Sunglow

Sunglow
on the empty vase
on the kitchen window sill
casts a rainbow shadow
of spring flower

Sunglow
on the white show
in the field
silent dream
of Mother Earth

Sunglow
on her hair
a promise
of her recovery
from COVID-19

©Byung A. Fallgren

Duel Disaster
Unusual snow storms in Texas,
will hit other states, they say.
Snow storms, pandemic, duel enemy;
test on our strength.
We stretch our arms,
reach every nook, revamp;
we are out-numbered and
outsmarted, put them all under
our mighty waves; put the toxic bubbles
under our feet, pop, pop, pop,
we will subdue it all.

Recent snow storms left Texans with no electricity, no water, in the cold, they report.
I feel sorry for them. We hope they get prompt emergency help they need.

–Byung A.

A Winter Twilight
by Angelina Weld Grimke

A silence slipping around like death,
Yet chased by a wisher, a sigh, a breath;
One group of trees, lean, naked and cold,
Inking their cress ‘gainst a sky green-gdd;
One path that knows where the corn flowers were;
Lonely, apart, unyielding, one fir;
And over it safely leaning down;
One star that I loved ere the fields went brown.

A Winter Twilight originally appeared in
Negro Poets and Their Poems, 1923. Angelina Weld Grimke
was born in Boston Massachusetts in 1880. A journalist,
playwright, teacher, author, and poet. She died in New York City
in 1958.

My three poems, Lady in the Dark Stairway, Windy Evening, stupidity, Winter Solstice
are published in Terror House Magazine. To view it, go to http://terrorhousemag.com/stairway/

–Byung A.

photo by Gordon A. Gilbert Jr.–
gordonagilbertjr@usa.net

Competition

Potentials
in the field
can be anyone’s,
diligent seeker
first taker.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Economic Impact Payment, pandemic

She is a single mom with four kids,
her three jobs struggle to make ends meet,
EIP, savior, at least for the month.
Her old parents, collect gold chips
their life-long sweats, also got EIP
they can do without. With a twinkle
in their eyes, they save it for their daughter.
If she rejects it, they would still keep it for
the extra fund for emergency, or donate it to
the local Food Pantry.
Uncle Sam: I hope EIP is doing for
its job for our…
Daughter: it’s a cup of warm tea for
the street person of cold night. Thanks.
Meanwhile…oh,
I’ll keep the mask on and the distance.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Photo by Charmel Herinckx –charmel44@hotmail.com

Spring Tree Song

Dance with mom & child swinging
sitting in the tire hanging,

squirrel watches from the bough
happy for their return, miss the stolen game though,

see the tears of the tree in delight,
hear the whisper of melting snow polite,

what does the sunbeam say to the tree
set on fire of star-shine glee?

©Byung A. Fallgren

Hope
by Theodore Henry Shackelford

O Hope! into my darkened life
     Thou hast so oft’ descended;
My helpless head from failure’s blows,
     Thou also hast defended;
When circumstances hard and mean,
     Which I could not control,
Did make me bow my head with shame, 
     Thou comforted my soul.

When stumbling blocks lay all around,
     And my steps did falter,
Then did thy sacred fires burn
     Upon my soul’s high altar.
Oft’ was my very blackened night
     Scarce darker than my day,
But thou dispelled thus  clouds of doubt,
     And cheered my lonely way.

Even when I saw my friend’s forsake,
     And leave me for another,
Then thou, O Hope, didst cling to me
     Still closer than a brother;
Thus with thee near I groped my way
     Through that long, gloomy night
Till now; yes, as I speak behold, 
     I see the light! the light!

“Hope” originally appeared in My Country and Other Poems
(Press of I.W. Klopp Co., 1918) Theodore Henry Shackelford 
is the author of Mammy’s Cacklin’ Bread and Other Poems
and My Country and Other Poems.
 

Silent Hope

lone red berry
clings to the bough
dreaming
all winter long
of May-blossom

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Hill

What shade of thoughts can sneak into
the ancient and reshape her? Blue or purple?
Neither can? She is a firm spring under
the soft bed; content as an owl in
the high tree of night.
She finds a tweak in her wardrobe
for seasons. She winks in the dress with
dandelion prints; dances in alfalfa-purple
bedsheets; loves romancing couple of garden
snakes in the tall grass; thrilled when the bunnies
chase the mice; be in awe when a buck with
grand antler gathers his does and forage
in the moonlight.
All these will be the past, when the hand of
bulldozer of city planner, smooths the land,
or, whittled away by Mother’s precarious hand.
Hide your trivial concern; she slips your note
under her pillow, glance at it only
in her dream of night.

©Byung A. Fallgren