I've lost Internet connection for days until before now. 

A good news for a change: The Avocet accepted my poems
January, Mother's Temper, Winter Berries, the Crow; They will
be published in The Avocet, Winter issue, 2023. 
Thank you Charles, Vivian, Valerie for accepting theses pieces. 

--Byung A. 

Negotiating the Nightmare Demon

When it spits
the red words and bully you,

catch them with a net
and trash them,

if it growls and unfold the claws,
declaw them with a mighty hack,

for the claws regrow and demand
for a piece of gold,

tell it "With a good reason and
a fine attitude get a grain."

©Byung A. Fallgren
 

Random Poem

Kid dreams,
Dad tells his son,
Be anything but kid scum.

You have tried everything
But failed to buy your house?
No good excuse for joining organized crime.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Imitator of the Wave

Ocean waves go to
the beach, home
of sand shore,
uninvited,
for it is only virtue
of nature;
and it is not only beautiful
to see but also deliver us
things from afar:

wastes, hidden matters, only we can
decide what to do with them. 

But you, 
not a wave,
thinking creature,
dare to copy the ocean waves;

only to
surprise
the dweller?
what else more?
would not want any more,
for the core seem hollow as the mind.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Picture Book

Born humble,
yet Straight-backed;

self-made,
with the ambitious song for the world;

the egret folds the wings,
perches on the top shelf of the library;

and invites the children in the world. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Faces of Autumn

We reflect myriad of colors of faces
we have perceived in the passing season,
like a broken mirror does in each 
pieces as our leaves turn many hues of
red, gold...
with full of emotion;

disturbed by the voices of stones
that ignore very essence of law of
Nature, being, living, which echoes 
in our red leaves.

She rides in the September sunbeams,
in the smile of brave ones. We cheer the
broken hearts, despaired, which mirrors 
in the scent of Mother, in our golden leaves,

fallen, gather beneath it the ambitious ones,
enrich the ancient beds,
as the young forest creatures grow and
fatten for the coming winter, as 
the trees recite the story of the autumn night. 

This was published in The Avocet Fall 2020 issue.
Also, this appeared here in the past. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Breath for Metal
Ching-In Cheng

This is a story
I've kept in soft
orange inside
my steel body. I've wanted

to wait until I've 
cooled to hum, until
my touch wouldn't burn.

I've practiced to gentle 
      not to be odd. To remember
me a calm line transmitting not artificial

sugar smile melts a rainy spring I don't want
to feel a tug   you wait again for what's 
     dissolved into scent for this week. 


Ching-In Cheng is a trans/gender queer and
fewer Chines American poet. They are the authors of
recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017), winner of 
the 2018 Lamba Literary Award for Transgender Poetry, 
an assistant professor at the University of Washington 
Bothell, Chen lives in Lake Forest Park , Washington on
Snokomish lands.        

They argue like they breath.
Just because the light is there
doesn't mean the door to her room 
is open.
shock from the hot bulb that
knocks him down to the hard wood.
Slowly recover senses.

In evenings, it happens again;
her patience, limited. 

Burn-wound;
regret; exhaustion;
no word heals it.

a drop of morning dew; her tear
before she left; encouragement;
he rises;
but for how long? 

©Byung A. Fallgren

There
Robert Mezey

It is deep summer. Far out
at sea, the young squalls darken
and roll, plunging northward,
threatening everything. I see
the Atlantic moving in slow
com templative furry
against the rocks, the beaten
headlands, and the towns sunk deep
in a blind northern light. Here,
far land, in the mountains
of Mexico, it is raining
hard, battering the soft mountains
of flowers. I am sullen, dumb,
ungovernable. I taste myself
and taste those winds, uprisings
of salt and ice, of great trees
brought down, of houses and cries
lost in the storm; and what breaks
on that black shore breaks in me.

Robert Mezey was born In Philadelphia in 1935.
He enrolled at the University of Iowa and
completed his bachelor of arts degree.

Evening

You dream, sweat, 
and bloom; and leave fruits behind or
nothing at all.

You let out a big sigh,
amazed by the bareness within,
despite the wealth;
abundance is a matter of past.

Passing wind tolerable;
evening pensive;
morning sun seem more profound 

and beautiful.

©Byung A. Fallgren