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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 Lagada, la vita" "Between us" "At three" "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)" "Even in chaos ... More hockey poems." "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "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 |
| Aggy and Jiggy were among those left to take inventory of who and what remained, thankful that all was not lost. Life went on for those left behind. With numbers reduced, they paired up to prepare for the oncoming cold their long-gone elders had warned them about. Everyone burrowed deep as temperatures dropped... and then rains... and a nip of frost. More were lost to the flood before Jeremy took pity, threw leaves on top and brought a tarp. It would keep them snug and warm till he and the sun returned after the coming ice and snow had melted. |
| Home heated up until many left to find a cooler damper spot. Why did they cross the sidewalk? To get to the other side where there was shade and where sprinklers watered the grass. Not all made it across as lizards guarded paths and robins hunted from above. Dagmar was the first to go missing, then Biggy and Diggy. At home Aggy sang a dirge of death and defiance till Jeremy came to turn over the compost to help it rot. He hauled half of it away. To where they did not know. They prayed it was a better place. |
| Jeremy's compost heap soaked up rain as the Gnome dumped more worms to churn it. It had been a long winter but a few elders had survived in the heart of the pile where it stayed cozy. They welcomed the newcomers, showed them around. When everyone was fed and settled-in they mated. More rain, more manure, more food to feed their wiggling offspring: Aggie, Biggy, Dagmar, Diggy… After-the-thaw was a season of plenty. Joy! Joy! Joy! They made haste to be fruitful and multiply before the hot globe reached its zenith to bake their home... as June sang its tune. |
| Seymour: before you die... Oh, Seymour — Make me happy, Seymour. Water me, feed me, speak to me. I'll sing about the trials of my day: dawn, noon's sun-scorch, twilight, the ... Nights of White Satin as you fall asleep unaware I keep watch over you. Last time you traveled no one watered me and I feared for my existence. Then you nearly drowned me with tears as you sobbed it was all a mistake. I've been here 15 years. I helped you bury your cat, your dog, your mother ... I'll miss you. Who will you gift me to? Do they know that I can sing? © Kåre Enga [181.26.S#6] (16.juni.2024) 100 word drabble. Prompt: a plant or animal. Made into an item: ""Seymour: before you die..." S#6 100 w" |
| Blackie lay dead. "Must've used up all nine lives." "With some help." "Hey, it survived the last time I killed it." "Well, then what..." "...or who." "That tomcat over there looks guilty." "So does that dog." "That old lady sure looks mean." The raggedy tom hissed. Boris threw a stone. The pit-bull growled. Alexandria growled back. the old lady spat at them. "Hey, aren't you rabid? Who let you out?" The two brats laughed; then bored, they left. Miss Cherry-Mae, Pretty-boy and Fluffy carefully approached. Are they gone? The cat meowed. "Good job everyone, maybe this time they'll leave us alone." |
| In God's Waiting Room we're attentive to each other; so, Willie invited us to join her for lunch. As a nurse she was used to serving others. The Swedish meatballs were soft, small, and brown with a creamy (but deadly) mushroom sauce. Sedated, Laxmi (our token vegan) nodded off first, then Kathi. I drank coffee to stay awake whilst Phil (a slow eater) seemed drowsy. Willie plopped meatballs. When Willie served cherry pie, Slow-Phil immediately dropped dead. Cyanide acts fast. Wille just laughed and then started to choke on a meatball. Too bad no one's left to help, I croaked. 100 words © Copyright 2024 Kåre Enga [181] (19.mai.2024) |
| It was the color of your roots... pale compared to the green growth of algae on your hair. The Waters honored your Passing. They waved in applause that it had been swift without suffering. No lingering shift from darkness into twilight. A thousand stars lit your locks as your bloated body floated by. The dish of the Moon contemplated your countenance and caressed you from her heights. "Helen." I whispered as if my breaking heart could revive you, the memory of your blood moistening my lips. The reunion on April 18th had been well planned. The unsuspecting guests had gathered. I was one of them. ... Could this become something? I don't know; but it was based on a word-list prompt posted in "Blogging Circle of Friends " 60.704 |
| "I'll build my castle upon this rock." She remembered. Scurrying, laboring. Pitter-patter of children. Smoke of burning. Graves littering her base. Rebuilding. New tenants. New slogans. "I'll defend this rock with my life." Always promised ... for millennia. She missed them. |
| Tin soldiers marched to-and-fro. Their wind-up hearts would last an hour or two. Long enough for mechanical morons to distract the Boss from what was important. Paradise Lounge would explode in 20 minutes. Even the dolls knew it was Doomsday. |
| We brave wind and waves. We must. Our families depend on us. No fish, no food. Every winter some of us don't return; but, widows in black attest we did our best and our children will remember a full belly. |
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