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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 the midst of silence" "Between us" "At three" "Drugs sold here" 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)" "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Half-naked dreams? 'Getting the stain out of genes!" "ENFP, what are you?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| SOS d'un terrien en détresse In French! This is the first of many Dimash perfomances that I have watched. It has a sci-fi motif. A lonely spaceman or someone left behind. The "story" is one of heart-break and Dimash delivers. His ppp and fff, his chest, mixed and falsetto voice glide from one to the other. His "bird-twitter", his crescendoes, his belts in the soprano range and how he then soars an octave... or two. And yet at the end softens to a breathy voice that caresses like a whisper. Linor Oren is a professional voice teacher. I love her response.  This was the first time she heard Dimash and you can see the shock and delight in her face. The range! The voice! In other videos she talks about his breath control, how he seamlessly switches between styles and use of his body as an instrument.Ah... WDC... This is definitely sci-fi-fantasy. Contest:
I searched "abandoned" in the sci-fi and fantasy genres: ""Marking Time"" [13+] by iKïyå§ama-House Targaryen  "Homecoming" [13+] by Chris24  "The Things They Abandoned" [E] by Vacant Vagrant "Alone - Published" [E] by Tadpole1  "Chapter 1: A New Beginning" [13+] by Gabogame3 well-read 'oldie' "Starship Sentry" [E] by Jack Goldman My poem: "Zmitri" [13+] by Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  For
This is the uninterrupted original: |
| "Short Shots Image Prompt (August 2021)" Cecilie smiled when she saw the blue light on the horizon. It would match her pink hair. End of August, already autumn. Soon it would start getting cold. In 3 months the lights would go out and she'd be able to move about freely at any hour. Moonlight made her hair shimmer and the stars were her very best friends. She directed her horse towards the light. At a safe distance she continued alone on foot. The fur on her feet deadened all sound of her passage. It was a strange object, glowing from within. She had heard of them. A cave fashioned out of fabric. She preferred a crevice in solid stone. She just put a hide over her when she slept. In the Season of No Night, she had a favorite hidey-hole that the light and people never entered. People. They were strange, they were. Whooping and hollering! She could barely hear the Aurora when they came within sight. It's song was a lullaby to those who shut up long enough to look up and see the crescendo of color the melody in the movement of ions. Word was that people were deaf to its siren call. They called her to her ancestral home. How long ago had she been cast out and shunned? She crept closer. She heard noises and stopped. Listened closely. Ah, they were asleep. They snored. She kept her guffaw to herself. No need to wake them up and scare them. People. So easily scared. They told stories about her to frighten their little ones and make their elders shudder. If only they knew. She looked up at the stars. They knew. They were there the day she had stood up for her right to have an opinion. She had seen a fire burn without flame, heard a mountain move and crumble, smelled thick oil coming out of the sea. They told her she was crazy. But then the people came. Her herd had fled back to their home. And left her stranded. She marveled at the blue. Such an unearthly shade only found in the deep pools of melt when that nasty fireball returned. Its glow soothed her nerves. She sat down to be drawn into its dream. But snores interrupted her delving. She grasped a shock of grass. Chewed it then blew her breath towards the sleepers. Once calmed she could read their thoughts. Odd. They had no fear of being here in the middle of nowhere. They had no fear of her! They'd heard of the legends but... they weren't concerned. In one well-worn dream they had met her, even invited her in to sit with them as they served... a steaming liquid? Cecilie was intrigued. They ought to be frightened. She had spent many seasons leaving her foot prints where they would find them and despair. They would follow her tracks away from her haunts. They never figured out her deception. They never imagined she had a horse, would never believe that she could ride one, never looked her way as she made fun of them. They weren't much fun. But these people? There were three of them wrapped up, cocooned in fake fur. She pulled a twig out of her own. Yes, she was not well-groomed, but there was no one to rake their fingers along her spine, untangle her hair, tickle her beard. Even the pink hairdo could be better if she had the proper mirror. Those fish kept making ripples as she tried to match the color at the tips of her ears. They laughed when she threatened to eat them. They just flipped her a fin and darted away. That was earlier today. She paused to think how time had abandoned her too. She had nothing to look forward to but a meeting with Death, and she had told him to back off or be prepared for a thrashing. Once Death had threatened her horse. He wouldn't make that mistake twice! Had it been a century? Maybe two? The stars began to hum a song she barely remembered. It spoke of The Beginning, a place even older than Death, a place he was forbidden to enter. Cecilie began to sway to the lullaby. She fell asleep. She woke up to the bitter smell of dark liquid being boiled. She looked into the eyes of one of the people. They were kind. Soft naked hands offered her a steaming cup of the brew. You have such beautiful pink hair. My name is Lily. The stars were about to wink out. Her horse had joined her and waited patiently by her side. Voices continued to speak in her mind. Be not afraid. We know you want to go home. We will take you there. Surrounded by blue light, she knew she was ready. 57.704 |
| Sheep may safely graze and pasture... ...in a place where wolves are held at bay. Martin Luther King had a Dream of such a place. Unfortunately the wolves circled, gnashed their teeth and tore it apart. By the end of 1968 the Dream was in tatters and on life support. But before then, he inspired millions with his "I Have a Dream" speech of August 28th, 58 years ago. Does anyone believe in it now? As a Baha'i I believe in the Oneness of God, the Oneness of Mankind. That has been the core message of Baha'ullah since before Ghandi and MLK were born. But then... one could also say that the Wisdom is ancient. Unfortunately the dross of divisions has sullied its brilliance. Even now... it's one thing to move on from the Law and believe (as Paul pointed out to the Galatians) and another to put one beliefs into action (as pointed out by James). Even the simple Pillars of Islam that were revealed 600 years later got warped over time as people covered up the essence with whatever they desired. Simple hospitality (Book of Ruth), love (Beatitudes), charity (Zakat in Islam) are discarded to allow pride of purity, hatred, greed, and ultimately war. No... the Dream of MLK has not been realized as Non-Dreamers hold on to their prejudices and deny for others what they hoard for themselves. Even should the Dream be embraced by Humanity tomorrow... the work would have just begun to make it a tangible reality. ~250 words posted in "Blogville " |
I imagine myself dying unknown in an unknown place.  Sound sad? Not if I get to travel around the world with my home on my back for the next 20 years.  By then I'll be past my expiration date. Old bones are best buried. But I've also dreamed about a small cottage somewhere where no one goes. No mountains or beach to entice the tourist. No highway to bring them to my door. There are small towns in Kansas that come to mind. Like Lone Elm. I'd need a car though. To be surrounded by prairie, that sea of green grass beckoning me to enter its loneliness while listening to the wisdom that wheat whispers... that's my dream. An edited response to "My Black Heaven" by Harlow Flick, Right Fielder  And my response to my response... We make choices. I've been known to overstay my welcome. Have you? I've zigged when I should've zagged never realizing until years later that I could've zogged. In 2008 I had to choose between Emporia, Seattle and Missoula. I chose Montana. That worked for awhile. In 2011 I moved to Costa Rica, keeping my options open to move back. Thankfully moved back. But now? Have I stayed here too long? Are my traveling days over? I left my heart in Kansas. Have I been away too long? Where is home? Do I overthink then whine too much? ~225 words Posted in "Blogville " |
| Have the shackles been removed... I've felt that way at various times in my life. When I went to college I was on my own for the first time. That was freeing for 3 semesters but... problems... then I went to Kansas and really bloomed. May have been the happiest time in my life. I was 20. Now? I'm dog-paddling. Better than drowning. I wonder what anchor needs to be pulled up. Then again, an anchor means I'm not always meandering wondering where home is. Truth? I dunno. Am I like a snail or turtle carrying my home with me? Or am I a bat seeking out a cave. I'd say I was a mole. As for my writing, I do try (desperately) to venture outside of my comfort zone. My story-telling has improved. My poetry languishes. I need to vent as to why I don't think WDC is a very good site for poetry... in some other blog. Meanwhile my blogs beg for comments and interaction. Comments make me feel alive in a way that a thumbs-up doesn't. As for publishing... I responded to "Exciting Things Happening Here!" by Charity Marie - <3 regarding her book sales. "The numbers are interesting because it shows how much of an investment is needed. Folks ask why I'm not "published" (I am); but they have no clue what's involved." ~220 words Posted in "Blogville " 57.677 |
| Pox News on the scene on this beautiful Friday the 13th. The Restored President is about to speak: Seven months ago... such a long long time ago... our Patriots stood up to the thieves [applause]: Sleepy Joe*, Nervous Nancy*, Cryin' Chuck* [applause] and raised our Almighty Flags on the steps of our Capitol. OUR Capitol, not theirs [applause] to [shouts of thieves, thieves, thieves] to restore our Great Nation under the White Flag of Peace. [applause] But they didn't want peace [shouts of NO, No, No] and herded our Patriots [rumbles] off to their Libtard Concentration Camps. [boos] I am here today to call all Patriots to Free them [loud shouts] and [Free them, free them] and treat their jailers in the same way. [applause as the emperor grins] I'm sure you'll be very nice to them. [rumbles] Nicer than they were to us. Nicer than they were to me [rumbles] when I tried to save them [shouts] when we tried to save them [gesturing to Junior, Erik and Evanka] from an invasion by those who never belonged here [shouts of Go Back Home]. Maybe you Patriots can show them the way [applause]. But be nice. [grumbles] No [softer] They're needed back in their s***hole countries [applause]. Once they're gone we'll start to clean our streets of vermin [shouts of glee] and when the infestation in Congress is gone [shouts of 'hang them'] No, no, no. We're just going to find a nice rest home for them, especially Slow Joe*, [laughter] maybe in a tropical place. [laughter] Our Hotel in Cuba is begging for guests. [applause and laughter] Today is the First Day of the Restoration. Now, be nice to Nancy when you see her. [points to Capitol doors] Enter in Peace. Based on NBC News headline dated August 11, 2021: Feds warn of potential violence fueled by false election claims *These come from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_nicknames_used_by_Donald_Trump. ~290 words Posted in "Blogville " 57.657 |
| I thought I would post here for no particular reason. It's a day off from heavy blog entries. Summer is not my favorite season. I don't like the heat. I don't like smoke or dust. I get worn out and moody. I seek dark cool places ... like a closet. Of all the summer months, August is my nemesis. Nothing to do but sweat and swelter. Not my idea of fun. However, August is fine in Costa Rica and the best time to go to Geneva. All I want to do is nap. So what did I do today? Overslept (makes me groggy). A breezy but pleasant 85 degrees with an AQI of 61 at 2 pm. The sky is blue-ish and I can see the mountains. The river is clearing up too. No word as to why it was muddy. Saw Margi and Nathan and Chase. Been years. At market. Got sheep curds from Emma, a cherry-almond scone from Irina. A bag of cherries. A spinach pocket from Mohammed. Chatted with Athena (from Greece) and Maria. Celebrated by writing a letter on cork while I downed a cherry-chocolate milkshake at Butterfly Herbs. But... didn't have my address book with me. So... who should I send it to? And that's it for the day.  Future blog ideas (of the heavy variety): A. Are we still fighting the Old Testament Wars? B. Baha'i Values 101. What you need to know. C. Circumcision. FGM? MGM? Is it necessary religiously or otherwise? D. Donald still wants to be Emperor. Is that treasonous? E. Eeyore. Can we accept the depressed without demanding that they be cheerful? Which would you like to see me respond to? Vote! Like painted kites those days and nights, they went flyin' by. The world was new beneath a blue—umbrella sky Then softer than—a piper man One day—it called to you I lost you—I lost you to the summer wind. ~325 words Posted in "Blogville " 57.652 |
| Obstacles: Real life: mental and emotional. Overwhelmed. Writing: a bit burnt out. Only entered a couple contests in July. Characters: hold that thought. Our Muse is knocking at the door. Truthfully? For writing purposes anything will do. It need not be grand. We're all where we are because some obstacle wouldn't let us go where we wanted to go. Hopefully, we are happy where we are. I tell people that I'm a poet. I only write stories for contests or because I need to get out of my comfort zone and expand my skills. I'm not a natural storyteller. I've written enough to know the difference and be awed. So, opening up my email I got a notice with a merit badge, a pretty ribbon and enough gps to put me over what I need to maintain my account here at the level it has become accustomed to (downsizing would be a nightmare). Third place will do.
Tears in my eyes... So I reread "Flight Lessons" attempting to post this entry. I told Cubby~Cheering House Florent!  that I was inspired by her 1st Chapter Contest to write it. the dimple in the carpet — as seen from below is just Juliana's butt — not a UFO. So... maybe I should write "Juliana's Flight Test", as Wordsmitty ✍️  suggested and include the above.But obstacles. Today is laundry day if I ever bother to put on clothes and go out. The smoke isn't as bad at the moment. But that's not much of an obstacle. What is: 1. I need to buy glasses. 2. I need to clean and unclutter. 3. I need to buy a ticket and travel. #3 is the easiest once #1 is taken care of. #2 is blocking me. I just don't care enough to do what needs to be done. The dishes get washed and the plants get watered... but not much else. I'm dog-paddling with no land in sight. Staying alive is looking like an over-hyped option. Am I happy where I am? Not really. Am I happy... period. Not really. Posted in "Blogville " 57.645 |
| Juliana wanted to fly. She'd heard all the reasons why she couldn't. No wings. (stating the obvious) Too big a butt. (said with a dismissive laugh) You're nuts! (as if they weren't) She went to the Magic Carpet store on 1st and Higgins. Asked to speak to Mrs. McCarpet. "I know you're really Aladdin in drag. I won't tell anyone if you teach me how to fly." Exposed! Never! He nodded, thought Nothing is sweeter than blackmail... except revenge, and scheduled lessons at 4 a.m. on Sunday mornings. In this win-or-lose-we-booze town there'd be no one out-and-about sober enough to notice. Lift off. Juliana could feel her ass rise just a few inches. Then plop. They practiced in the middle of the high-school football field away from all the nosy trees and prairie dogs. Plus, the grass was softer than concrete and less abrasive than the gravel race track. 5 weeks of bruises... but Juliana did not give up. Bunny (another of Aladdin's disguises) kept encouraging her and truthfully? She was making progress, big butt and all. The secret... shh... was never about the weight, size or lack of wings. If Dumbo could fly so could Juliana! Week 7. Lift vertically. Slowly. Taking off like Mary Poppins in her umbrella was for pros. Word was that even she had crashed a time or two whilst getting the hang of it. Slowly now. Juliana hovered over Bunny's head. Smirked. Then carefully focused on the pine tree on the other side of the race track and flew! until she crashed into it. Oh, the flying was fine. In her ecstasy she'd forgotten how to stop. The pine, however, had not forgot. Bunny laughed. "Give up?" Juliana hissed. "No Aladdin." That shut him up. She collected a few pine cones she'd knocked off. She was nothing if not tidy. Then she glared before huffing off. "Next week... or else." It was time for some fun. The next two weeks went well. Juliana flew down the bike path cackling. One drunk swore later that he'd seen a witch. When Mrs. McCarpet heard this from a customer she wryly replied, "This is a carpet shop. If you want a broom go to Walmart." By Week 10 Juliana was getting the hang of it. A few more lessons and she could apply for her flying permit. No one would dare deny her. She dreamed of figure eights and swooping in a dive like a swallow or waving at passers-by while flying upside down. Bunny was amused. Juliana would not give up! But it was time for a harsh reality check. Someone had reported a UFO racing down the river. This would not do. Discretion was an important part of flying around non-magical people. Bunny flew Juliana on her carpet-woven-for-two to a place where other than scaring a bear, a beaver or a bobcat no one would notice. The ospreys always did, but what they shared was always dismissed as gossip. Juliana flew. Superman would have been proud of how she sped off. She landed as daintily as Dumbo. Bunny said, "we need to celebrate before your encore." Two small glasses. A sweet amber liquid. A toast. Juliana soared again. Higher, higher. Lower, lower. Loopy, loopy, oops. The blackberry patch hugged her in a welcome-home-momma moment. Bunny helped Juliana... carefully... to extricate her from the needy thorns. "Little vampires," Juliana muttered. "Never fly while..." Juliana's glare stopped Bunny from finishing. Instead Bunny handed her a bottle of calamine lotion. "You'll need this." No need to mention that her poison ivy and oak rashes would bloom before evening. Two blessedly quiet weeks later, Juliana strode into the thankfully empty Magic Carpet shop wearing a loose fitting tent. She stopped Aladdin in his thoughts. He was dressed as Mr. Green Jeans to give worn out Mrs. McCarpet a well-deserved vacation. Juliana wasn't fooled. "I want to sign up for my flight permit. — Now." She's as stubborn as Mary Poppins had been. Some folks never know when to give up. Aladdin sighed. "Fill this out." © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.188] (18.juli.2021) ~675 words |
 The Ayes have it Yes, yes, yes, can you guess by looking in their eyes? Which said yes and which said yes and which yes yes was which? All dressed in grey, all dressed to play, all eyes said aye, all ayes, no noes, no nays. All eyes now look at you, those eyes that have a nose. Behind black masks they want to ask, their noses point at you-know-who! But — they do not ask. They stare and stare, all six eyes, behind their masks, now looking straight through you. Yes, yes, yes. The answer's always yes. The question is up to you. Lines: 23 © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.174] (24.agosto.2021) Write a poem inspired by these three mischievous looking racoons. 1. Entries must be written for this contest. No previously written material. 2. Age Level: Toddler thru Middle Grade. 3.Line Count for Poetry: Open For
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