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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: "Zmitri" "In the midst of silence" "In search of Iris" "At three" "Mauve Mavis" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "Even in chaos ... More hockey poems." "Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page" "Czernina (Dirk's-blood-soup?) and Murv Jacob's mural" 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 |
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