Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
... 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 ** . 5538 |