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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" "In search of Iris" "Boise City" "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" "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "ENFP, what are you?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Under the Ferris wheel I see you waving down at me. You in the clouds, happy. Me happier, safe on the ground. I do not seek to soar. Far vistas are best seen across flat fields of wheat, not dangling above empty air, no one to catch me. I see you falling, falling. I'm happy that you are happy, happy to have a heart that bounds, but, I will remain rooted, happily hugging ground. ** Image ID #2216333 Unavailable ** For
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| Mother and son I see it in your shuttered eyes, how you strive to stay cheerful in your jaunty cap. But yellow never suited you. You need to unlock your inner heart, leave it open to the world. Until then I stand behind you, my long nose never looking down on you, my hooded eyes watching over you, wondering whether I was good enough. And yet ... I am enough. And so are you. This too shall pass. You will know better times, for the signs are out there. Choose one that gives you hope. Make sure it isn't yellow. K.E. (20.mars.2020) [177.1] ** Image ID #2215682 Unavailable ** Written for
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| Sitting in my bed, listening... ********** Chicken sizzles in the pan, herbs de Provence, sweet perfume. Lavender 'blooms' this winter, yet I eat alone. ********** Dust fills my lungs when breezes enter window gaps. Ka-choo, ka-choo, and you too! said to no one there. ********** Geraniums cry, Water! I comply. Housebound, they are my only true friends at end of winter. ********** Pound, pound, a scurry of feet. I recognize my neighbor. Even sounds have signatures that break this silence. ********** My tan suede jacket hangs limp waiting for days of no rain. I wrap myself in fake fur. I can't wait till Spring. Kåre Enga (7.mars.2020) The elements of Kouta are: 1. a poem in 4 lines. (an occasional 5th line may appear) 2. a stand alone poem but often is accompanied by other Koutas with the same theme. 3. syllabic, variable odd numbered syllable lengths, the most common patterns are written in lines of alternating 7-5-7-5 syllables or 7-7-7-5 syllables. 4. secular, personal, themes of ordinary life 5. often includes onomatopoeia. A word that imitates the sound associated with its meaning such as "BooM" or "hiss" |
I commented on a post by Jeff  :"Maybe other writers don't have the same fear of failure, and sense of impostor syndrome that I often struggle with..." For most of us? Only if we are not being honest.  I love some of the contests because they prime-the-pump and get me into writing daily. I can also stretch my wings. I write flash fiction now because I wanted to try it on for size. Snug fit, but shorter is better for me because I'm more of a poet than story teller. Can you break down your writing goals into bite-size objectives? Or just say to yourself... I have X amount of time and I'm just going to write and see where the pencil, pen, keyboard, recording device takes me. I read, write, take photos, talk to people ... because I have to ...to stay alive. Whatever works best for you? Go for it." So... Am I a cheerleader  or just an observer  ? Many writers here at WDC just write for themselves  , others form a tight-knit community who love to chit, chatter and have fun.  Not me. I'm not a fun-guy. I'm far too serious. I comment because you-all inspire me. You prime-my-pump of creativity. If I can provide some support, maybe that's as-good-as-it-gets. 56.706 |
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