Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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" ![]() "Between us" ![]() "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" ![]() "Willowsong" ![]() 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?" ![]() "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" ![]() "Wheat penny. Gave in, started a forum." ![]() FACES ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() PLACES ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Kåre ![]() ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
Me:![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() "I shouldn't be here..." I tell myself, voice trailing off in a sigh. I should be in Costa Rica, or at least planning my next trip: Tromsø, Norway; Nara, Japan; back to Portugal... somewhere. Lord knows I have the money. At least my bank thinks so! December is a somber month. I don't have any family here and friends? Yes, but... I "don't do friends". At least, not like I used to. I feel nostalgic for the 80s and 90s and a place I once called home. Missoula is a safe place. It's a beautiful place. It's a cultural haven. But... it doesn't speak to me, and... my heart goes back to Kansas and my mind wanders off further east where snow falls every November and those who once were my friends visit over cocoa around their kitchen tables. I cannot get back what has long since gone away. |