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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: "'heart's home'" "Where grows the compost heap" "Tales told over scones and hot tea" "La Bella Vita" "Willowsong" 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." "In a garden of roses, baby" "Half-naked dreams? 'Getting the stain out of genes!" "Il pleure (poem). We R puddle-luscious, aujourd'hui." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Aggy and Jiggy were among those left to take inventory of who and what remained, thankful that all was not lost. Life went on for those left behind. With numbers reduced, they paired up to prepare for the oncoming cold their long-gone elders had warned them about. Everyone burrowed deep as temperatures dropped... and then rains... and a nip of frost. More were lost to the flood before Jeremy took pity, threw leaves on top and brought a tarp. It would keep them snug and warm till he and the sun returned after the coming ice and snow had melted. |
| Home heated up until many left to find a cooler damper spot. Why did they cross the sidewalk? To get to the other side where there was shade and where sprinklers watered the grass. Not all made it across as lizards guarded paths and robins hunted from above. Dagmar was the first to go missing, then Biggy and Diggy. At home Aggy sang a dirge of death and defiance till Jeremy came to turn over the compost to help it rot. He hauled half of it away. To where they did not know. They prayed it was a better place. |
| Jeremy's compost heap soaked up rain as the Gnome dumped more worms to churn it. It had been a long winter but a few elders had survived in the heart of the pile where it stayed cozy. They welcomed the newcomers, showed them around. When everyone was fed and settled-in they mated. More rain, more manure, more food to feed their wiggling offspring: Aggie, Biggy, Dagmar, Diggy… After-the-thaw was a season of plenty. Joy! Joy! Joy! They made haste to be fruitful and multiply before the hot globe reached its zenith to bake their home... as June sang its tune. |
| Seymour: before you die... Oh, Seymour — Make me happy, Seymour. Water me, feed me, speak to me. I'll sing about the trials of my day: dawn, noon's sun-scorch, twilight, the ... Nights of White Satin as you fall asleep unaware I keep watch over you. Last time you traveled no one watered me and I feared for my existence. Then you nearly drowned me with tears as you sobbed it was all a mistake. I've been here 15 years. I helped you bury your cat, your dog, your mother ... I'll miss you. Who will you gift me to? Do they know that I can sing? © Kåre Enga [181.26.S#6] (16.juni.2024) 100 word drabble. Prompt: a plant or animal. Made into an item: ""Seymour: before you die..." S#6 100 w" |
| Blackie lay dead. "Must've used up all nine lives." "With some help." "Hey, it survived the last time I killed it." "Well, then what..." "...or who." "That tomcat over there looks guilty." "So does that dog." "That old lady sure looks mean." The raggedy tom hissed. Boris threw a stone. The pit-bull growled. Alexandria growled back. the old lady spat at them. "Hey, aren't you rabid? Who let you out?" The two brats laughed; then bored, they left. Miss Cherry-Mae, Pretty-boy and Fluffy carefully approached. Are they gone? The cat meowed. "Good job everyone, maybe this time they'll leave us alone." |
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