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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" "Speak soft my name" "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." "In a garden of roses, baby" "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" "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 |
| The lintels hugged the green turf at the back of the ruins, telling their stories to those who wandered that far. They spoke of the conquests of spirits in a tongue still spoken... elsewhere. Here only ghosts remembered the sacred spots and communal halls they once roamed. Only those who looked inside themselves could hear their laughter. They were long past suffering and anger. Neither had ever served them well. They'd let go of the baggage of living long ago. "Here we said prayers. This spot, yes, this is the spot where we fell in love, and where we died to the world. |
| He took his blinders off, amazed at what he could see. Unshackled he could move freely, without the earplugs hear birds sing. He grasped this new reality, sunrise, sunset, seeing a banjo, hearing it ping. He walked towards it as the holograph faded into a dream. This was not the reality of his upbringing, the way to Heaven, his purpose in life. He was meant to love coal, a miner, a horse carrying load after load, a black hole only lit by those in control of the switch. Light on. Light off. © Kåre Enga (17.september.2025) |
| Everyone seemed old growing up and one had to keep track of which Aunt Dot they were talking about. Big Dot, Little Dot, Dorothy. Thankfully Aunt Verna had her own name. And there were those never mentioned around children. Like Uncle Oscar who prostituted his daughter and thankfully fell off a float. Everyone knew everyone's faults but were closed mouth — unless they were drunk. I was the damaged fruit from a sober branch, not allowed to speak to family — the invisible silent one. But, even I knew who favored who and how my mother and aunt mixed like oil and water. That sad fair-haired child with a wan smile smile still plays hide-and-seek with his shadow. |
| Darkness has descended. Welcome Night! The Calvary of Crosses has gone to sleep having vanquished all those who wander by Day. n Those who reside in the liminal space of dusk and dawn — have fled. Starbearers and Cavedwellers watch the moles that moil beath our feet. Let us arise! And by the gods of Sirius... The skirmish was short and Melvin lay dead. The minions drag him into their dungeons where starfire didn't reach. The removed the medallion and choose another to carry on. It was the only force of Peace protecting against the Righteous who would destroy their home. Tomorrow they would sleep. But next dark Moon — Arise! © Kåre Enga (19.september.2025) |
| ...under napkins to collect sloshes, under a plate to keep it warm. Coffee doesn't care. It came from Ethiopia — they call it Aster — as in flowers or stars. I too came from afar. Born in a box to be labeled and sent off into space with nary a clue. I celebrate those who harvest the beans, that tell them they are worthy to be roasted and ground — then consumed. Harvesters may never see the world. But they have a home under the same stars that watch me add milk and sugar, then walk to my table with nary a spill. © Kåre Enga (28.september.2025) WC 100 |
| Frau Elise jumped out of the way. No one used their horn. It would be impolite and disturb the peace. Yes, her death would be regrettable but... she'd share the blame of being on the sidewalk at rush hour. Traffic was bad at 17:02 and the almost empty sidewalks were fair game. No one walked, especially when it was 34°. What was she thinking? It thundered. Frau Elise opened her umbrella and retrieved her walker, thankfully not damaged; and, like any good German, honked her horn at the calico cat to warn her that she was in her way. WC 95 |
| I save my hair. The colors change every decade. Blonde to platinum, brown to black, once a pale shade of pink and lavender. My hair above seldom matches my hair below. And in-between... it just curls as it grows. I do wish I had more hair... in the right places. I'll need to ask my barber whether he can clip my nose hairs and glue them to my eyelashes. I like hearing him laugh. I don't laugh at seeing my locks tumble to the floor. I wonder whether they miss me as much as I miss my youth when long hair blowing in the breeze was fashionable. One haircut, two haircuts, three. I need to ask my barber how long I need to let it grow so it can be made into a wig. They way I'm balding I'll need one when I die. 68398 |
| Resting-in-peace on a shoo-away-fly day, leaves fell, weary of dry heat. The sun peaked thru the haze but offered no warmth — or hope. Hoping to be consumed a cheery lemon-ginger scone jumped into someone's mouth. Stray thoughts were chewed by the lonely coffee-sipper: you too shall pass and be forgotten. Nothing happens to interrupt these ruminations. Life, once sought, sighs in the ennui of the shallow breathing of regrets: should'ves, could'ves, and oughts. The ghost of who-he-once-was cooing you should get up and shout! About what? The tree just shrugged and let go another leaf. He would leave soon enough. He turned to his inner child to say I'm sorry. The child embraced him and whispered, "takk for alt". © Kåre Enga (9.septembre.2025) Made into an item: 68.358 |
| Prompt Chiang Mai The DNA test was conclusive. He was family, 20 years old and living in Chiang Mai. His name was Talay — the sea — far from any sea, as far as could be. Yes, family — but how? Erik needed to find out before he told Anders. He found a picture on line. Not tall, not blond, a bit scrawny, light eyes. He looked Euro-Chinese-something, not Thai; yet... obviously he was. Just average in many ways. Did he look like his father? Anders didn't keep pictures of his family. Too painful, he said. He still had vivid memories of family fights and laughter. He always smiled as he said that, no need for pictures. Anders said he could see them when he closed his eyes. He murmured their names in his dreams. Erik told Anders he was flying to Chiang Mai for a day. He left out why. ... Talay stood in front of him, rigid as his aunt at her husband's funeral, speechless as a waterfall in April1. He had an uncle? In Thailand? Someone who knew his father? Family? Erik kept silent. Better to wait and let Talay process the moment. The fragrance of plumeria surrounded them, begging them to stay; the aroma of grilled chicken interrupted. "Have you eaten yet?" Erik used a phrase more common than hello or goodbye, hoping to break through. "Yes." Silence is golden they say. Talay stood as solid as iron pyrite; false gold by any other name is still shiny but useless... They had met at a Café Amazon. Erik was thirsty. "Could I have a cold coffee, please. What would you like Talay?" At least he was polite enough to accept a cold drink. Outside, a young woman wearing a smile approached and light touched Erik's arm. He smiled back and softly said, "I have a jealous boyfriend." She turned her smile on Talay but he didn't smile back, shrinking into himself. "I'm thinking about becoming a monk." Erik nodded. "I like the green silence of the forest." The silence broken, Erik had hope. "Let's walk to a quieter place. I know a juice bar near here." ... They walked through the ruins and not-quite-ruins that rose up like white lotus in a swamp. Erik reminisced. His hometown was a center of modern Buddhist thought but didn't have as many temples. The modern city enveloped this former seat of the Lanna Kingdom with new concrete towers and busloads of Chinese visiting the main tourist sites. The sois2 felt a bit neglected. They crossed a bridge over a klong3 where rafts of indigo water hyacinths provided a perch for hungry herons. Talay didn't say much to Khun4 Erik. He seldom spoke unless spoken to. He pondered over his uncle having a husband: tall, a bit pale but definitely Thai, soft-spoken, welcoming. He may live in the south but his accent showed traces of Isaan. With his mother gone, grandparents gone, he had no one. He wished they had had more family . Maybe if he did his mother wouldn't have worked so hard to support her parents, leaving him to their care. She'd never complained to him, but he knew. She said she had gone to Phuket when she was young to get as far away as she could. She'd scurried home with him in tow. Talay. She'd named him Talay to remind her of the sun and sand of the sea. She didn't talk about his father though. He was curious about that, and the family he didn't know existed till now. ... "I'm so glad to have found you." Talay didn't smile. "I was never lost." "I meant..." "What was my father like?" "I wish I knew. I only met him twice, briefly. Everyone in his family loved the sea. They grew up by the sea." "I grew up in the mountains. I've never been to the sea." Surrounded by green mountains and white temples, they sat with their silence in Khun Kae's Juice Bar, both in their own thoughts. Erik tried to remember his time in the temple during Phansa5. How the rains drowned out the laments of the soaked chicken vendors, the joy of the ever-thirsty rice fields, the low of a buffalo. He missed his family in Khon Kaen6. Some tourists walked by. Loud, a bit too giddy, in a hurry. They were ignored by the locals. "This too shall pass" was one of the lessons Erik had to learn as a child. It wasn't always necessary to respond. It wasn't always necessary to be offended. He'd learned to let go of other people's disrespect and misbehaviour. Mostly. His year living with his father's cousin in Norway tending to bleating goats had taught him other lessons. Talay might be shocked at his father's Swedish roots. "Your father was Swedish. His family lived by the sea. They learned to swim before they went to school, learned to fish and row a boat as a child, learned to sail before they were ten. Your uncle has no clue how to grow a potato, cook soup, tend a garden. My farfar's 7 family in Norway grew potatoes and carrots and made cheese so they wouldn't starve. My father left as soon as he could. My mother's family lived in a ban8 surrounded by rice fields before moving to the city in search of jobs. They knew how to survive by eating anything that didn't run fast enough. I still remember ant eggs." Erik laughed. "When my father ran away to find a warm place and met my mother... well, here I am." Erik motioned for another drink. "Your father's family was more privileged. They ate herring, a type of fish, went to a bakery for bread, a market for meat and vegetables. They all loved pizza but learned how to make one. Your grandparents were never poor, never rich, always had enough. Anders never complains. His family never did. I doubt your father ever did." "Is my uncle loud like those tourists?" "Only when he was younger... and drunk. He doesn't drink much any more. He's almost as quiet as a monk these days. Learned from me." Erik had to smile at that. Neither of them would make good monks but Anders had calmed down, and was basically content except on anniversaries; he missed his siblings. Erik had two sisters he kept in touch with and three nephews he saw now and then, but he didn't miss them. He had Anders, Gung who lived with them, and her children A-ngoon and Faifa. He'd never felt lonely, never been alone. Would Talay want to be a part of that? ... Talay mentioned how he had an aunt that lived far outside of town. He had a group of friends growing up but they had gone to university. When his mother died everyone helped but he only had one friend left and they both had to work. Talay delivered food on his motorcycle. ... "I've lost my kwan9". Erik nodded waiting for Talay to continue. Patience was a virtue. He had plenty. Erik sipped on his second red apple, carrot, passion fruit smoothie. Paradise, they called it. Talay looked past his glass... at nothing. "I thought about going to the forest to find it." ... Erik asked Talay to show him around the Old City. He'd been here many years ago but wanted to see it through the eyes of someone conceived by a tsunami. 20 years... They walked 70 meters to Wat Lam Chang. "The elephants remind me that I'm not chained. And the nagas10 make me feel safe." The found a quiet spot to sit. "Do you always wear orange on Thursdays?" Talay finally smiled. "Yes. I was born on a Thursday. It's also my favorite color." "My mormor 11 would say 'the traditional colors help keep time'. She was fond of pink even though she was born on a Sunday12." "My mother was born on a Wednesday and given the name Khajee13. Talay paused. "She was hit by a car two years ago. I come here to make merit for her on my birthday, the day before Mother's Day.14" A temple cat approached them asking for a rub. It jumped up to sit between them. All three sat there for awhile in the shade until it began to rain. A good time to find a place to eat. Talay chose a restaurant known for its khao yam15. He avoided fish and flesh. Erik loved som tum16, extra spicy, but decided to try the khao yam. "ข้าวยำสองจานครับ" (Two plates of khao yam, please). Talay had that look of 'starving teenager' that Erik knew so well. Oh, to be skinny again. Anders didn't mind; but... Erik jogged every evening when it cooled down a tad. He was allergic to mornings. They slowly walked from one temple to another stopping at 7-Elevens for juice, chatting about this and that. The clouds played with the sun. Erik carried his umbrella for both sun and rain. Talay seemed oblivious to both. "Would you like to see the sea? You could visit us in Hua Hin.17" "When can we go?" "There are no flights today but we can go tomorrow or Sunday." "What time?" "3 in the afternoon." It was hard to read the emotions crossing Talay's face. He stiffened, hands clenched, unclenched. "Yes. I can be ready by noon." ... Night set on the temples as they had for hundreds of years as the clouds parted to reveal the sunset. The sun set behind the mountains here, like in Hua Hin. In Phuket one could sit on the beach, watching the orange sun setting in the Andaman Sea to the west. An orange sea at sunset was magical. Would there be stars to wish on tonight in Chiang Mai? Tomorrow in Hua Hin? Tomorrow Anders would find out that he still had family. © Kåre Enga (August 2025) WC ~1650+ Footnotes |
| 1. It glowed. Golden, shimmering to entice the unsuspecting and the greedy. I chose the grungiest door I could find. I'd rather go to a common hell than a heaven of fake do-gooders, or worse, a fake heaven of gold-diggers. 2. The last time I saw her, her heart was adorned with a spider brooch of false gold. I quickly strode to the grungiest door I could find, hoping she wasn't on the other side. 68.103 |
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