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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" "La Bella Vita" "Mauve Mavis" 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!" "Czernina (Dirk's-blood-soup?) and Murv Jacob's mural" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Masked, Houston's undertaker cuts grandma's hair 6 words...
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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rescuing abandoned plants, riding my bike down every street in the school district, talking to strangers, silent and withdrawn around family ...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. |
For
10.You have to look through the rain to see the little green imp pulling on the threads of the rainbow. Invasion of the Insanity   To see unicorns you have to believe in them. The Little Green Imp sat with the Green Arrow. They weren't exactly friends. Other than being as green as Kermit they had little in common. A blue pixie started the trouble. Grabbing a cookie from the effervescent blue Cookie Monster was not wise, not wise at all. A tug of war over the last chocolate chip ensued and the One-eyed Purple People Eater was called in to sort out the crumbs. What a mess! Elmo showed up in flaming red and that put an end to that. The Scarlet Pimpernel hid out of sight writing it all down. He was there to investigate, not intervene. Caught between the Orange Squeezer and the Yellow Sports Bra, the Golden Rule just kept going over his litany, "Do unto others ..." The Little Green Imp started to pull on the threads of the Rainbow, but Green Arrow shook his head. The Unicorn nodded approval. |
For
9. You have to look through the rain to see the oncoming bus, dump truck, and motorcycle. Solace.Bring  I was looking the other way. Smack. The slash of rain streaked the window panes west to east ... at a 45 degree angle. It hailed in the mountains. Kayakers in the river just kept riding the curl of Brennan's Wave, oblivious to anything wet. I closed my window when the cold breath tried to invade my personal space. But I wasn't prepared for the hammering in the hallway. Life in an old hotel without ghosts is normally boring ... more like a snooze. It was just my new neighbor putting up sound insulation... (ironic?) But life wasn't always so placid. Oh, it looked placid... I was blinded to reality as a child. Didn't know how fortunate I was. Didn't know how deprived I was. Never knew that I wasn't unique and that I could be me and still valued. Never had a friend I could confide in until I was 26. Was blind-sided 24 years later when my best friend severed my lifeline. Didn't see it coming. I didn't even know I was refused a college scholarship until almost 50 years later when my mother let that slip. Life could've been different? It only seems that way in the light of day. I was raised in the dark where secrets were never spoken. So I bumbled through my 20s and 30s and 40s ... and ... I didn't see my crash and burn. I just grabbed for something within my reach, forgetting I was falling through thin air. I needed support. But it probably wouldn't have mattered much. I can be fairly hard-headed and far-sighted when I should be paying attention to details in front of me. So I was looking the wrong way. Smack. Haven't been right in the head since. |
Have you ever asked someone what their favorite poem is? It's not as easy as you would think for them to name an author and a poem with the reason why. One of mine is Marge Piercy's The Moon is Always Female. I was trying to understand women in general. Please recommend a couple to us and why. 💙 Carly  made me do this!  As I told her:"Joyce Kilmer's "I think that I shall never see, a poem lovely as a tree..." From my childhood. And all the haiku of Basho, Buson and Issa I was raised on. Reading poems by Costa Rican teenagers today, Utopia. I like my "I, Katrina" poem, but Patricia Smith in "34" gives each person a voice. #18 is hard... Trees by Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/12744/trees Why this poem? It's the first I can remember! Plus, I loved my elm tree. I was awed by trees more than poetry! Children learn what they are exposed to. My favorite book was poetry and images from Japan. Silly little poems ... but ... they spoke to me. I've known haiku all my life (at least the English translation and versions). When I visited Japan in 2015 it was as if I understood. Because I did. When I saw old plum trees... I knew. In my poem "I, Katrina" I give voice to the storm. In "34" Patricia Smith gives voice to 34 residents of a nursing home that drowned. Very powerful voices. Giving voice ... that's what many of us do. |
4th entry for:
3. That's always an interesting concept when you try to mind your own f***ing business then you end up on face book or twitter. plainsue Ooooooooooooooooooooooooo. I better not go there! Yep. It's hilarious trying to explain 'white privilege' to white folk who have the screaming 'what-about-me's. Yeah, I get that you weren't born with a golden spoon up your crack so why-the-h-e-double-hockey-pucks did you vote for someone who was? Did you really expect compassion from someone who mocks disabled people?  Yes, I do understand that life has been tough. Want to live two years in a homeless shelter? Or would you rather get bashed in the head at least three times (that I remember). I'm sure my pain is no greater than thous.Ah ... but this isn't facebook and the people here are intelligent angels  . Sorry ...  I can only hold it in for so long. Howevuh ... most writers are communicators and thinkers  and warm heart-filled people  . Not.So, yeah. I could explain: 1. why climate and weather are not the same. Affirm that climate is changing. 2. that sex and gender are not the same thing. That neither is binary. 3. that privilege due to wealth is real. 4. that that's not what 'white privilege' is all about. It's what doesn't happen... 5. that trauma resides in the body. It's not what happened it's how the body stored it. 6. that not everybody is Christian and that morals, and values differ. 7. that virtues seem to be universal, but not always equally valued nor expressed the same way. 8. that Queen Scarlet ruled that a List of Five is sufficient. 9. that I wish she Scarlett were reading this.10. that the best part of fish and chips is the mushy peas. And so on and so forth. BUT WOULD ANYONE LISTEN? Still, many writers (here or there) ARE truly nice people, even if most bloggers do not care to create community. But nothing NOTHING compares to the insanity on spacebook. It's s***-flinging time all the time, at any hour on any day. Few want an intelligent conversation. Fewer are intelligent or eloquent or ... Cipherville. That's what spacebook is. A bunch of aliens sowing conspiracy theories or flinging racist comments and fake news and then  "what's your problem" ... when I try to be rational (a stretch I admit) and calmly (a real ssttrreettcchh) explain reality. Or at least share my experience of travel (43 countries) having lived in 3 countries and 5 states, 17 years in an inner-city African-American neighborhood, 40 years of dealing with issues of unity ... I even have a B.A. ... but what the hell do I know!  They have an opinion based on having read ONE book and having lived all their lives in the same town or region surrounded by family and grade-school friends. Gosh-darn, maybe I should never have left home. Only the stupid ones leave, right? So there's my rant. Spacebook is quicksand ... and a slow angry death. So... I'm not always right but at least I don't do twitter. |
3rd entry for:
11. You'll find love when you prepare the ritual correctly. Chibithulu (Alyssa) 12. You'll find love when you give up and shoot cupid. Spring in my Sox  $n&& N gn^! &u*s asg+be N !bp# !sm! ... rmkas ... N mr ^p> !sm! ks>. #sbhm#) >hs m^)$sb n) 42. I bet St. Patrickraken  can decipher the above ... If only I could. I'm great at making connections. Have even played Cupid! But close intimate relationships have alluded me. It's a puzzle with missing pieces. I seem to be romantically attracted to rocks and glaciers and those wise enough to know trouble and how to avoid it. I'm passionate and that's too much for some folks... plus annoying, quirky, scattered, depressed, anxious, worried, gloomy... not exactly everyone's favorite slice of pie! We won't talk about sex other to say that it frightened and confused me when I was younger and that's not healthy. Growing up in a box didn't help either. I needed to find someone to squeeze the s*** out of me like toothpaste from a tube. Perhaps that's too icky an analogy. It's taken decades of never giving up for me to admit defeat. After-all, I'm a Hufflepuff. I ought to be able to devise something better than a coercive love potion! I mean Scamander was able to calm dragons ... and Hiccup was able to train them. Are humans that impossible? That answer is clearly yes. At least for me. Like a Hufflepuff I'm loyal. If I fall in love I don't fall out of love. I just pine away. I keep people close to my heart. I've tried as I've matured, then gotten older, now decrepit, to at least let them know. But love is tricky. If the potion is polluted in the least it dissolves into lust or longing or ... just doesn't work. Pure Love is best, but I'm too human for that. I'm about ready to shoot Cupid. But Hiccup didn't have to: |
2nd entry for
Prompt #6. Today you are annoying, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is more likely to get sucker punched in the face by me than you. Lenox Did I fail to mention that I don't like pank?  Too bad.I'm annoying. One can argue whether my personality is ENFP or INFP, whether I'm Ron Weasley or Luna Lovegood, or whether I belong in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw (I'm a Hufflepuff). Some people find me inspiring! intelligent! friendly! engaging! Let me tell you like it is ... I'm annoying. I'm geeky like Luna. I really don't fit in. I know a little about a lot of things. I see connections but can't always adequately demonstrate them to others. I've been known to lose myself in dreams. I can be as quiet as a rainbow no one else can taste. I'm scattered like Ron. Somedays ... most days ... I'm easily distracted. And I'm passionate, oft times speaking before I think. Oh, when I travel? I've been known to barge in. But I'm not always certain that I should and sometimes I slink away. Believe me, this is NOT charming. Few people point it out because they are truly nice people who would rather not offend. But at times when I'm chatty I can read what's unspoken: GO AWAY! STFU! I don't know that I've been sucker-punched, but I've been bashed. At least three times that come to mind. I do try to tone myself down. It just doesn't always work out that way. And I'm not about to change. |
First entry for June's
Journalistic Intentions #7: The only reason I would take up jogging is so that I could fit back into my Wonder Woman costume. Whiskerfacebythefireplace  I'm Wonder Woman! Yeah, me and Donald both. Back in the day he wore it better. For some reasons the sequins drew attention and ... he was ALL about grabbing the most attention! At least I knew when to exit. Donnie John would get up on stage and forget when and how to get off. Fell flat on his face more than once. Never fazed him. Me? I tried to focus on what needed to be done. I figured it wasn't all about me me me ... like some folks. Also, the quicker I finished the easier on my crotch. Those costumes suck&bind and are never fitted properly. Ah ... but that was way-back-when, before Donnie went on to be a big star-in-his-own-mind. Heard he ended up with a couple trophy wives ... and now lives in a big white house. No word whether his three sons do drag like their father did though. Heard they don't have the guts. Just as well. Word is that Don-boy still likes his makeup and costumes.  I gave them up. Decided to get a life. Plus, after the disco days my body plumped. It's been a stuggle ever since. Ah ... but to wear that old costume and save the world! It still hangs in a closet mocking me. I never throw anything out. Maybe if I jogged? Yeah, right. Do I really look like I need a heart attack? I should begin by walking down those stairs, going out the door and just keep walking. If I go far enough I might even find ABBA and 1982, fit in those star-spangled jeans and dance like a Queen! I wonder whether Donald ever invites royalty over. I should call. Thanks to Elisa the Bunny Stik  and Robert Waltz  for encouraging me to write this ... well ... not this! but to write. 56.919 |
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