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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: "'heart's home'" "Glice" "In search of Iris" "At three" "Starbeams on Tulsa" 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?" "Tupac and more poetry" "Il pleure (poem). We R puddle-luscious, aujourd'hui." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| The Search "Share Your Faith" What aspect of your faith journey are you currently exploring or seeking clarity on? Submitted:
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| Not-so-kinder eggs I was fired by DOGE and y'know about the price of eggs so I snuck my 3 kids into the White House egg hunt. They collected 9 eggs. I was hoping for a dozen. *sigh* Anyhoo, they each were painted, with pretty ribbons and a message. What did they say! Well...  Happy Easter to all, including the Radical Left Lunatics.  [you're] scheming so hard to bring Murderers, Drug Lords, Dangerous Prisoners, the Mentally Insane.I had to stop to breathe. My job was in enforcement.  [you let] well known MS-13 Gang Members and Wife Beaters, back into our Country. Happy Easter also to the WEAK and INEFFECTIVE Judges and Law Enforcement Officials. [you] are allowing this sinister attack on our Nation to continue. [you allowed] an attack so violent that it will never be forgotten!At this point I has hoping no one had seen me, hoping they'd forgotten my face.  [you] manipulated the Auto Pen (perhaps our REAL President!).I started to laugh and cried out, I wish!  [you] CHEATED in the 2020 Presidential Election in order to get this highly destructive Moron Elected I wish you, with great love, sincerity, and affection, a very Happy Easter!!!I took photos, then threw out the ribbons, put the messages around a staked voodoo doll, and burned them all. And the eggs? I never waste eggs — too expensive. I peeled them — carefully (hoping they weren't coated with poison or injected with venom), then cut them in two, removed the yeller yolks and placed them on my dead grandmother's platter hoping she wasn't spinning in her grave. Who came? Well Big Balls showed up offering to help; but, I'd already put my knives away. How did you serve them? Deviled. wc ~292 |
| Black feathers The Old Crow alighted on the rocks and spoke to us. "There's more to the color green than money, more fragrance in flowers than a pile of filthy old bills you exchange for rust-bucket toys. The sound of a babbling brook is musical in more ways than words of hate and vengeance ever will be. We listened in silence. Crows remember, and aren't beyond retaliation themselves. Silence seemed safer. "You say nothing and do less. Neither acquiescence nor apathy will save you." The wind picked up in hopes of ruffling our feathers. We wrapped our ignorance tighter around us to protect us from the storm that was surely coming. "You arise from dust and return as such but forget to stay grounded while alive. You will die soon enough." We shifted sore butts in hope... "There is no hope in avoiding suffering, only the courage to accept and let go." We stared at the gathering clouds. "You cannot wish away the rain without condemning others to a flood, nor wish for sun without starvation and drought." It was as if our thoughts were being read. "I'm not a mind-reader; but, I have countless seasons of experience. I've also listened to the wisdom of generations of my kind. We hold onto knowledge in our collective memory." Old Crow arose and stood before us, giving each one a black feather as the storm broke in a rush of wind and hail, leaving us with but a word. "Remember." © Kåre Enga (8.april.2025) [182.18] ~250 wc |
| Won Hook with: "Round 21 " "I look like you. I speak like you. I'm not you." "How do you know?" AiX looked around the room of centuplets. "My barcode is different from yours." 65.504 |
| The bell rang for the vesper hour. It was time for Brother Jesse to enter and begin to chant. All chores not-yet-done would have to wait. He smiled at the mice scurrying around the kitchen. There was only so much time to gather the crumbs left over from the afternoon cake. The monks would not suffer them to be seen after prayers. The music of the monks soothed the mice as they hurried. No one worried at Saint Mary of the Seas. High and dry overlooking Dingle bay and the woolly land lice, life went on regardless of the tempests storming the world. There was a time to bake, a time to eat, a time to gather crumbs, and always time for prayers. The mice knew the routines of each and every monk. The vesper hour and the calm before twilight was everyone's favorite time of day. Tonight though... tonight the bells began to toll and the music became screeching bagpipes, fireworks, sirens and bombs. There was no time to sneak a piece of cake or even sweep up the crumbs. Mice and monks looked around in shock as warriors clashed outside the walls. The doors were bolted shut. The cacophony outside had shattered the harmonies inside Saint Mary of the Seas. Brother Jesse and the monks chanted all night long, their quavering voices pleading. The mice huddled in forgotten corners. By morning's light the green grass was black and bloody. Matins would have to wait. The weary monks went in search of the wounded but still living. They chanted prayers over the dead. The bells stayed silent and the mice? The mice sat with their crumbs and gave thanks for what they had gathered. Brother Jesse sighed. There would be no cake baked today. © Kåre Enga (21.mars.2025) [182.1] Prompts: bell, cake, music. Flash ~296 words (won daily contest) |
| The trickster quietly entered the burrow by way of its exit, plainly marked EXIT. He didn't expect to catch Mr Badger at home. The word in the woods was that he was away visiting his niece. "Come sit with me awhile. I'll put on tea." The intruder wrapped his tail around himself and decided it would be best to just sit on the proffered pillow and not ask questions. And... it was raining outside. "It's... nice and cozy in here." "Yes, Beatrix likes it that way." He noticed a small frame hanging over a writing table. "Is that... ?" "Here's your cup. It's a tad hot. Sorry." "If that's Miss... well she owes me a story." "How so?" "I remember her watching me by the Chicken Coop taking notes." "Do tell." "You sound amused. No. I wasn't counting chickens. I only eat mice... now and then... and an occasional..." The front door opened and in walked Miss Potter herself. "Good evening Mr Badger. Mr Grahame is visiting and I wondered whether you could lend us some honey. Tommy Brock stole all of mine." "Certainly." "Ahem... Mr Tod... Still upset about that story I didn't write?" "I wasn't stealing chickens." "I know. While you were counting chickens I was counting mice." If a smile could kill, the wily fox thought. "Counted three times. Thankfully none were missing." Mr. Badger brought a jar of honey and a steaming cup for Miss Potter. The silence was deafening. "I've finished my tea. Time to Go." Mr Tod nodded to Mr Badger and Miss Potter and quickly departed through the front door, plainly marked ENTRANCE. "You are smirking, Beatrix." "Yes, I feel the urge to write." © Kåre Enga (21.februar.2025) |
| The Black Brick The black doorstop hadn't moved in decades. No one bothered it or the door it held ajar for the cats and cockroaches, its only visitors. The last human who'd dared to disturb its dust was a child with long blond hair. He'd found it to be too heavy for his tiny hands. They'd be wrinkled by now and those strands would be grey... if he had any left. It was proud to have kept its secret for so long. When was it placed here? Only the rotted bones in the oubliette would know. If bones could speak... Its sleep was disturbed by a rush of damp breeze. Rain? Someone must've opened the outer door to the bricked up passageway. "My grandfather said he came this way as a child." "Spooky." They both sneezed. "And dusty." The doorstop waited silently. "There's another door!" They passed the old brick by. "What's this hole?" "Bones!" Their screams could've wakened the dead. On their way out one tripped over the brick, their boots scraping off black paint revealing a glimmer of... "Look!" "Gold!" They tried to lift it. "Too heavy." "Let's come back tomorrow." But they never did. It was November 9th... The Night of Broken Glass. A new noise? Laughter? Two voices tinkled like wineglasses. "I wonder what this was?" "Maybe a bunker? A cellar? A dungeon?" More laughter. "Afraid of ghosts?" "Never! You'd scare them all away." "What's this?" The brick glimmered in anticipation. "Just a yellow brick painted black." "It's heavy." "Leave it." They went through the door. "Nothing here but a hole with old bones. Let's go." The black brick had enjoyed the interruption. It chuckled as it went back to sleep. © Kåre Enga (7.februar.2025) ~285 words. |
| He ain't no virgin! "The Witch is back and there's hell to pay." —Winifred, Hocus Pocus The door slammed open. "Bing bang the Bitch is back! I see Donald's up to his usual shenanigans but I'm looking for a virgin." Winifred looked peeved. She always looked peeved. Her exile hadn't suited her. Her side kicks had abandoned her and her used broom was making her itch. "Fleas", she grumbled. "Fleas!" The barmaid hid under a table. The bartender fainted. Winifred didn't notice. She wasn't interested. "Where's that kid?" Max stood up and strode over to her. "Well, I'm old. And don't think you can get lucky again. I'm not a virgin." "Children?" The gleam in Winifred's eye said it all. "Nope." Winifred slumped. "You're out of luck. But... if you need a ride to the cemetery..." Winifred started to mumble and twitch her fingers. "That won't work." Wide eyed but curious, Winifred mouthed "why?" Max laughed. "I've invested in every ward in the world. Would you like a gummy?" Winifred turned and fled as fast as her bad leg would allow her. "I would've given her a ride to the Senior Center if she would've let me." Max sighed. "It's hard getting old, even for an old witch with dementia." © Kåre Enga (29.oktober.2024) ~205 words |
| Little rays of sunshine "I never drink...wine." — Dracula Break out the glasses and cut of their heads. I have a headache. I'm off to bed. We'd have much to be thankful for if you would. Now... don't spill a drop. Waste not want not. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine"   The party was getting out of hand. Melinda and Belinda were pulling each other's polyester wigs and the Count was dancing on the tables. Who had spiked their drinks? You'd think that Draqquie would be more careful what he invites to these shindigs. Last time... Hmm... I wonder. Pauletta and I made the rounds. We were attached at the hip so that was a swirling task as we faced opposite directions. No one cared. Pauletta is/was/will-forever-be a force of nature. No one got in our way. No one dared. We whispered in each others ear. Do you think? Did you see? WHAT WAS THAT! Apparently Lizzy was in a tizzy because Donnie wouldn't stop sucking on her... and she fell from the chandelier and crashed through the floor. Bats. Crazy bats. She should've just spread her wings. The party broke up just before dawn. And that's when we realized that someone hadn't turned off the grow lights in the orchid house. A little too much "sun" had driven everyone mad. Sad really. They'd be hung over until the Day of the Dead... if they lived that long. If not... We would see them then. And as Pauletta reminded me, again and again. © Kåre Enga (27.oktober.2024) ~250 words |
| Day 3: “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” —Johnny, Night of the Living Dead Barbara and Johnny... and me. No, Barbara. No one is coming to get us. We're always left behind. Like holey socks and underwear, useless except as rags to sop up the blood and tears. I say my prayers every time Johnny goes out. Sigh with relief if he doesn't come back with a kill. He's out prowling tonight. Beware. ... Yes, Barbara. I fixed your favorite fish dish: anchovy pizza with creamy white sauce on the thinnest crust I could make. You oughta learn how to bake, Barbara. ... Johnny, what a pleasure to see you! No, there isn't any pizza left. Barbara... Yeah, I know. She's a bit of a glutton. But she's eating for five these days. What? You didn't know? ... Barbara! Noooooo. Not in my bed! ... What's that you say? Yes, I can find parents for your puppies. Just don't leave them for me to care. And... don't expect Johnny to be much help. Yes. He did drop off a mouse this morning. He's out there prowling again. I told him a rabbit would be better but he likes rabbits. As friends. Here's some cut up chicken and tuna. No, you can't have my porkchop. ... Look, Johnny. Aren't they cute? ... Hey, you two. I just got a call. I need to go out this morning. Old Hoot has a hard case to solve. He says he needs me to interpret. Yeah, yeah, I may just be a lowly parrot (his words, not mine. I think I'm magnificent) but I'm multi-lingual. One informant is a horse. ... No, Johnny, you're not a suspect. But Barbara... Just between you and me she ought to be careful. I think someone's out to get her. © Kåre Enga (22.oktober.2024) ~279 words |
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