Enga mellom fjella

1892 - the poem

1892

Eighteen-ninety-two, April the Twenty-fifth:
my Grandmother's born,
Teresa Menztzell (Pittsburgh, I think);
my Mom comes along thirty Years later and me
thirty Years after that.
By Nineteen-eighty-two my Grandmother's Ninety.
And I have no Daughters or Sons
to continue the Line. You're ten Years old,
but I don't know that.
In the Year you turn Thirty,
you have a Son in your Arms.
It's Two-thousand-two and you're more than happy.
And my sad sorry Tale?
The End
is something I must be resigned to accept.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.380.J1892] 2008-12-16


I noticed my Journal had hit page 1892, which was the year of my mother's mother's birth ... from that the writing flowed.

BLAH BLAH BLAH (... already):

"My mind is gathering stray thoughts like straw behind a baler. One: "the scent of seawood & the umami of desire." Another: "what ichor trickled into the sands of the cum stained strand of Fire Island when O'Hara and his poetry was lost forever". I was thinking of Frank O'Hara who was run over by a Jeep in '66. Yesterday, I wrote, "Ode to a blue BIC lighter" about 'retiring' the lighter Frankie gave me when I visited Missoula last December. I bought an orange one to light the eyes of the stove and votive candles. The smell of lilac was wonderful last night; the room warm. Cool when I took my morning shower, though. I used the OOB herbal conditioner Donna sold me yesterday. OOB = old ornery beard. I just told Michelle @ CC: "I had my life all planned out, but reality rearranged it". Not true, of course, it was never planned out, but I did have hopes and dreams ... and bad acne. <<forgive, let go, move on & live in the present>> or something like that, she told me.

Tea & sympathy, a corner of Celtic Connection, chatting about Irish culture, inspiration, overcoming apathy, as we conspire to channel our winter's woe into the wells of spring as snowflakes fall." [J1899]

I was waxing poetic while eating my English mince pie and sipping Irish tea.

And didya ever wonder how they plow the streets here in Missoula? On Main and on Higgins they plow everything to the center. Where I grew up they plowed to the sides blocking sidewalks and driveways. The light snow we are having is slowly, but surely, piling up. But nothing like the 2 feet my mother and sister got in the suburbs of Buffalo, New York over the last three days.

MILLSTONES & MILESTONES:

I decided to up my gps to 750 for "First drum set"  as it is a seasonal poem (kinda) to see whether I could push it over 100 r/r. So far it is working. It has received 8 new reviews and now's up to 89 and has 796 views overall! So, go read it if you haven't done so already; most of my blog readers have I assume.

This blog is approaching 10k views as well and that is yet another type of milestone.

Have you ever used the bid-click system here? Since I have had enough gps, I've put some of my poems on bid-click. I've found that it helps with views and snags an occasional review as well.

Afterall, most of us writers want to be read. I don't promote my writings well, but I do promote some.

My millstone? Submitting to poetry magazines.

Montana: 17º at 14:45

9,966