Aroma was homey in the holy man’s
invisible presence. I glanced around
At the faces at the table.
“Do you mind my sitting here?”
Amicably I said.
“Not at all,” a plump lady replied.
Light conversation went on, pleasant as spring.

“Everything’s fine there?” A loud man lumbered over
To our table. Everyone turned to the man.
“I was just,” the man went on, his goggling eyes
Over me, the only Asian woman there, “checking, since
She’s a trouble maker.”

Startled, I let my eyes followed the man strutting
Away. Strange man, I thought.
I turned to the plump lady. “We’ve been doing just fine
here, haven’t we?” I said.
“As long as you don’t make trouble, that is,”
She snapped. The balmy atmosphere in the room earlier
Had turned to chill.

Pastor’s wife hurried to the empty table nearby, speaking
Under her breath, “He’s just, uh…”
“Just what? I said calmly.
She mumbled, gibberish.

I changed the subject,
“How is Amy?”
“she’s getting married soon.”
“I’m happy for you, both,” I said.
As we continued on, the room regained
the warmth, and the nasty twister settled
down.  Still I could not believe
What just had happened, I considered:
At the church dinner, so called a Christian man
Affront a woman in front of the whole congregation?
Will he ask Jesus for forgiveness?
Forgiven, will it make him right?

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry,
Winter–2020

Hello, everyone,
I have been quietly supporting environmentalists for some time,
so I would like to break the silence by reminding you again
The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry that is packed with the
Nature saving articles and quality poems of Nature loving poets
in the world. I’m delighted to have my poem “Beneath the Snow
Dream Pulsates” published in the The Avocet, Winter–2020.
This is a compact volume with beautiful winter-themed poems
that walks you through wonders of winter beauty.
A sample copy is $7.50.
To buy the copy, write to:

Charles Portolano, Editor
The Avocet
P.O. Box 19186
Fountain Hills, AZ   85269

Thank you all.

–Pyong (Byung) A.

Beginning at the church was balmy
Spring, welcomed daffodils, azaleas,
Exotic forsythias and all,
Summer dared to not disturb, lest the
Season brief, yet brief it flew.
Sky, shadowed by cottonwood seeds,
Moaned; birds flocked and murmured in
Strange words; the river of
Pastoral guide often reversed to the ancient time,
Eyes and tongues of ghosts would micmic
Mocking bird, provoked murky waves in the room.
Sensible souls were silent,
With spirit of loyalty for the man of the house
High and formidable.
Pastoral language, often lost its original purpose,
Would test the new searcher in distress,
Stirred doubts and disbelief.
In the mind of the new, Buddha beckons
From the cavern, surrounded by the new crowd.
Is this a trend, or an odd one in the flow?

©Byung A. Fallgren

sun on the last leaf
like Mother’s warm hand on her face
promises her early spring

©Byung A Fallgren

icicle hags from tree
achieving dream to be branch
gift from Mother nature

©Byung A. Fallgren

exploring is fun
but not to his fiancee,
vice versa, amber flag

©Byung A. Fallgren

clouds desire to kiss
rocky shore frown at dark sunset
poet loves both nature

© Byung A. Fallgren

The Day After Thanksgiving

Generous food,
Greetings, and thanks
Cools as the day wanes.
Spotty naps under the table,
Giblets he has gobbled up,
Gizzard Daddy ate,
Dance in his dream.
Gobbles of turkey
Promises next season,
As gratuity still fresh
With lingering laughter and
Images of
Relatives and friends,
Next door dog howls, lonely,
He waits for his master’s return.
Only if he knew: people tend to
Appreciate their pets more than
Fellow humans and things
They have, except
Thanksgiving day, and
We wonder, “Why?”

©Byung A. Fallgren