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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/9
Rated: 13+ · Book · Biographical · #1317094
Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills.

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

Late autumn

Reader's Choice of Poems:

"Zmitri
"Glice
"Waterlily
"Boise City
"Starbeams on Tulsa


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!
"James Doohan, Scotty. Ombra mai fu. Eutin Guitar Orchestra

FACES




PLACES





Yellow cheer from sarah




 Kåre *Delight* Enga

~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop
The Fish
Previous ... 5 6 7 8 -9- 10 11 12 13 14 ... Next
June 21, 2022 at 9:39pm
June 21, 2022 at 9:39pm
#1034096
"If I wanted you fired... ..."

Brenda Schrott stood there by my cubicle, drink in hand, twirling a pencil in the other.

"We need to talk."

Bag-of-snot marched. I quietly followed, slinking past those other stalls, averting my eyes, becoming invisible... to absolutely... no one.

At her majesty's desk she motioned for me to sit in the leather chair, the one reserved for dignitaries and executions. I stared at her collection of shrunken heads.

"What's that?"

She pointed at a button sitting daintily on a lace doily. Emo? Much. But, I didn't dare say that.

"A button."

"Whose button?"

I stared at it intently.

"It won't bite you." I could feel the acid dripping from her fangs. "Pick it up."

It was small, black, 4 holes, nondescript, could have been anyone's... if I didn't know better.

"Lost a button, have you?" My blinking eyes gave me away. "Well, take it and sew it back on. You look goofy with your chest hair showing. It's not professional."

I gulped as she turned to reach for her phone, a cue for me to slip away as fast as I could.

"Thank you. May I go?"

She smiled, a very thin line of a smile, and half nodded.

"But next time don't sneak into the broom closet. I've watched the security video a few times..." I blushed. "...hoping to learn something new." I felt my heart skipping. "By the look on you-know-who's face I suspect you were good, very good. I've made a note in your file just in case we have a client in need of your skills." I stood frozen. "We'll keep in touch. Now go."

I don't remember how I got back to my desk.
June 21, 2022 at 9:16pm
June 21, 2022 at 9:16pm
#1034095
Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TrespassingToTalk

3rd entry for the June '22 edition of

Journalistic Intentions  (18+)
This is for the journal keeping types that come to PLAY! New round starts February 1!
#2213121 by Elisa the Bunny Stik


For love of a button

"If I wanted you fired... ..."

Brenda Schrott stood there by my cubicle, drink in hand, twirling a pencil in the other.

"We need to talk."

Bag-of-snot marched. I quietly followed, slinking past those other stalls, averting my eyes, becoming invisible... to absolutely... no one.

At her majesty's desk she motioned for me to sit in the leather chair, the one reserved for dignitaries and executions. I stared at her collection of shrunken heads.

"What's that?"

She pointed at a button sitting daintily on a lace doily. Emo? Much. But, I didn't dare say that.

"A button."

"Whose button?"

I stared at it intently.

"It won't bite you." I could feel the acid dripping from her fangs. "Pick it up."

It was small, black, 4 holes, nondescript, could have been anyone's... if I didn't know better.

"Lost a button, have you?" My blinking eyes gave me away. "Well, take it and sew it back on. You look goofy with your chest hair showing. It's not professional."

I gulped as she turned to reach for her phone, a cue for me to slip away as fast as I could.

"Thank you. May I go?"

She smiled, a very thin line of a smile, and half nodded.

"But next time don't sneak into the broom closet. I've watched the security video a few times..." I blushed. "...hoping to learn something new." I felt my heart skipping. "By the look on you-know-who's face I suspect you were good, very good. I've made a note in your file just in case we have a client in need of your skills." I stood frozen. "We'll keep in touch. Now go."

I don't remember how I got back to my desk.

© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.34] (21.juni.2022)

ANALYSIS

The unexpected face at the door, in the alley, at the soda fountain counter... it need not be sinister but the expectation should be unnerving whether or not this is obvious.

But the reader should feel the tension.

In this case just a boss/serf interaction from the first person point-of-view of a fish in front of an eagle.

We know who's boss and how she's perceived. "Bag-of-snot" says it all. *Laugh*

How did I come up with this? I channeled my own fear of being summoned by a demon boss. Her name? Doesn't matter. I have no clue why Brenda came to mind. I grew up with Schrotts (twins: Carol and Carl, nice folks) and once I mangled the name Brenda Schrott? The rest rests slithering on the page.

I mention this because some folks think writing is magic... it is... but it's like kitchen magic. We who wish to eat know how to make something from nothing. Deadlines: write or perish.

I played with the sinister opening to get the reader's attention. Not hard to set up! But... not all demons are fire-breathing dragons. Some are more treacherous in other ways! *Smirk2*

In this case the boss 'trespasses' on the privacy of an underling... not unheard of in the real workplace.


~500 words.
57.999
June 19, 2022 at 8:18pm
June 19, 2022 at 8:18pm
#1034006
Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndImTheQueenOfSheba

2nd entry for the June '22 edition of
Journalistic Intentions  (18+)
This is for the journal keeping types that come to PLAY! New round starts February 1!
#2213121 by Elisa the Bunny Stik


Once on Lois Lane

"I'm the new King of the Realm."

"And I'm the heir to Bilbo Baggins."

He eyed the ring dangling from her necklace.

"Don't disappear!"

Frankie was a pet. Nothing more. Samantha had been telling herself that for forty years.

She'd bought him at the market under the bridge. A lovely jade shaped like an egg. She'd brought it home, placed it on the mantle.

When it hatched she was gobsmacked... once the shock wore off. He was cute. He was tiny. He was... hungry.

All she had was fresh baked bread. She had watched as he toasted it then gobbled it all down.

Frankie woke her from her reverie.

"Baking bread again?"

He grinned at her. It was one of many private jokes.

No one else knew she had a talking dragon. But then... few knew that she existed either.

Folks talked about their weird never-seen neighbor as she stood there invisible. She knew all their secrets. She never tattled.

Weird? Yes, weird and much more.

What more does one need when your pet hoards scrap pieces of metal. "I like shiny things," he'd once told her.

Samantha sold the scrap and returned the gold and silver when Frankie wasn't looking. Oh... he knew. It was their secret game.

An old, very old, midget and her fledgling dragon living on Lois Lane... oh, the horror of it all! The truth was... they couldn't have handled the truth.

A knock at her door startled her. She peered through a crack and saw no one, so she opened it.

First she saw the toothy grin, then the whirling eyes.

"I'm here to see the new King."

She put on her ring and vanished.

"I'm Here to See the New King." Faint smoke circled the nostrils. "And yes, I can still smell you."


© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.33] (19.juni.2022)

ANALYSIS

And I'm the Prince of Poetry and Prose! *Rolling*

Perhaps sarcasm... perhaps truth. Perhaps both are true! This snippet feels more like an intro or 'first chapter' than a flash fiction, but I use what I have at my disposal.

The trope gave me focus... as did the three word prompt: egg, bread, ring. I was desperate okay? In this case I amused myself with the names Samwise/Samantha and hobbits (alluded to but not mentioned) and common mythical beings (dragons, dragonets a la Hogwarts. Hagrid would understand). Frankie? No idea where that came from.

The ambiguity allows various paths for the story to continue. Who is Samantha? What's special about Frankie (reincarnation of Qinglong, the Azure Dragon of the East?). Who's that dragon-at-the-door? (next chapter: Let me introduce myself...). Could be folk-horror-tale or a nice cozy-mystery... dunno...

Do I use this trope IRL? When I say "I'm a poet" is that just my overestimation of myself? Or just an observation. I write = writer. I write poetry = poet.

As for the power or pain of secrets (shared or not) I have a few and can speak to that as well.

~490 words
57.995
June 19, 2022 at 8:11pm
June 19, 2022 at 8:11pm
#1034005
2nd entry for
Journalistic Intentions  (18+)
This is for the journal keeping types that come to PLAY! New round starts February 1!
#2213121 by Elisa the Bunny Stik


"I'm the new King of the Realm."

"And I'm the heir to Bilbo Baggins."

He eyed the ring dangling from her necklace.

"Don't disappear!"

Frankie was a pet. Nothing more. Samantha had been telling herself that for forty years.

She'd bought him at the market under the bridge. A lovely jade shaped like an egg. She'd brought it home, placed it on the mantle.

When it hatched she was gobsmacked... once the shock wore off. He was cute. He was tiny. He was... hungry.

All she had was fresh baked bread. She had watched as he toasted it then gobbled it all down.

Frankie woke her from her reverie.

"Baking bread again?"

He grinned at her. It was one of many private jokes.

No one else knew she had a talking dragon. But then... few knew that she existed either.

Folks talked about their weird never-seen neighbor as she stood there invisible. She knew all their secrets. She never tattled.

Weird? Yes, weird and much more.

What more does one need when your pet hoards scrap pieces of metal. "I like shiny things," he'd once told her.

Samantha sold the scrap and returned the gold and silver when Frankie wasn't looking. Oh... he knew. It was their secret game.

An old, very old, midget and her fledgling dragon living on Lois Lane... oh, the horror of it all! The truth was... they couldn't have handled the truth.

A knock at her door startled her. She peered through a crack and saw no one, so she opened it.

First she saw the toothy grin, then the whirling eyes.

"I'm here to see the new King."

She put on her ring and vanished.

"I'm Here to See the New King." Faint smoke circled the nostrils. "And yes, I can still smell you."


© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.33] (19.juni.2022)

ANALYSIS

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndImTheQueenOfSheba

Perhaps sarcasm... perhaps truth. Perhaps both are true! This snippet feels more like an intro or 'first chapter' than a flash fiction, but I use what I have at my disposal.

And I'm the Prince of Poets and Prose! *Rolling*

The trope gave me focus... as did the three word prompt: egg, bread, ring. I was desperate okay? In this case I amused myself with the names Samwise/Samantha and hobbits (alluded to but not mentioned) and common mythical beings (dragons, dragonets a la Hogwarts. Hagrid would understand). Frankie? No idea where that came from.

The ambiguity allows various paths for the story to continue. Who is Samantha? What's special about Frankie (reincarnation of Qinglong, the Azure Dragon of the East?). Who's that dragon-at-the-door? (next chapter: Let me introduce myself...). Could be folk-horror-tale or a nice cozy-mystery... dunno...

Do I use this trope IRL? When I say "I'm a poet" is that just my overestimation of myself? Or just an observation. I write = writer. I write poetry = poet.

As for the power or pain of secrets (shared or not) I have a few and can speak to that as well.

57.995
June 19, 2022 at 5:55pm
June 19, 2022 at 5:55pm
#1034002
"I'm the new King of the Realm."

"And I'm the heir to Bilbo Baggins."

He eyed the ring dangling from her necklace.

"Don't disappear!"

Frankie was a pet. Nothing more. Samantha had been telling herself that for forty years.

She'd bought him at the market under the bridge. A lovely jade shaped like an egg. She'd brought it home, placed it on the mantle.

When it hatched she was gobsmacked... once the shock wore off. He was cute. He was tiny. He was... hungry.

All she had was fresh baked bread. She had watched as he toasted it then gobbled it all down.

Frankie woke her from her reverie.

"Baking bread again?"

He grinned at her. It was one of many private jokes.

No one else knew she had a talking dragon. But then... few knew that she existed either.

Folks talked about their weird never-seen neighbor as she stood there invisible. She knew all their secrets. She never tattled.

Weird? Yes, weird and much more.

What more does one need when your pet hoards scrap pieces of metal. "I like shiny things," he'd once told her.

Samantha sold the scrap and returned the gold and silver when Frankie wasn't looking. Oh... he knew. It was their secret game.

An old, very old, midget and her fledgling dragon living on Lois Lane... oh, the horror of it all! The truth was... they couldn't have handled the truth.

A knock at her door startled her. She peered through a crack and saw no one, so she opened it.

First she saw the toothy grin, then the whirling eyes.

"I'm here to see the new King."

She put on her ring and vanished.

"I'm Here to See the New King." Faint smoke circled the nostrils. "And yes, I can still smell you."

June 13, 2022 at 10:33pm
June 13, 2022 at 10:33pm
#1033800
Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheMountainsOfIllinois

For June '22 edition of
Journalistic Intentions  (18+)
This is for the journal keeping types that come to PLAY! New round starts February 1!
#2213121 by Elisa the Bunny Stik


Not in Kansas anymore

She had pricked her thumb on a thorn, her knees now sore from scooting on the brick path.

Tin Man offered to help her up.

Dotty shook her head and held the drooping flowers in her clenched fist. Poppies. Bah.

The pine-clad mountains loomed over her. The thick pall of twilight threatened overhead. The slick gumbo and gloom fit her mood like a glove. The ever-present warning sign, "Beware of Wolves" with its ever-dripping graffiti of red fangs seemed almost comforting... almost.

We pray that we may evermore dwell in... I'm not in Kansas anymore.

They were rehearsing for a centuries-old play that had been recently discovered. Flat plains? Whirling winds? Witches? What was a witch?

"Witches are..."

Stop reading my thoughts.

Tin Man was her pet robot, ever-present, all-knowing, totally-annoying.

"We could go see the Wizard if you like."

And dumber than a straw-filled whatever-they-called it.

"We can go see Whizz-Kid tomorrow." She shouted. "Today we have to rehearse our lines."

Tin Man grinned and started to sing in a flute-like falsetto. "Follow the golden brick road."

Dotty groaned.

There's no place like Rome. There's no place like Rome. There's no place like Rome.


Original in: "Not in Kansas anymore [179.30] 195 words

COMMENTARY:

"Twilight meets the Wizard?" Maybe I should put it on an island with palm trees and "Beware of Jets" signs with graffiti of "Jaws"? Anyhoo... the basic "Mountains of Illinois" is a setting out-of-place... or in this case... also out-of-time with a couple poorly translated lines. Or are they?

The mindless joy of silliness, the ectasy of short prose, the Antigone of de feet.

And, unlike Robert, I don't even drink. Although... Robert's perfectly funny when he's sober.

If this were presented in the future a time-traveler would have to stifle a guffaw or three. Same with the long-lamented, but unfortunately not forgotten play "Romeo eats Jules" by Swings-a-lance (another poor translation).

Ah... how to do a trope and avoid a cliche.

© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.30ji] (13.juni.2022)
June 13, 2022 at 8:26pm
June 13, 2022 at 8:26pm
#1033796
She had pricked her thumb on a thorn, her knees now sore from scooting on the brick path.

Tin Man offered to help her up.

Dotty shook her head and held the drooping flowers in her clenched fist. Poppies. Bah.

The pine-clad mountains loomed over her. The thick pall of twilight threatened overhead. The slick gumbo and gloom fit her mood like a glove. The ever-present warning sign, "Beware of Wolves" with its ever-dripping graffiti of red fangs seemed almost comforting... almost.

We pray that we may evermore dwell in... I'm not in Kansas anymore.

They were rehearsing for a centuries-old play that had been recently discovered. Flat plains? Whirling winds? Witches? What was a witch?

"Witches are..."

Stop reading my thoughts.

Tin Man was her pet robot, ever-present, all-knowing, totally-annoying.

"We could go see the Wizard if you like."

And dumber than a straw-filled whatever-they-called it.

"We can go see Whizz-Kid tomorrow." She shouted. "Today we have to rehearse our lines."

Tin Man grinned and started to sing in a flute-like falsetto. "Follow the golden brick road."

Dotty groaned.

There's no place like Rome. There's no place like Rome. There's no place like Rome.


April 4, 2022 at 9:40pm
April 4, 2022 at 9:40pm
#1030089
We were trapped.

I howled as she yowled.

To no avail.

I saw young boys pass and wagged my tail. They didn't look my way.

I jumped to touch a button to make it move.

She tried to squeeze between iron bars of that elevator shaft.

We felt the cold draft of open doors below.

I curled up in one corner as night fell upon us. She glared at me as she curled up in the other.

By morning we were curled up together.

It was a cold night but a bright morning.

We howled and yowled at first light.
April 4, 2022 at 12:05am
April 4, 2022 at 12:05am
#1030033
While Porn and Noinae argue over each other's boyfriend, Korn and Mek are caught stealing a kiss in the restroom... or some such silliness!

I need to follow the script?

Yes.

Me too?

Yes.

At least I get to steal a kiss!

You wish.

It's in the script.

...

Okay. Let's start from the top.

...

I think Korn is cute. Better take care of him.

Or?

I will.

Really? You wish!

Cut it out Mek. That's not in the script.

Is this?

...

OMG... are they?

Kissing?

Yep.

Okay, you-two. Time to come up for air.

Doesn't look like they're listening...

Nope.


March 27, 2022 at 10:32pm
March 27, 2022 at 10:32pm
#1029590
For "Invalid Item

Julia was visiting Dingle for the first time since she left Tra Li in 1853 The sea breeze freshened her face as she looked around at the sailboats. She was mighty thirsty.

MacCartaigh Bar promised a glass of Guinness that she should not drink. Thankfully, it was closed. And the pub that offered fish and chip with mushy peas was closed too. She sighed as clouds closed in to pea soup and drizzle. Ah, it did, it did. 'Twas a great day to be Irish.

Lucky? define that. It's true that she had been dead well over 100 years but what did that have to do with the price of cál ceannann (colcannon)? At least they were growing potatoes again.

And the roses bloomed in May in Tra Li. As they always did. County Kerry was home. She wasn't McCarthy Mor, but she was a McCarthy none-the-less.

She sat down to watch the sailboats and dreamt of taking back Caseal Rock for her clan. Nasty O'Briens.

History lingered in every forgotten graveyard, whispered from headstone to headstone, bantered between bones. Better to not listen too closely. They gossiped like old widowers.

She cackled about that.

Off to America they told her. Herself had married a Hooker. Now her great-grand-children were all dead. Except one.

She waited impatiently. Julia wanted to show her her Eire land, verdent, misty with muck.

When would her great-grand-daughter die. Suredly, it would be on a great day to be Irish!

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/9