Enga mellom fjella

... and we would be clueless creators ... clueless gods ...

... and we would be clueless creators ... clueless gods ...

In many ways we are. Those who have children; those who create art. Those who practice random acts of kindness seldom have a clue how far those ripples travel. I'm still benefiting from the words and actions of Ghandi and ML King.

Some of my Zmitri poems written to a friend touch on this. The premise being that he and I have had a relationship that's existed from the beginning of time. In each era our roles are different but intertwined. My molecules become his and his mine.

The above was my response to a blog entry "Invalid Entry"  by: lizco252

A continuation of silly verse (the aaaa rhyme scheme is brutal!), my Mack Spike series.

Mack Spike's birthday.

The sun is out; I want to play.
Mommy, daddy, it's MY day.
I'm one year older, bolder, hey!
The sun's come out and I must play.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.104a] 2008-06-07

The Old Man's Birthday

A year's gone by; my hair turns grey,
from running with my son each day.
Would I have it any other way?
Nope. I don't think so. Nay.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.104b] 2008-06-07

Off to school

The summer's ended, off to school
to learn my numbers, read; that's cool!
I wonder when I get there, who'll
play with me each day at school.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.104c] 2008-06-07

ME: Doing nothing!

IMAGINE:

Fireflies at dusk; mulberries ripening red to black; vine honeysuckle wrapping its fragrance around the pine's; crescent moon in the western sky; a bunny hopping flashing white; the path to somewhere descending into night.

Kansas: Muggy at 15:00 and 85º; bad storms to the west. ** Image ID #1295354 Unavailable ** .

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