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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: "Sentinel" "In Lagada, la vita" "A radiant moon has set" "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" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" "James Doohan, Scotty. Ombra mai fu. Eutin Guitar Orchestra" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
For
Prompt: 8. Try not to become a man of Call of Duty prowess, but rather try to become a man of legitimate Zombie Apocalypse fighting skills. Brandiwyn🎶  I never wanted to be the man in the uniform. My father had served in the Army and never talked about it much. As a boy I didn't even want to be a cub scout. I felt uneasy around other boys. They played rough and tough and I was small, undernourished and couldn't see. Hyper-masculinity wasn't for me. Dreams scribbled out on paper, digging up and rescuing abandoned plants, riding my bike down every street in the school district, talking to strangers, silent and withdrawn around family ... there was no He-Man hiding inside of me! I didn't believe in fighting. My parents wouldn't allow us to play with toy guns. We were to behave at all times. Our friends were chosen. Home and school weren't fun. I withdrew into the pages of our encyclopedias. I didn't have comic books. And my hero was named Lassie. We all fight for our own causes in our own way. At a young age I only had one... To surround myself with beauty and become invisible. And at times I succeeded. Much to my chagrin looking back. Nope. Come another war don't come looking for me. I'll be long gone or hiding. For when one lives outside the constraints of one's designated gender ... one becomes an enigma others do not respect and cannot figure out. |
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