Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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: "'heart's home'" "Where grows the compost heap" "A radiant moon has set" "I, Katrina" "Koan on an October sky" 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" "ENFP, what are you?" FACES PLACES Kåre Enga ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
Thinking of Cubby's June prompt for "Chapter One " . Waiting for Jack Forgotten among the faded-to-sepia zoysia, all color drained after Summer fled south... one lone baseball faces the coming cold and Jack Frost's arrival. Will Jack want to play ball? silence on the field — a round object hidden by bleached out grass Kåre Enga [180.52] (3.juni.2023) I wonder whether I could make this go somewhere? I write/do bittersweet better than humor. I imagine Pollyanna putting bandages on her scars after getting hit by a bat. Horror, not my preferred genre, would entail tearing them off again after they're infected with maggots. Fortunately, Jack, Pollyanna's brother, is fond of her. Will he pick up the ball? Ah... Chapter 2. |