some memories
glow in the doldrums
unusable jewels

©By Byung A. Fallgren

We know the tricks of wind, yet
remain defenseless against
it’s wielding wand of madness,
meager effort to patch the wounds
each time, with awe and sorrow,
as if it were our fate. No way to curve
it before the damage. Only E.T. can do?
Hopeful it’s not a trite fantasy,
someday we’ll get there.
With unfinished project in the dust,
we welcome new waves,
dabble with odd possibility.
Some scars imbue the light into
our confused souls,
at the edge of the days
we glow with green,
enjoy more of our differences.

©By Byung A. Fallgren

How far must
we go to achieve
the goal? He says you
must do it as if your life
depend on it. That means
sleep only three hours if it’s
necessary. Shaking her head,
she sleeps six hours, working
as best as she can. Years later,
he is in the heaven, watching
his survivors enjoying the
big fortune he left behind,
while she’s with her
children,
relishing
her small fortune.

By Byung A. Fallgren

 

From the tender green
to the golden stack,
memories of the dreamy calls of
our sprinkler-lady, pivoted,
arms stretched across the pasture,
diligent irrigation, all through
the days of miserable heat,
spirit of a tough matriarch,
redolent alfalfa and grass, quiet
submission to be harvested,
stars count as our stacks grow.
Summed up in one mound, we
dream of our rebirth in the circle
of time, purposeful, reciprocal,
the late-greens for winter
wanderers. Natural order abided.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Rascals are back
to school, memories of
the summer behind,
ghost stories on tent-nights,
trampoline games by day,
cry of the loser sister, still
echoing in the empty backyard.
Next door granny smiles, recalling
the immigrant boy’s fair leadership
for the whole gang, brief visit of
Martin Luther King Jr. boyhood.
Trampolin beckons her in
temptation, she sneaks into it.
Alas, her back screams
at the first leap, the little girl
inside her vanishes
into the ancient time.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Not the spur
cowboy wears
on his boot’s heel,
the bony growth
in front of your
heel bone,
causing pain
or silent.
The new heel bone,
an accumulation of
stresses of
yesteryears.
Your body, a hill.
The new heel bone,
the colluvium
at the foothill.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Upon boarding, greeted
by a woman croaking:
'Ugly man color.'

She must've eaten broccoli
and beans before boarding.
No problem. Take

nanosecond breath of
the bad odor, dash of
compassion until next stop.

*
While visiting my daughter and her family last week, we, including our dog,
had pizzas one evening. Later, as we watched TV the dog decided to thank us
for feeding him the pizza by spraying stench stuff which is his favorite scent.
I could taste the smell, so I told him, "No thanks. I've just brushed my teeth."

By Byung A. Fallgren

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Behind the drapes of
smog the mountain steals
the glance of the red sun weep
for the injured ones by
the heartless
blackberry thorns,
the mournful sigh
in the window,
resentment of
strivers,
how long one must
endure the under-paid status…
Learn to be a mute of
turtle, now and then,
and the blue patches
will appear over the head,
a trite admonition, yet
true reminder, although
we’d rather keep on searching
for radiance.

By Byung A. Fallgren