The New Year’s Morning Owl

At dawn, the little green house sleeps
by the big pine tree, in the corner
of the lazy back yard.
Woo-woo, woo-woo, a message from

the deep voice before vanishing.
And I wonder what the message is about; with
the ghost of the year gone still float round;

with the son still recovering from
the surgery, like a tree with a broken limb;
with the pandemic yet to disappear;
with the world still in the deep thoughts
of sea, of the unresolved;
might as well it be some good news:
the son and the world will not only rebound
but prosper in the new year.
The owl hoots again, unseen.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Big Brother

He came home across the ocean,
after years of separation from Mom.
He is small for his age twelve,
even shorter than the younger brother.
He has bright eyes and speaks in soft,
broken English.

His new dad is kind to him;
his little brother also nice;
his mom is all smiley to see him.
It is perfect as he hoped.

It begins to change as his life has been:
his mom’s voice would rise at his slow progress
of English or at his untidy room.
Sometimes, blue marks appear on his arm.
His little brother would call him from the bathroom,
“I need you, Adam. Clean my bottom.”
Who would’ve guessed this becomes one of
his routine chores?

The boy rolls up his eyes; he’s not sure
how long he can take this.
He doesn’t want to go back to his past either;
No way he’d go back to the poor home oversea.
He’d rather endure all of these;
he is learning the irony of life.
All of these, he wonder, worthwhile to look back
and smile someday?

A bird sings at his window, “Let it be, let it be.”

©Byung A. Fallgren

Mistletoe
by Walter de la Mare

Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Someone came, and kissed me there. Kikiki kissed kisseme there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe,
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen –and kissed me there.

“Mistletoe” appeared in Down-Adown-Derry:
A Book of Fairy Poems (Constable & Company, 1922).
Walter de la was born on April 25, 1873, in London.
He is the author of numerous books, including The Listeners
and others. He died June 22, 1956.

It is a day after Christmas, a bit late for this poem but it is still December,
so, I suppose it is still okay.

Peril in the Neglecting Infrastructure 

The man cautioned, when you have to stay 
in a hospital
leave as quickly as possible.
High cost of hospital bill? I asked.
That too, but…
Once I had a surgery for kidney stone, he said.
By the time I was ready to leave the hospital,
I got flue that gave me high fever,
which made me suffer from
the unexpected illness as well.
Watching my son on the hospital bed
the warning that the man gave me
gnawed at my nerve.
I found out what the man meant.
The orderly came in my son’s room and
began to work. My eyelids fluttered as he sloshed
a small towel in the toilet water, wringed it,
and wiped the stain on the floor and the bedside table.
I was about to explode in disgust. But
the word was caught in the throat, lest he got
embarrassed or he might do more harm
in revenge during the night when my son was alone.
Hospital orderly, restaurant food servers,
people who work at the base level
should be treated as important as the top ones,
need to be trained
to do their job sanitarily and
responsibly.
It was five-thirty p.m., visiting hour’s end.
I didn’t want to leave my son alone
all the night,
but I had to follow the hospital’s rule. 

©Byung A. Fallgren  

Calling Dreams
Geogia Douglas Jhonson (1880–1966)

The right to make my dreams come true,
I ask, nay, I dreamed of life,
Nor shall fate’s deadly contraband
impede my steps, nor countermand;
Too long my heart against the ground
Has beat the dusty years round,
And now at length I rise! I wake!
And stride into the morning break!

Delayed Apology
                          for Clara

In the beginning, we were happy
that we will be together
in our world of art,
you let me leave my first footprint
in your garden.
Then it changed quickly like the hailstorm
in August. I sent you again
a few of my unique seeds for
you and to others, then
I forgot about it, having fallen
in the pond infested with invisible things
that made me ill and lose
my memory: I forgot to let you
know that the same one I sent you
were taken–I wished you were to be
the first.

Don’t even come back! your voice
froze my word.
I’m yearning for the day
made us smile; sometimes
I watch you from afar
or linger round your window,
lost a courage to see you.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Love in the Empty Can

A hungry bear licks
the residue in the can that
smells good, not so bad taste,
unaware of the sharp edges,
unaware of the injured skin,
that haunts it with pain.

A little girl in the window winces,
she knows that the red drops
from the black bear aren’t the petals.

Before trashing the empty can,
the girl envisions the neighbors
and swish the can under the running water,

with love for her friends.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Sudden Change

Our visit to my son and his family was supposed to be
like sun sparkles on the pond on a June day,
although it was November. Sudden change,
with his fever and pain, the day paused.
We rushed him to the hospital. After more than
a week, he came home and rest,
recovering slowly. What a jolt!
Life is full of mysterious games of
temperamental goddess.

©Byung A.

vaccination
we don’t like it
but we have to love it

justice
we love it
but it’s not always relied on in U.S.

abortion
it should be
woman’s choice

–Byung A. Fallgren