Author: Byungafallgren

Wail

~ Byungafallgren ~ Leave a comment 
Wail
Johnson Cheu
    for the young who ask, "How did you learn 
                                            to like yourself?"

There are glaciers, imposing , yet shrinking.
There is the iris, violet sky cradling shares of sun.
The white Bengal tiger, snow and black inky.
Infinite reasons I could give for gladness,

though some may salve the wound from which
your question arises, how to be glad to be alive?
Stitch your hearts fissure: recall family, friends,
a slap, cigarette burn, the rod something searched

down, or welled up in your darkened pupil.
Turn outward: two A. M. streets, creeps in cars,
the chaos of human folly delivered by calm,
coiffed news anchors. The wound is within you

and not. The answer within you and not.
Want, comfort, desire, love ought not be wounds.
We pine for them from our first wail,
what you must give and take, till no voice is left.

Johnson Cheu is a poet and assistant professor in the
department of writing, rhetoric, and American culture 
at Michigan State University.

Breath for Metal

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Breath for Metal
Ching-In Cheng

This is a story
I've kept in soft
orange inside
my steel body. I've wanted

to wait until I've 
cooled to hum, until
my touch wouldn't burn.

I've practiced to gentle 
      not to be odd. To remember
me a calm line transmitting not artificial

sugar smile melts a rainy spring I don't want
to feel a tug   you wait again for what's 
     dissolved into scent for this week. 


Ching-In Cheng is a trans/gender queer and
fewer Chines American poet. They are the authors of
recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017), winner of 
the 2018 Lamba Literary Award for Transgender Poetry, 
an assistant professor at the University of Washington 
Bothell, Chen lives in Lake Forest Park , Washington on
Snokomish lands.

Moth-like

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
They argue like they breath.
Just because the light is there
doesn't mean the door to her room 
is open.
shock from the hot bulb that
knocks him down to the hard wood.
Slowly recover senses.

In evenings, it happens again;
her patience, limited. 

Burn-wound;
regret; exhaustion;
no word heals it.

a drop of morning dew; her tear
before she left; encouragement;
he rises;
but for how long? 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Taking back the abandoned

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments 
Taking back the Abandoned

Grabbing the empty shopping cart, I heard
the voice behind me: take this, still warm.
I turned to see the man whom I unfriended 
on Facebook grinning.
Oh, sure. I took the cart and 
the heart softened, followed him to the register.
Would you like a free copy of my new book? 
He just smiled and said, 
someone is following you.
My husband greeted him and, together,
they started chatting like old pals.

Hard words can dissolve over time;
garden of life can bloom more often 
depends on the green thumb of
art of life. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

There

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments

There
Robert Mezey

It is deep summer. Far out
at sea, the young squalls darken
and roll, plunging northward,
threatening everything. I see
the Atlantic moving in slow
com templative furry
against the rocks, the beaten
headlands, and the towns sunk deep
in a blind northern light. Here,
far land, in the mountains
of Mexico, it is raining
hard, battering the soft mountains
of flowers. I am sullen, dumb,
ungovernable. I taste myself
and taste those winds, uprisings
of salt and ice, of great trees
brought down, of houses and cries
lost in the storm; and what breaks
on that black shore breaks in me.

Robert Mezey was born In Philadelphia in 1935.
He enrolled at the University of Iowa and
completed his bachelor of arts degree.

The Particular Thursday

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
The Particular Thursday

Woke at four by the voice
in the dream: Assassin!
that drove all the senses to the edge.
Why? I'm only unknown poet.
It must be a moron's game. Shrug, shrug.
Yet the word stuck in the back of my neck, 
like an insect bite. Cancel the plan;
don't  go to the County Fair;
where a maniac could be hidden.

On second thought, go, enjoy the day.
At the fair ground, got a long walk, bought 
the corns on the cobs and water bottles,
sat with him at the table under the shade,
and ate the hot and sweet corn; smiled at
the old lady nearby. she smiled back.

Visit the Garden Exhibition, took some photos
of winners' work.

Next, visit the animal show. little ducks pant
in the heat, while a fat alpaca gobbles up
the dry grass.

The last stop at The Forest and Its Habitants;
learned the burrowing owls live in the burrow 
of the prairie dogs'; winner take it all. 

On the way driving home, thanked God
for the safe day. 

   ©Byung A. Fallgren