Pain

There are red-pain, amber-pain, and gray-pain;
as stabbing pain. headache, and dull pain.

Of all the pains, feeling no energy and sad (gray-pain)
can be ignored or considered as no pain.

My brother's plethora of white blood cells kills red cells;
whose condition, beyond treatable; feels gray-pain,

which can be confused as no pain. At the stage,
the doctor would say: keep him comfy as less pain.

Medical marijuana, why does he not try? Sis says,
not to worry, his son knows better, he has no pain.

I do not believe it. every illness comes with pain.
His son might know of the degree of his pain,

than me living in oversea. If so, fine, but not so to me.
What if he suffers in silence the pain?

As usual, my tummy growls, then swoosh, the pain passes;
it can be serious. Byung, see your doctor for the pain.

 ©Byung A. Fallgren

Above poem is GHAZAL, Arabic poetic form I'm interested in learning
lately. Like sonet, it has strict rule requirment, which I don't like, but as I do 
practice, I find it fun. 

Heart toughened 

Once in a year trip to see them,
might as well let it be the day
for the granddaughter's ballet recital,
perfumed by the lilac bloom.

Packing the suit case, with slow brewing
joy and Jun day scent; but 
a strange, brief stench.

Sudden ringing of night phone;
heart churns with the daughter's 
dismal voice: "We have a problem.
the septic revers flood the basement,"

(No wonder the stench.)

"If you still coming, stay in a motel, sorry."

My heart, calm as lake;
it's just a thrown stone on the lake;
my heart still recalls the midnight teen's 
car event.

"Dad and I will be there. we've got to see 
her perform, sweetheart."

the reversal stench flood;
the midnight police call;
toughened heart;

I can still sleep through all that!

©Byung A. Fallgren
 

Art of Love

"Wife wants you and dad come over,"
his voice on the phone. "It's holiday!"
"I'm cooking, Mom." her voice 
a background song.

"Sure, we'll be there," I chime.
At first, genuine appreciation. 
On second thought:
her cooking, spicy and greasy, yet tasty;
with cabbage, tofu, etc.
all those known to be healthy food;
my tummy says no; my heart yes.
I'd just visit, 
for the food is visit is art of Love.  

©Byung A. Fallgren 

Siblings

We are like the fingers on our hand;
when an echo from the mountain calls 
you, our ears perk, our nose twitch,
until we know you are still in the sun.

We are the petals of the flower;
we shudder in unison in the rain,
we smile at the touch of the sun.

When we begin to fall, one by one, in the wind
of time, we shed tears celebrating our lives,
until the last one to go. Wish to come back
as we were; petals of the flower;
year after year.

©Byung A. Fallgren 

At the Mountain Trail

While he's looking for the key,
she's running from the car to nearby pines;
back and forth, back and forth.

Trees and wind whisper,
What's on her weird behavior;
why can't she enjoy running ahead?
fear of being attacked? By what?
Mountain lion, or human? 

Both, she thinks,
for the beast is human is beast;
wish the beast is flower;
human is butterfly;

as a child, she once thought.
silly, thought then;
now, blue and true. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Before

You smile on the first day 
leads to the proposal to join the "Family",
as you call it.
Thanks, but making such a bond,
I don't easily do.

Since that day, I hear you
in the tree's murmurs;
in the wind; or gabbing sparrows.

Then, you appear
in the swirl of dust and leaves,
and say "Family!"

I smile and say "Friend, perhaps, 
a young friend."
reluctantly you nod.

I add, "Wish us to be polite and light;
on the muddy hill or in the rain;
in the sun and sunless days.

©Byung A. Fallgren

  

some buds are ready
to see the world, some not
just like human

neighbors emerge from 
their winter confinement to wave hello
spring greetings

©Byung A. Fallgren

10 Poetic Forms by Byung A. Fallgren is published in this weekly journal. 
Thank you, Charles, Vivian, and Valerie for taking the piece.  

Getting Something while idling

going for a ride
to the village
to the hamlet
no particular reason
just for serendipity

©Byung A. Fallgren