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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" "A radiant moon has set" "I, Katrina" "Mauve Mavis" 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)" "Even in chaos ... More hockey poems." "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" "Poems inspired by maps. Remember 1963?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| You were never my valentine And I was green. Green as green could be until you turned blue, holding your breath and waiting for my response. I couldn't tell you then and you've been dead for 50 years. I suppose I could tell you now. I still see your kind eyes, sad that I never got to hold what lay behind them. two saplings lean towards each other recollections There's nothing left but a single image sketched in a yearbook, and a friend who resembles you in so many ways. He was born nine months after your accident. I haven't seen him in years. Yes, he knows how deeply I feel. Now I'm the one who waits. We may never meet again this lifetime. like eternal hope in the wind — years pass like Kansas dust Not all things match up. Not all ends meet where they can be tied and bound together. Your winter will become my autumn; your summer my beloved's spring. Seasons recycle in a spiral, but never return the same. I remember your name. Do you remember my silence? all thoughts fade lost to the recycle bin year after year But your visage remains emblazoned while I weep. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [178.359] (9.februar.2022) ~200 words  2nd place February 2022 "The Taboo Words Contest ~ On Hiatus" |
| There was a time I held the key to your heart. Once there was time. No more. I hear an adagio from the cellist next door. Better than the explosions coming closer. Soon. Very soon. Why lament about life when there's so little left. I should ask him for a beer. You would find that funny. I still don't drink beer. Lips that taste wine... Your lips are not near. And they are dust. Has it been fifty years? There's no story left untold, to be scratched with your key. I glance at my watch and wait. Soon. Very soon. |
| In the Land of Salt, the scaphe indicated 2 hours before noon. Saramy thought: Soon it would be too hot to work in the saltern. Let the Sun do it's job. It always did. The stone circle around the center of town kept track of the passing year, indicating that the Season of Cold would come soon, even if the temperatures were still toasty. Saramy peered at them as he headed home to his hovel. It wasn't much but he marvelled in its antiquity, tracing faint figures caved into the walls as if they could speak and share their secrets. At least it was cool underground. He had so much work to do. "History of Salt" needed copying from notes that would crumble and fade, to clay that wouldn't. Once baked into tiles they would adorn town walls that kept history present before them. Would they speak to those who come here a thousand years from now? Saramy started impressing the clay, adding doodles, and translations into the 5 languages he knew, always signing it with the town's motto: "We come from salt we return to salt". |
| The dogs are acting antsy. Put them in the car. The kids are whiny. Put them in the car. My bags are packed. Let's go. What about... Yellowstone's about to blow. If we don't leave now... Yeah, yeah. You've been saying that for... ...the house will be buried and we'll be buried if. we. don't. leave. now. Okay. Okay. Let me just grab the house keys. *sigh* Did you call your sister? She's doesn't like it when we drop in. BASTA! I'm leaving in two minutes with or without you! But... honey... Don't "honey" me. Did you feel that tremor? |
| When the bombs fell the books burned. 400 years of rebellion against the overlords now rocking the arabesques in the mosque as the minaret was blown to pieces. The Serbs, the Serbs, the Serbs... Did the old bones in the cemetery notice? Are you a Serb? Xhamia e Hadumit still stands above its waters and peace reigns until... Are you a Serb? Centuries of sores, the scabs torn off. The river still flows but the market? Destroyed. But rebuilt. Do you wonder who I am? Do the invisible cast visible shadows? Who asks? Are you Serb? |
| Bronze or silver would've been fine, even as a fourth son I could've been me. But I was the golden child, flaxen haired and smiley, albeit weak and half-blind. I fled to the margins, the seat next to the window or door, escape route noted before I entered. In my shell I was alert and wary. I seldom realized how unpopular I was. It took years for me to realize that the baseball team thought of me as their mascot. Maybe that was a blessing. Yes, I was the fragile golden child, protected, hid. Their highest hope and greatest disappointment. |
| Once I looked into the bull's eyes, I knew I couldn't eat him. His tag said Moses. My older brother's pet ruled the pastures long ago, and now would be lead to slaughter. A bullseye emblazoned his hide. Moses quietly approached the fence and leaned into my hand when I went to pet him. We looked deep into each others eyes. I saw good hay, willing heifers and home. Home. What did he see? I started humming "Let my people go". I lead him down the ramp and kept on going. It was time for me to set him free. |
| Sheldon grabbed Cassie. They ran as fast as they could. If they were late they wouldn't be fed. They hadn't eaten yesterday. Late again. Nothing but bread was left. But it would keep them alive for one more day. They walked back through the unkempt park past the pond. Three ducks greeted them, begging. They had it tough too. Geese had gleaned cornfields before the overseers had burnt everything, leaving ashes. Sheldon broke off pieces of bread, tossed them to the ducks, whispering, you deserve better than this, then took Cassie's hand and guided her to their hidden tent. 57,900 |
| And I was green. Green as green could be until you turned blue, holding your breath and waiting for my response. I could tell you now. You've been dead 50 years. I still see your kind eyes. So sad I never got to know the heartbeat behind them. There's nothing left but a single memory and a friend who resembles you in so many ways. He was born nine months after your death. I haven't seen him in years. I've told him how I feel. Now I'm the one who waits. How many years remain until we meet again. Not all things match up. Not all ends meet where they can be tied and bound together. Your winter will become my spring; your summer my beloved's autumn. And seasons are recycled, but never the same. I remember your name. You know my answer. ~143 words needs editing or change of form. |
| Cherry or Vanilla? Chocolate. Coffee or tea? Chocolate. Him or me? Chocolate. Valentines Day is looming. Chocolate hearts. Chocolate covered cherries. Boxes of chocolate. Preferably Belgian. Made in Belgium. Served by Belgians in Belgium. Bruxelles or Brugge will do. It should cost $600 round trip. I'll remember to bring some back for you. Maybe. That's if you serve me some cocoa, hot, with a dash of cayenne. What? No chocolate? You think I should have a banana vanilla shake instead? Do I look a vanilla monkey to you? And now you think a Hersheys kiss will do? Andre! Norma Jean! ...and that's how the fight started. |
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