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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" "Willowsong" 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." "In a garden of roses, baby" "Tupac and more poetry" "Guitarman, a gift for Gary. Aaron Marable's art." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
8th and final entry for June '22 edition of
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheEndingChangesEverything Let's begin with the trope this time. Can I write and then provide an ending that changes how the story is perceived? 65 degrees at noon. There will be some cloud-shedding drops later. There's a breeze blowing through the building; coffee clearing out my mind. Time to write "Coffee Melody". Coffee Melody Sweet caffeine, oh sweet dark brew. Add some cream, your lips will do. It was a troubled time in Torino. The Po was drying up. The Alps were crying, a landslide will bring me down. The Egyptians wanted their mummies back and I was out of coffee. Sure, Più A Meno would have some but they would also have food and my fat ass didn't need any more and, frankly, I didn't want to move. I just wanted coffee. Delivery? ... The young man stood there — stark naked. "You ordered coffee? It's hot and black but I can jerk off in it if you want some cream." The doorbell brought me to my senses. A young black-and-beautiful man stood there. "Você tem açúcar?" "Sim. Você tem café?" His smile warmed my morning, as did the coffee, while we sat on the hotel's terrace in Lisbon sipping and chatting. Brazilian? Angolan? Não. Alfonso was from Cabo Verde, as was the coffee. I wanted to taste those lips. ... But I wake up instead. It's a cool day, 65 degrees at noon in Montana, perhaps some cloud-shedding drops later. There's a breeze blowing through the old building; coffee clearing out my mind. Time to write "Coffee Melody". It was a troubled time in Torino. The Po was drying up. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.42] (3.juli.2022) ANALYSIS So I threw in some news. The drought in the Po Valley is serious. A glacier broke off and killed 6. Today's headline: Ice landslide on Mount Marmolada, Italy. Glacier Shard Avalanche. And I did drink my coffee. And it was breezy. And... I've been to Torino, visited the Egyptian Museum and shopped at the local PAM... cheap food. And I was desperate to write something so I could finish the challenge so I stole the title of a Thai BL series... A dream within a dream, a shell within a shell, much like Russian dolls... allows me to startle the reader more than once. And may reveal too much about my dreams! But then again... the reader will never know how much or how little is based on the truth.  ~400 words |
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