June Haiku

mid-June aroma
of lilac with fading blooms
midnight muse

cottonwood seeds
settle in an abandoned pot
nearsighted plan

a wasp flew in and out
of the window, teasing the tomcat  
a dead wasp on the floor

bird eggs 
in the pot won't grow into plants
whimsical politics

©Byung A. Fallgren
Dianne Vais–cactusdi@msn.com

Mommy’s Boy

Mommy's Boy

for she's the one who gave you birth.
No one blames for that.

But do not confuse your wife with 
a housekeeper and nanny.
She is a mother of your child.
she deserves some respect. 

Please, do not ignore her and discuss family matter 
with your mom: when that happens habitually, and
you call her unimaginable names when she points out
your wrongdoing, you've got a serious problem;
a male wasp with wayward wings;
an emotionally crippled son of a bitch. 

But you don't want to get a therapy, nor divorce;
you totally ignore how she feels;
yet she stays in marriage for the sake of the child,
embracing her bruised heart and pride, accepting 
your sickness.
she cries like a poet, silent lament
for you, twisted soul.
Respect your wife for the sake of your beloved child
as well. your shame knows.   Grow up.

©Byung A. Fallgren 


Garden Work

Garden Work

Grany's energy and mood burst
with the spring arrival, she'd put on
a hat with the rainbow buttons sewed on it,
grab the hoe and begins to work on her garden.

When the green sprouts begin to emerge,
she's getting ready for the days to spray
pesticide; the image of little caterpillars
eating her little darlings; her lips curl. She'd
buy the best one and spray it over her babies. 
But wait; she pauses, thinking about 
the ground water pollution: pesticide and household 
cleaning agents can pollute our ground water sources.
so, they must be used and disposed properly. 

That ain't my problem. She smiles. As the article:
use the pesticide as instructed; don't pour the cleaning 
stuffs with water on the lawn or ground, and so on.

Looking at her green garden, she ponders,
what can be done more? Many things.
For now, she'd tend the new greens;
help them grow more. 

Garden Work is one of my three poems published in the 
Weekly Avocet--#497. 

Spring Pasture

Spring Pasture

She greets the old cowboy
who shares tears and joys,
loves her as the cows love
the grass beneath the deep snow.

The haystack grows low, as the days near
the spring; she embraces the blue, seeing 
the cowboy moves his cows to
the high country, where the 
blueberries bloom.

She dons purple dress,
put on a spring perfume,
greets the doe and fawn.

The old cowboy plans for
the first harvest of hay,
forgetting yesterday's sorrow
of Wife perished of the COVID.

She cheers him, wishes for 
the grass grow slow;
blossoms stay longer.
She enjoys May's gentle touch 
a bit better than the passion of July.

She loves all the ups and sillies of spring.

(This piece is one of my six poems appeared 
in the Weekly Avocet #491, May 1st, 2022.)

--Byung A. Fallgren


She will be smarter, just like us

She'll be smarter, just like us
              For my granddaughter

On a spring day, a couple of robins
decide to build a nest, by the fake owl
whose duty is to scare away woodpeckers
drilling holes in the wall.

What is in the bird-mind? Let the owl babysit
their chicks; smarter than John on the street.

They sing joyfully when the three chicks 
emerged from the eggs; tell the owl to watch
their precious ones, while they search worms.

One night, an owl falls in love with the fake one,
then realizes he is wrong. But he finds the serendipity.
the three chicks in the nest.

The following day, the robins notice the empty nest.
In fury, she swoops over the cat scared and run away.

O-ho-ho, she laughs at the coward cat.
Sitting on the post, she grieves her lost chicks,
then flies away. Time to rebuild a new nest.
This time she will be smarter; just like us.

©Byung A. Fallgren

In the Virtue of making bed in the morning

In the Virtue of Making Bed in the Morning

Her daughter worries of the safety
of her children at school.
She has no word to comfort her, except
telling her:

first, open the window,
let the morning air, with the breath of 
the stars of pure dream, flood in;
Shake the pillow and the sheet,
let the residue of the bad dream
out of the window.
With that,

the red stains in the shirt,
the lifeless faces of the kids, revived;
now, all are safe in the class.

Now, you can relax and sit 
in front of the computer; work;
do the ritual every morning. 

©Byung A. Fallgren