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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" "Where grows the compost heap" "In search of Iris" "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" "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)" "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "Il pleure (poem). We R puddle-luscious, aujourd'hui." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| "Words won't come." "Should they?" "It's due tomorrow, 11 a.m." Preuk looked at the river rising. It would flood and it hadn't stopped raining. He sighed. Why didn't words burst forth? San had heard this before. Never-ending rain and worry... until the sun broke out. "The rice fields seem happy and the buffalo don't mind." "Yes, uncle, but I'm a bird sheltering under a mango leaf and I'm hungry." "Write about that." So Preuk did: wet, hungry, drip drip drip, the "Song of the flood". The next morning Preuk sloshed through the mud. He could hear birdsong as clouds parted. |
| Dial-an-age "You dialed wrong." Mikhail was upset. Once wrinkled he now had a zit about to burst and a voice that kept breaking between bird-chirp and timpani. He was distraught. Robin looked the same as ever. 22 and va-va-voom. He looked down where something ought to be rising. No va no voom. Robin just laughed. "You should get ready. Off to school now." Mikhail remembered his father's voice. Robin was... Nah. His father had died a couple years before Robin was born. That possibility ... made him shudder. "You're not my daddy." "Oh, but I want to be. As soon as you grow up, that is." Mikhail felt his eyes water as Robin put his arms around him. "It's okay Micky. I can wait. Or you could just redial and try again." Robin's warmth made something stir. There was hope.
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| I've been over rutted roads. So important not to stop. Getting stuck sucks. Like that time in Kansas, just enough fresh snow covering the roads I didn't know changed from asphalt to gravel, my first car sliding into the ditch, somehow missing trees and bushes. I went looking for someone to pull me out. And they did. Amazing, the kindness of strangers! But I've been in deeper ruts since, unaware I was being sucked into the quagmire, even after I crawled out, stood up, and ran away. I hadn't learned my lesson. Now I'm stuck again. Time to move on. |
| I'm tired of living. Tired of getting up to disappointment. Too tired to die. Coffee beckons. I'll ignore the mess. Just as I've ignored most memories. What's done remains done. No second chance. No new adventures... ...that will change anything. If I don't get up today will the Sun in mourning refuse to rise. I'd ask the Moon but he's not talking to me anymore. My Muse left town long ago. Ah, they come to dress me. Those who wish to inherit my wealth. The joke's on them. Time to leave my chrysalis, sprout new wings, time to fly away. |
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