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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: "Sentinel" "In the midst of silence" "Waterlily" "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" "Plain cover jacket" 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." "Half-naked dreams? 'Getting the stain out of genes!" "Poems inspired by maps. Remember 1963?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Black feathers The Old Crow alighted on the rocks and spoke to us. "There's more to the color green than money, more fragrance in flowers than a pile of filthy old bills you exchange for rust-bucket toys. The sound of a babbling brook is musical in more ways than words of hate and vengeance ever will be. We listened in silence. Crows remember, and aren't beyond retaliation themselves. Silence seemed safer. "You say nothing and do less. Neither acquiescence nor apathy will save you." The wind picked up in hopes of ruffling our feathers. We wrapped our ignorance tighter around us to protect us from the storm that was surely coming. "You arise from dust and return as such but forget to stay grounded while alive. You will die soon enough." We shifted sore butts in hope... "There is no hope in avoiding suffering, only the courage to accept and let go." We stared at the gathering clouds. "You cannot wish away the rain without condemning others to a flood, nor wish for sun without starvation and drought." It was as if our thoughts were being read. "I'm not a mind-reader; but, I have countless seasons of experience. I've also listened to the wisdom of generations of my kind. We hold onto knowledge in our collective memory." Old Crow arose and stood before us, giving each one a black feather as the storm broke in a rush of wind and hail, leaving us with but a word. "Remember." © Kåre Enga (8.april.2025) [182.18] ~250 wc |
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