Author: Byungafallgren
Wild Grape Vine with the Pine Tree
Wild Grape Vine with the Pine Tree
She plans in the spring,
in soft green,
touching the giant, rough and high:
She will reach the top.
Determined, she knows how:
doing her best.
In summer, great green,
mighty and high. Even the moon holds her breath.
Autumn comes around, and the vine has
climbed, not even half of the way to the top.
She doubts: she may not make it.
a reminder of the cousin’s overdone dream.
Still, she laughs, her leaves blazing crimson.
With the first frost, she whispers to the moon:
“I will return. Meanwhile, I will join
the party of the dancing leaves.”
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Cat, Fence, and Autumn
Cat, Fence, and Autumn
wild grape vine
on the fence
caught
on fire
in crimson
runaway cat
living
in the shrubs
ready
to go home
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
In the Grieving More
In the Grieving More
Handsome, lost his wife at 69, began
his days sitting in his chair,
staring at the pair
of his slippers,
as if they were her on the first day he met,
dazed by her beauty. Dark spots appeared
on his face, mushrooms of sorrow,
that would last unknown tomorrow;
deep wrinkles guided the invisible
tears toward the corners of the mouth. When
the nephew called him, he'd lift his head, eyes
gazing blankly toward him. Nephew offered,
"Let's go for a stroll." But he preferred
dropping his head in silence. "Go fishing then."
His head remained as Thinking Man.
He was glued to the chair most of the days.
One day he freed himself from the chair
and asked, "Is my woman still at Computer Repair?"
Nephew sighed. "No. She's visiting her mom and dad."
"When she's coming home?"
"She's taking it forever, uncle."
"Tell her to hurry.
"don't scurry."
Every day the same conversation he would repeat,
eat, and sleep as he used to,
until one day: he lay on the dandelions in his lawn,
watched the clouds; he appeared to have no more pain.
The couple's urns have lain
side by side above the mantle, like they used to sit
on the deck, side by side.
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Fall Song
Fall Song
boxelder bugs gathered
in the warmth of the tin roof
a treat for the birds
wild grape vine
burning red on the fence
birds are heading south
late fall orchard
sings no more but meditates
pumpkin vines still bloom
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Q & A on the New Gutter
Q & A on the New Gutter
Q: Isn't the old gutter's silent collection of rain nice, esp. at night?
A: In the wee hours of the night, I am awake, might as well listen to the rain drums in the gutter to my running thoughts.
Q: What about the thoughts?
A: Lots of things, like my elderly friend in the war-torn country suffering cold and hunger in the old age; my near-miss joy in the past, etc.
Q: Aren't all the failure your fault?
A: Yes and no.
Q: What's that?
A: Yes, because accepting it as my fault make me calm; no, because it didn't make sense how I did screw up the project that smoothly climbed the hill overlooking glorious waves.
Q: Again, who is the culprit?
A: Demon, coaxing me into finishing in a hurry before someone does it. Life is a song bird in the air, with a variety of repertoire; before it flies away you've got to capture the note just right for you; however, you must not do it in a hurry.
Q: not fast enough is your fault. Successful people don't idle.
A: The rain stopped. Had we not argued, I could have captured useful ideas. My song bird is about to fly away.
Q: Cheer up. Golden songbird is the best one. It will surprise you.
A: Moan old pain for sure.
Q: It depends on your ears.
A: My ears are trying to tune in; with some luck, I might get something.
--Byung
Byung A. Fallgren 