Author: Byungafallgren

On the Drive to Meet the daughter

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On the Drive to meet the daughter

Fluffy little dog and lamb play
in the blue field of sky; on the way
to the town where she will stay.

But the cars and trucks on the road 
are racing; competing;

semis sandwiching the little car;
as the gust bellows from the wheat field.

The lone scarecrow waves a Safe Drive song:

Home is near at the end 
of the silver lane,
where the flower boy is waiting for you
at the railroad cross, with a bouquet of
cotton clouds and lambs; in the sky.

So, it seems; hard to see it unfolds
in no known seconds.  

©Byung A. Fallgren

Avoiding the Villane

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Avoiding the Villane

Being an insomniac,
do some 3 a.m. hike on the trail of
thoughts, then meet the authors in the pages;
sometimes, they are kind to send me
to the sleepy slope of grab the alternative; any book.
Words are not to be blamed;
need to be lost in the blank world;
not to be bothered
in the known hours of pain.

–Byung A. Fallgren

Incurable

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Incurable
Dorothy Parker

And if my heart be scared and burned,
The safer, I, for all I learned;
The calmer, I, to see it true
That ways of love are never new--
The love that sets you daft and dazed
Is very love that ever blazed;
The happier, I, to fathom this;
A kiss is every other kiss.
The reckless vow, the lovely name,
When Helen walked, were spoke the same,
The weighed breast, the griding woe,
When pheon fled, were ever so.
Oh it is sure as it is sad
That any lad is every lad,
And what's a girl to dare implore
Her dear be hers forevermore?
Though he be tried and he be bold,
And wearing death should he be cold,
He'll run the path the others went...
But you, my sweet, are different.

Dorothy Parker, born on August 22, 1893, in
West End New Jersy, was an editor and early 
modernist poet. She authored several literary 
works and poem collections. She died on
June 6, 1967.

Vanishing Song and At the Empty Pool

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Vanishing Song

Chirping of baby robin,
vanishing song of late summer;
hops after its mother, then
fly away together,
leaving the yard empty.

At the Empty pool

a little yellow swimsuit
and a pink sandal,
scattered round the pool;
on the still water,
ponders the golden setting sun.


©Byung A. Fallgren

Acceptance

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Acceptance
Robert Frost

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least, must knew
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in its breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from its nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif 
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. 
At most he thinks or twitter softly, "Safe!"
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be be.