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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" "Waterlily" "Boise City" "Plain cover jacket" 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)" "In a garden of roses, baby" "Tupac and more poetry" "James Doohan, Scotty. Ombra mai fu. Eutin Guitar Orchestra" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Beyond the forest painted white, beyond the city lights aglow, She lay in a pile of hay and compost contemplating the life within her that did not wish to wait. She wasn't quite ready to repopulate this world of wondrous cold. She'd wandered, pondered and waited centuries for this moment. The long journey to the homeland, fraught with wars among the stars, weighed heavy tonight. And now She was no longer sure it was worth it as spasms reminded Her that not everything was under Her control. At least the snow had made those visions of arrival seem real. The gathering of trees had parted as She wended her way among them, their branches singing the carols Her ancestors had taught them. Welcome home, they wept in an accent strange yet soothing. By daylight Her litter snuggled close, burrowed into layers of sagging flesh and fur, free of her womb that had kept them safe and secure. Now they would sleep but by evening they would wake hungry and begin to devour her. This had always been their way. She nuzzled each one impressing upon them their mission. They already knew their names. In a week they would leave, each a mini version of herself: the Warrior, the Fire Eater, the Water Diviner, the Mage, the Sage, the Mother-of-Thousands. Each would become a legend, summon forth a hoard of conquerors, as her bones returned to dust and birthed the myth called Mother. Yes, the city lights would beckon. A pulsating market of flesh to feast on awaited them. The trees would guide the way. The snow would hide their passage. Yes, She had chosen well. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.293c] (24.december.2021) 281 words for
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