Winter Blue Remedy Song

As a remedy we tend to 
think of the ones shivering
in the cold, in the land near and far,

while the senile ones on the top
play the game of war.

Another winter blues, the one you can see
             in the dying plants;
             in the tears of a mother;
             in the shudder of the moon; remedy

yet to be found;
hidden in the bottom of
the conscience, gem in the rock;
             wish it points to the light. 


©Byung A. Fallgren

Night

Winter night
his snore keeps her reflect
on the past blue;

the refugee
the rain gutter recites 
the war poem;

lighted window
the night rain drums
in November;

artic dream
polar bear dreams of
old ice home.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Sister, one of the two fingers

Her eyes see things others don't
when it comes to her bro.
when she catches his post on the Facebook
about his past surgery as if recent one
and his worry on the hospital bill, 
her senses go purple alert; halt her impulse
to send him a check, give her mom a call
to make sure if he'd do that.
Mom says it must be a hacker.
she'd call her brother for sure.

Mom's heart blooms: she knew
two fingers are better than one,
like a nation needs ally. 

--Byung A. 

 

Keeping her safe

As the sea rise with the global warm
The villages grow skyward? 
Tall and wind-ridden? but away

From iron grab of angry ocean.
The vulnerable woman we neglected.
Memory of yester years, dreaming

To go back to her
Of yester years. Is it too late?
Why not keep her safe now?

*

unbelieving or selfishness
everywhere signs of global warming
but smokestacks still emit CO2


©Byung A. Fallgren



 
   

in some Assuming

once been a fiction writer, some think 
her poems are lies, with horror and thrill and all.
"It must be some fiction trying to..." they'd jeer.

She smiles then shudder at the imprudence
of it, then with pity, jokes, "Probably you are
right." then shrugs. Nevertheless,

she examines her poetry; sees it as true and 
hurried as the impatient dame herself.
only needs to morph more.

"Assume all you might," she whispers them, "but
know that, in doing so, you lose your empathy
and quality of word; what a waste. 

"That's how we lost each other, long ago,
on the green hill, on a balmy, dazed day.
what follows: years of tossing at night in doubt."


(c) Byung A. Fallgren


 

The Mother and Daughter, like lunar eclipse

The daughter who is born writer
doesn't write and tells her mom to write,
like the mom used to tell her. Now,
her mom has become the daughter's youthhood.
She's the daughter is the mom is the daughter...
the mom would do it for the daughter,
like the daughter should've done it for the mom;

they are two in one.
Who would've guessed it?
Not the Earth, nor the moon. 


(c) Byung A. Fallgren