and emotionally) seems to delight many who 20 years ago would have been sitting in cafes and diners chatting with friends, who 15 years ago were chatting on facebook, who 10 years ago dropped social media (like WdC) or became addicted to sound bites. The 2016 USA election (7 years ago) was an example of how processing truths, lies and hatred had shifted. Now we have AI. I predict that within the next year I can program messages to be sent daily, monthly, or yearly to friends without any further input from me. At some point they will be Postcards from the Dead. 4. We will die alone, because we choose to. 58.373 |
| Teddy had a tantrum. Reliving childhood, he made everyone at his funeral miserable. Friends had gathered to put him under the sod. But, by God, Teddy wasn't about to rest-in-peace. He was last seen crawling out of his coffin. |
| การแปลนี้ไม่ดี แต่สำหรับตอนนี้... นี่คือนิยาย แต่ Pond = คุณ “เสียงตบมือข้างเดียว” มือของพอนด์จับมือของอีกคนไว้ มันนุ่มนวลและน่าตื่นเต้น เขาไม่สนว่าใครจะมองอยู่หรือเปล่า ไม่มีใครกล้าแสดงความคิดเห็นในขณะที่เขาเดินตัวตรงและแน่วแน่ไปยังแผงขายของในตลาด เขาหิว เขาหิวตลอดเวลา เสียงของตลาดเงียบลงเช่นเคย ไม่มีใครตะโกนเหมือนคนขายปลา พวกเขาขายตับไก่ย่างหรือหมูแผ่นติดไม้ กองแมลงเป็นกิโล เครื่องดื่มมะม่วงเย็น กล้วย หรือมะละกอในถ้วยเพื่อไป เขาซื้อสองอัน กลิ่นห่อหุ้มเขาด้วยกลิ่นที่เขารู้จักมาโดยตลอด แต่มือที่ประสานกันนั้นเป็นของใหม่สำหรับเขา เขาแบ่งปันความสุขอันเยือกเย็นของเขาในขณะที่เขาแนะนำเพื่อนใหม่ของเขาไปยังที่นั่งที่พวกเขาสามารถรับประทานอาหารได้ เขาเลือกของที่มีรสเปรี้ยวแต่ไม่เผ็ดเกินไป เขาตักข้าวและปลาหมึกใส่ช้อนด้วยส้อมแล้วยื่นให้เพื่อนร่วมทาง เขานึกถึงแม่และน้องสาวของเขาที่อยู่ห่างออกไปหลายชั่วโมง เขามักจะรู้สึกเหงาเมื่อรับประทานอาหาร วันนี้เขาไม่รู้สึกเหงาเลย เขายิ้ม. เขาตั้งใจจะไม่เหงาในคืนนี้หรืออีกหลายคืนที่จะตามมา ตอนเย็นเดินกลับบ้าน จับมือกัน สงบสุข จนกระทั่ง... ภวังค์ของเขาถูกขัดจังหวะด้วยเสียงโครมครามที่ดังมาจากทิศทางที่พวกเขากำลังมุ่งหน้าไป ดูเหมือนจะไม่มีใครสังเกตเห็นในขณะที่ตลาดพึมพำโดยไม่รู้ตัว แต่ที่ข้างตัวเขา เขาได้ยินเสียงหอบและรู้สึกว่ามือถูกปลดออก... เหมือนถอนหายใจ |
| And then I walked away Heaven? Only those who believe will enter. Then I wish you well. You're not coming with me? Tickets cost too much. But you only have to— Be someone I'm not. But... I wish you well. |
| Peace. As in "piece of cake"? No. Peace. As in piece of... No. Peace. As in no war. My baking never fights back! *sigh* Do you want a piece of pumpkin pie or not? Please. Here, eat it in peace. |
| The ceiling fell. Yeah, because the floor above it flooded. Well! I couldn't turn the faucet off. Because you stripped it. I only turned it on to take a bath. Because I told you to. And? You needed to. Oh. |
| "I want to be close to my friend's heart." "What's your favorite color?" "Red." "Granted." "Whoa. Why am I a red shirt?" "Every Sunday your friend will wear you." "Did you grant his wish too?" "Lace underwear isn't my specialty." |
| Grandmother made us pick nasturtiums from big white tires. Morning glories along the porch bloomed blue, snow-on-the-mountain white, portulaca? I loved planting marigolds in my own garden. I started at nine. Now? I remember cosmos and how generous they were. |
| "Beginning is tough; but, OMG, you do you; don't do Sally; only Sally can do Sally... and one Sally doing Sally is more than my heart can take! Bless her. Now pass the collards and black-eyed peas. I must admit that Sally's daughter Sarabel Lee knows how to cook. Just the right amount of bacon grease for the collards and the peas are soft but not mushy. Now about you. Not everyone can become a sheriff. It's more than sharp-shooting down on the range; but, you know that. You never did like to waste bullets and you do have a heart. And this town needs a sheriff with a heart, I'll have you know. Too bad Old Tom's ticker gave out on his 80th birthday. Now, he knew how to handle Sally. Yes, sirree. Pass the mashed potatoes, please. Yep, he'd please-and-thank-you all day long when Sal-Old-Gal showed up with shoo-fly pie. Yep. He knew how to handle Sally and that wannabe gang that always hung around her like a rhinestone necklace. But, you do you. Old Tom's ghost won't haunt you. Sally? Can't make no promises about that." © Kåre Enga [179.120] (2.januar.2023) For "Invalid Item" ~191 words |
| 1. "What's with the orb?" Naga had heard that question for over 200 years and always wondered... how many more times could they safely ignore it... before... The orb protected their soul. It had guided them through darkness and light, danger and safety. To Naga it was never clear which was which. But the orb knew. Naga nodded, smiled and said nothing. They avoided people whenever they could. The balance of yin and yang that flowed through them changed with the phases of the moon. They had learned that most humans couldn't handle that. They had been born a boy along the Mekong when the bubbles burst forth in fireballs as they did every Full moon in October. But family became concerned by their androgynous appearance and behavior as they wore a dress as comfortably as a sword. Neighbors whispered that they were the child of Phaya Nak, Guardian of the Mekong. Every New Year they felt a masculine arousal. Every New Moon they felt the pull of Mother Earth's womb. Tomorrow would be the beginning of another cycle. Naga had traveled north to the mountains of Yunnan in search of the Source of her Being. The orb lead the way. Now the orb glowed green. They scurried through the broken stones. Danger was approaching. They found a tree and leaned their back into it. A shimmering figure clothed in white shuffled silently through the snow. "Go away", they whispered. "I won't buy what you're selling." "Not even if it will take you to your destiny?" "Not even then." Naga knew their destiny. It was the path they needed to focus on. "But..." "There are no shortcuts to your proffered Heaven, only a highway to a promised Hell." The figure vanished as they knew it would, as so many had vanished before. Before. So many boring "befores". The centuries of searching for their Source were wearing them down. There was little new to amuse them in their wanderings. They glanced once at the small box left behind, turned and continued trudging through the snow. Some paths needed to be made not followed. Naga ignored the encounter. Curiosity had killed the cat. Many a dragon and wolf had cajoled them with that. Mere words. But a snow tiger had shown them what it really meant with its fangs, claws and bad breath. They had been doubly wary ever since. "Are your a witch or a warlock." They turned to find a small bundle of fur jumping from footprint to footprint. That it could talk did not surprise them. That it was rainbow colored merely amused them. That it somehow knew what they were... nah, that was no mystery to non-humans. It was its cuteness that frightened them. They'd have to reinforce their mental and emotional guards. Naga muttered some words under their breath. "That may protect you from me but ancient worn-out words won't protect you from yourself." This was no newborn kitten. "You try to hide your true self. You divide yourself into pieces and then arm each one with weapons. You wander around as if lost." Naga's nostrils flared. "The orb is your problem." They gasped. "The soul that has been trapped in it wants to be set free." 2. Naga trudged, leaving footprints that Fluff followed. Everything had to have a name they figured. They couldn't pronounce whatever Fluff had said was his... hers... its? They were uncertain and uncaring. Naga herself was half female, half male... both and neither. The mountains soaring above them promised nothing but ice; the path through the plains promised nothing but freezing cold. There was only one set of footprints though. Fluff didn't trust the soft loose snow. Neither did Naga as they plowed through hard-packed drifts and strolled through snow demons that appeared out of nowhere. Neither fazed them as their globe glittered in amusement. "When will you release your soul? Why not now?" Fluff had a knack of asking annoying questions. They broke their vow of silence to answer. "Where not when." "Why not here?" A good question. But they weren't at the Source and... they needed the orb to guide them to it. "And after centuries of going around in circles you still trust the orb?" Fluff was a pain in their unending cycles, an eddy in their steady flow. They planted their staff in a snow bank and turned to face Fluff. They saw the faces of their forefathers dancing in its eyes. 3. "This is a good place as any." "Yes, it's time." A litany of intercession washed over them, wafted through them, entered places long locked, the keys lost. They could smell the earth thawing, buds eager to burst forth. The mountains chimed in their crystal cathedrals, icicles tinkled, the snow became a blanket of warmth. Naga dared not move. "They are frightened." "Yes, they are." "Yes, they both are." "Forgive us, forgive us, forgive us..." They let out a scream, a descant, a booming bass. A landslide threatened to bury them all. The orb cracked. "We accept you as you are." "Accept yourself." "We are sorry." Naga fell to the ground. The snow-mounds broke their fall. The cold flakes coming down blanketed their weary form as Fluff perched on top of their head and purred. 4. Naga sat up suddenly. Fluff growled at being disturbed, then spoke. "You're awake." The shattered orb sat at Naga's feet. "My orb!" "Yes. It broke into shards. You won't need it from here on." "The voices..." "...are gone." "But..." "You're you now." Naga looked in a melted puddle. The face grimacing back was soft, somehow familiar, albeit with a scanty beard. Was it half male, half female? Both? "You'll get used to it." "This is the Source?" "No. The Source was always within you. Your soul remained protected in the orb until you were ready to let it rejoin you. Now you are one. Now you can stop wandering." Naga looked around and saw a flower blooming. "How long have I been here?" "Long enough. But now I must go. I despise rain and mud." It began to sprinkle as Fluff disappeared in a puff of rainbow colored air. © Kåre Enga [179.116] (31.desember.2022) ~1035 words... based on the image 2175395. |
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