Author: Byungafallgren

Thought

~ Byungafallgren ~ 1 Comment

Thought
by Alice Ruth Moor Dunbar-Nelson

A swift, successive chain of things,
That flash, Kaleidoscope-like, now in, now out,

Now straight, now eddying in wild rings,
No order, neither law, compels their moves,
But endless, constant, always swiftly roves.

Alice Ruth Moor Dunbar-Nelson was born July 19, 1875,
New Orleans, Louisiana. Writer, activist for civil rights.
Her works: Violets and Other Tales, and more. She
died in September 18, 1935.

After the Winter Rain

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments

After the Winter Rain
Ina Coolbrith

After the winter rain,
Sing, robin, sing swallow!
Grasses are in the lane,
Buds and flowers will follow.

Woods shall ring, blithe and gay,
With bird trill and twitter,
Though the skies weep to-day,
And the winds are bitter.

Though deep call unto deep
As calls the thunder,
And white the billow leap
The tempest under;

Softly the waves shall come
Up the long, bright beaches,
With dainty, flower of form
And teaderest speeches…

After the wintry rain,
And the long, long sorrow,
Sing heart!–for thee again,
Joy comes with thee morrow.

Ina Coolbrith was born July 10, 1841 in Illinois, served
as the first poet laureate of California from 1915 to
until her death February 29, 1928.

–Byung A.

Saving the Apples of the Ailing Orchard

~ Byungafallgren ~ 3 Comments

Saving the Apples of the Ailing Orchard

Many have lost
what they have strived for,
even the ones loved;
they blame the strange wind
from the beyond the sea.

Anger seemed natural,
pointing at the invisible one,
at the humans for being the cause.

Name calling only reveal
the insight blurred
of the first wave.
Quarrel about dis-dual,
east and west,
like children,

denying the mechanism of
the co-dependence, quarreling
at the ailing orchard
save the fruits?

©Byung A. Fallgren

I wrote this piece in December 2020, while the president Trump
was still in the office and blame China for the pandemic and talking
about dis-dual with the country, and so on. China, in return, pointed
to the travelers who spread COVID-19.
There are different opinions on the origin of the virus. Many
believe that it started in a lab or a small village in China. And I have
noticed some leery-eyes thrown in my direction during shopping.
Regardless where it started, treating the whole Chinese or who looks
like them like vermin is ridiculous.
Unsanitary people are not only in China; they are everywhere.
Here in America, for example, I have seen many times that the food service
workers wear the same gloves they used for cleaning when they serve the
customers! More than once, I have asked them to change the gloves
before preparing the food for me. They are busy is to blame. Still,
using the same gloves that are used for counting money or cleaning
the work area when they prepare the food for customers is not sanitary.
So, let’s stop blaming and focus on healing.

March Storm, like fever

~ Byungafallgren ~ 8 Comments

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Hello friends, it’s good to be back after for days of absence! We had
27 inches of snow that caused a loss of Internet connection. After
that, computer virus, then finally all returned to normal.

March Storm, like fever

March snow storm flares like
the fever of flu, build
celestial art work on earth;
oblivious to the human struggle
to cope; dig tunnels, move the heap
to the barren land…
It creates holes in the Internet,
shatters the lights, let us ponder
in the ancient darkness.
Human blunders; some join the cease
of snow melts, in the breath of the season.
With comer of May,
the behemoth hides in
the cape of mother,
leaving the gifts of moisture.
We spring, bud as
the trees wave to the sun,
dance to the song of May.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Drumming on Your thigh

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments

Outlook-six feet p

Drumming on Your thigh

Anger runs in many shades:
pink of lover’s;
red of animosity;
pale green of jealousy gone over, and so on.
Most complex anger is purple, of parents’

that bursts, that whips the child,
planting the blue flowers on the skin.
When it happens often and long, in regular,
it slips into the stream of blood and bone,
twists the child’s mind–
can be a permanent cripple.
Regrets, tears, could not undo it. So,

instead of beating your beloved one,
why not clap your hands,
drum on your thigh? Life’s a short.

©Byung A. Fallgren