In the heat of keep moving,
we stumble into an unknown,
needful things abundant, yet
tricky to get them, musty and
slippery, the particular

skill learned doesn’t help win
the competition. Need to move on,
climb on the barrier, one foot in
the narrow opening, we pause to
think if the dim world beyond

the thrash hold is worthwhile to
venture. Only way to find out is
boldly to go over the window, and
the puzzle solved, eventually
we’ll find a way home.

By Byung A. Fallgren

It slips in through
the window,
fragrant,
calm glow
in mist gray,
hopeful not
irrational expectation
in a huge rainbow bubble.
Apprehensive about
the progress of the day,
making sure it doesn’t leave
the shredded pieces of
the bubble in the day’s
doldrums. Varied shade,
can be deceitful, but
usually inspirational.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Beneath the porch their love
bloomed, off-springs were born,
aura of joy surrounded the home
until one day the babies vanished
into the night. They believed

the lady above their burrow
ate them, for she’d been
snooping around. Stars saw
the belching bull snake
in the brush . Only if

they knew her bruised heart for
their loss. Only if they knew
the convicted murderer was
innocent. So modern humans prefer
life in prison to death sentence. What
about innocent one’s broken wings?

*

Mommy rabbit throws the accusatory look at me.
But, unlike human, she doesn’t dwell on her
misfortune very long. 😊

By Byung A. Fallgren

Beneath the blue paint,
where the moth sat,
a hidden crack in
the wooden post,
the moody teens’
outburst kick.
Touching it,
soothe the scar in
the memory,
smile at his silver wings
now, yet with ever existing
tiny butterfly-clouds within,
praying and wishing to
repel yet another shadow.
Motherly sentiments,
beyond mood, until
her flesh turns to ash.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Sunbeams ride on
the river, bouncing off
the ripples of heaving water
in anticipation to see
unknown downstream,
twinkling and winking at the
fisherman lost in the moment.
One worry vanishes with
one line tossed, two worries
vanish with the second line,
and so forth, drift with the river,
he cares no more if he
goes home with empty net,
he returns again and again
to the river with sparkling sun,
where ancients found wisdom,
where he and the river merge
in one spirit in the afternoon.

By Byung A. Fallgren

He spoke gibberish,
‘Bad thing happens
if you don’t…mumble, mumble.’
Humoring missionary, I presume.
Told him I go to temple and
closed the door. Hearsay: the sharp
older man used to live two blocks
from mine before committing suicide.
Sometimes I wonder what it was he
tried to tell me. It pricks me to think
he tried to walk even on gossamer
if he could only avoid ‘Bad thing happens.’
I would’ve been friendly, only if
he spoke clearly. Only if…
I say, exhausted soul, save a space for
me in the heaven. We’ll continue the
conversation then. Sometimes, even
crossing the stormy ocean and
climbing arduous mountain
cannot undo what’s been done–
unintentional apathy.

by Byung A. Fallgren