junipers don't need 
to be pruned by human 
nature did already

children don't need 
to grow under parental pressure
just put them in right track

what happens 
in woman's body
her choice

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Doe

when her son
was excluded
she
walks with him
in the night 


Sleep Aid

awake 
in the wee hour
no problem,
read book,
works better than pills


Rattle

wind 
blows all night
rattling the satellite dish
on the roof
for the rotten news

©Byung A. Fallgren

Windy Backyard Wisdom

Winds blow over
the white and green,
cascades from the hill
to the open, rippling in
silver gray, in hopes,

raise them into the air
and blow them away.
But they stay formidable,
roots in the soil,
like the stubborn youths’ will
to keep their land,

rebel against the invaders.
The ripples grow to sea waves,
claw the florets and blades, in vain;
the wings mean to fly,
the roots mean to stay,
like the incompatible lovers.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Dandelion & Iris

like a good friend
forget
each other's fault
just enjoy
being a good company

This piece is one of the six poems published
in The Weekly Avocet #491, May 1st, 2022.
Thank you, Charles, Vivian, Valeri for taking 
them.  

--Byung A. 

My six poems appeared in this journal: Spring Pasture; Learning the eyes of Sky,
turtles; Dandelion & Iris; For the Spring Sun; Spring Grass; Spring Tree Song.
Thank you, Charles, Vivian, and Valerie for taking these poems.

–Byung A. Fallgren

Inside me, a family
by Ching-In Chen

born from small 
waters. Each night,
I look for a paper
to feed this first litter
from a slow continent.

New trappers buy
their fetters and hooks,
dreaming of new skin
to drape. In the sky, a wound 

like river, opening up again
to bird. Neighborhood pushes 
against seams, dislikes 
a newcomer. This linked 
to history and forgetting--
a new gray house like a weed.

A monument rises past the window.
We sit and drink twice-steeped tea.

Ching-In Cheng is the author of Recombinant (Kelsey Street Press,
2017) and The heart's Traffic (Red Hen Press, 2009). A Callaloo,
Kundiman, and Lambda Fellow, Assistant professor in the School of 
Interdisciplinary Arts and Science and MFA in creating and Poetics 
at the University of Washington.  

View on the side of the road, a Message

Silver sky and the land join in the sea of smog;
Submerged, the wind turbines wave their arms,
Like the drowning octopuses.
 
Drying lake gives her way to the green invaders,
Like old soldiers with no weapons.
Hope the smoke will dwindle with winter's arrival;
Dried lakes will begin to refill 
As the irrigation stops in October.

In the smoke, the wind turbines point fingers,
As we panic at the foot of crumbling hills,
Fumbling on the sea of plans.

They say eventually Nature replenishes what it has lost,
But she cannot revive the perished creatures;
Polar bears, beavers, and others may live only
In the children's story book.
We can reverse that, can't we? 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Saving Mother Earth Haikus

hear the rage of smoke
from the burning trees and houses
they resign no more

the monarch butterflies 
on the brink of extinction
they don't need to go

save others, and save us
before polar bear and others
gone forever from Earth

©Byung A. Fallgren

A Fish Story

Don't ask me my name,
I can be any fish, small and big.
The point is the fact I am dying
with unknown cause; unknown 
to me and others.

A human examines me and others and 
finds plastic particles in our cell. But 
he's not sure if that is what killed us. 
There are more things, toxic chemicals
poured into the ocean can be also the reason.

humans who consume us worry; what if 
they too eventually end up being like us. 

But why worry? Change your wrong habits, 
and we all be safe. Or won't we?  

©Byung A Fallgren


  

We Dream the Dream Dreaming Us
                                by Brian Tierney

You say we should wait--
It must have snowed all night or season,

we don't seem to know
and there isn't a clock.

I say then 

we should 

wait, I
trust you.

The page is blank outside.
we haven't heard in days.
There is not enough time for a whole new plot.

Inside, the wax dilates.
We sit in the dark
and wait.

and are separate,
but looking at each other--

Brian Tierney is the author of Rise and Float (Milkweed Edition, 2022).
A former Stegner Fellow and the recipient of the 2018 George Bogin
memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. He lives in 
California, teaches poetry at the writing salon.