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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'" "In Lagada, la vita" "A radiant moon has set" "At three" "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)" "In a garden of roses, baby" "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 |
| He ain't no virgin! "The Witch is back and there's hell to pay." —Winifred, Hocus Pocus The door slammed open. "Bing bang the Bitch is back! I see Donald's up to his usual shenanigans but I'm looking for a virgin." Winifred looked peeved. She always looked peeved. Her exile hadn't suited her. Her side kicks had abandoned her and her used broom was making her itch. "Fleas", she grumbled. "Fleas!" The barmaid hid under a table. The bartender fainted. Winifred didn't notice. She wasn't interested. "Where's that kid?" Max stood up and strode over to her. "Well, I'm old. And don't think you can get lucky again. I'm not a virgin." "Children?" The gleam in Winifred's eye said it all. "Nope." Winifred slumped. "You're out of luck. But... if you need a ride to the cemetery..." Winifred started to mumble and twitch her fingers. "That won't work." Wide eyed but curious, Winifred mouthed "why?" Max laughed. "I've invested in every ward in the world. Would you like a gummy?" Winifred turned and fled as fast as her bad leg would allow her. "I would've given her a ride to the Senior Center if she would've let me." Max sighed. "It's hard getting old, even for an old witch with dementia." © Kåre Enga (29.oktober.2024) ~205 words |
| Little rays of sunshine "I never drink...wine." — Dracula Break out the glasses and cut of their heads. I have a headache. I'm off to bed. We'd have much to be thankful for if you would. Now... don't spill a drop. Waste not want not. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine"   The party was getting out of hand. Melinda and Belinda were pulling each other's polyester wigs and the Count was dancing on the tables. Who had spiked their drinks? You'd think that Draqquie would be more careful what he invites to these shindigs. Last time... Hmm... I wonder. Pauletta and I made the rounds. We were attached at the hip so that was a swirling task as we faced opposite directions. No one cared. Pauletta is/was/will-forever-be a force of nature. No one got in our way. No one dared. We whispered in each others ear. Do you think? Did you see? WHAT WAS THAT! Apparently Lizzy was in a tizzy because Donnie wouldn't stop sucking on her... and she fell from the chandelier and crashed through the floor. Bats. Crazy bats. She should've just spread her wings. The party broke up just before dawn. And that's when we realized that someone hadn't turned off the grow lights in the orchid house. A little too much "sun" had driven everyone mad. Sad really. They'd be hung over until the Day of the Dead... if they lived that long. If not... We would see them then. And as Pauletta reminded me, again and again. © Kåre Enga (27.oktober.2024) ~250 words |
| Day 3: “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” —Johnny, Night of the Living Dead Barbara and Johnny... and me. No, Barbara. No one is coming to get us. We're always left behind. Like holey socks and underwear, useless except as rags to sop up the blood and tears. I say my prayers every time Johnny goes out. Sigh with relief if he doesn't come back with a kill. He's out prowling tonight. Beware. ... Yes, Barbara. I fixed your favorite fish dish: anchovy pizza with creamy white sauce on the thinnest crust I could make. You oughta learn how to bake, Barbara. ... Johnny, what a pleasure to see you! No, there isn't any pizza left. Barbara... Yeah, I know. She's a bit of a glutton. But she's eating for five these days. What? You didn't know? ... Barbara! Noooooo. Not in my bed! ... What's that you say? Yes, I can find parents for your puppies. Just don't leave them for me to care. And... don't expect Johnny to be much help. Yes. He did drop off a mouse this morning. He's out there prowling again. I told him a rabbit would be better but he likes rabbits. As friends. Here's some cut up chicken and tuna. No, you can't have my porkchop. ... Look, Johnny. Aren't they cute? ... Hey, you two. I just got a call. I need to go out this morning. Old Hoot has a hard case to solve. He says he needs me to interpret. Yeah, yeah, I may just be a lowly parrot (his words, not mine. I think I'm magnificent) but I'm multi-lingual. One informant is a horse. ... No, Johnny, you're not a suspect. But Barbara... Just between you and me she ought to be careful. I think someone's out to get her. © Kåre Enga (22.oktober.2024) ~279 words |
| 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 |
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