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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" "Waterlily" "At three" "Wheat penny" 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." "In a garden of roses, baby" "Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page" "Wheat penny. Gave in, started a forum." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CrapsackWorld 4th entry for the June '22 edition of
เครปแซ็ก (Crapsack) "You can see your breath hanging in the air, see homeless people, but you just don't care. A sea of fake smiles in which to gladly drown. Welcome to Paradise, keep drinking, don't frown." But Paradise had a price and he was being priced out of town. Sunny looked around. Bozeman wasn't the same. The booze scene had gotten old and the snow-bunnies younger. He was still good looking but 20 years had taken it's toll. And now with a broken leg? At least it wasn't his leg that others found desirable. He'd come to MSU for a degree and to ski. By now he was more American than Thai. Was it time to leave this crapsack town? He'd received a plea to help with his grandfather. At age 94 it was obvious that he wouldn't live forever in spite of his daily bike-ride and rice-and-spice diet. Arthit (อาทิตย์1). Sunny said his Thai name out-loud. He'd have to get used to it. His older brother would pick him up. His old room would be ready. Anong (อนงค์2)? They'd kept in touch but Anong had a new boyfriend. Number? Sunny himself didn't do relationships that lasted over three days. Like fish... Montanans didn't believe in fish or rice or anything with spice. His grandpa's diet would kill them. 20 years of bleached wheat bread, dead bird, and bland overcooked broccoli? He could do better. The thought of deep fried squid-on-a-stick finally brought a smile to his face. Anong-the-once-beautiful? That too. He'd sell what he could. He'd travel light. It would be a one-way ticket to no-snow-never-again in the Land of Smiles. His parents wanted him to settle-in and settle-down. Maybe Anong would be available again by the time he arrived. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.35] (21.juni.2022) ANALYSIS "A Crapsack World is a horrible setting where the jaded notion of "anything that can go wrong will go horribly, horribly wrong" almost always applies..." "If a Sugar Bowl (usually the antithesis of this trope) turns out to be one of these under the surface, then you have yourself a Crapsaccharine World. If the people who live in the Crapsack World don't realise or pretend it isn't a horrible place to be in, it is a False Utopia." Bozeman is wealthy. The beautiful people have bought out the Dutch ranchers to own their own ranchette, complete with a horse-for-show, within driving distance of a ski-slope. Bozeman is more crapsaccharine and a false utopia as I doubt folks see/admit the underbelly any more than here in Missoula. Hard to depict a place in 300 words but 'skier breaks his leg', 'everyone's favorite whore grows old', 'can't afford rent' (that's non-fiction here in Montana) ... describes a mid-life crisis in Purgatory not Paradise. Plus Arthit is Thai. Most Thais have a sunny disposition and many ski-bunnies do too... until the money runs out. At least most Thais have strong family support. Americans? Maybe; but, many depend on bank accounts not family. Perhaps I'm the one that's jaded? Yeah... I can live with that. I recognize the underbelly everywhere I go. Poverty, homelessness and being traumatized and marginalized will do that. When I do get to Thailand I will see the smiles, but I'll also look beyond them. Montana? I'm so over and done with you. ~550 words |
| "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. |
| Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TrespassingToTalk 3rd entry for the June '22 edition of
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.  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!  In this case the boss 'trespasses' on the privacy of an underling... not unheard of in the real workplace. ~500 words. |
| Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndImTheQueenOfSheba 2nd entry for the June '22 edition of
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!  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 |
2nd entry for
"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! 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. |
| "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." |
| Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheMountainsOfIllinois For June '22 edition of
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) |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
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