pastel sky writes a letter
to the snow draped trees below
poem of winter silence
winter game in Beijing
the teen's dream shattered on ice
only she could revive it next season
as her son's wound closing
the winter road trip also lessens
some memory-worn road
©Byung A. Fallgren
Joy by Clarissa Scott Delaney Joy shakes me like the wind that lifts a sail, Like the loitering wind That laughs through stalwart pines. It floods me like the sun On rain drenched trees That flash with silvered green. I abandon myself to joy-- I laugh--and sing. Too long have I walked a desolate way, Too long stumbled down a maze bewildered.
In the Trust Her love butterfly wings in summer day; the fire in the snow. Her voice sun dust glow in the night; splinters of lake. Her tears for his wound; dying little creature; the soft touch of light opens the doubt of the garden gate. ©Byung A. Fallgren
I have been vexed by computer virus that makes some of my post(s)
disappear. In addition, WP editor doesn’t work well; why do they
change things that are working so well, only to make them worse?
The Weekly Avocet #480 is here.
This last only for a week.
mama duck to see her chicks
filled with joy and worry
like human, like duck
©Byung A. Fallgren
Health
youthhood health
a lion inside you
devours invaders
with the passing years
mechanism within goes awry
fallen leaves in summer
slow the hasty leaves
examine, fix the problems early
simple as the clear sky
©Byung A. Fallgren
Changing is not Vanishing
by Carlos Montezuma
Who says Indian race is vanishing?
The Indian will not vanish.
The feathers, paint and moccasin will
vanish, but the Indians–never!
Just as long as there is a drop of human
blood in America, the Indian will not
Vanish.
His spirit is everywhere; the American
Indian will not vanish.
He has changed externally, but he has not
Vanished.
Wherever you see an Indian upholding
the standard of his race, there you see
the Indian man–he has not vanished.
The man part of the Indian is here, there
and everywhere.
The Indian race vanishing? No, never!
The race will live on and
prosper forever.
(This poem appeared in Wassaja 1, No 3, June 1916.)
Carlos Montezuma, known as Wassaja, was a Yavapai–
Apache writer and activist. A fading amber of the
society of American Indians, he was the first native
American male to receive a medical degree. He
founded the magazine Wassaja, a platform through
which he published his own writings and political
views. He died on January 31, 1923.
January
It arrives like a lad who ran miles,
sprawls on the snowy field,
put an eye on the days go by like
the wind-swept clouds.
Slipping near the end
of the stage, the fire within cools;
the heart of the frozen lake.
But the core of it still hangs on
to the warmth of the sun by day,
shivers by night, comprehensive.
©Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 