June Haiku

mid-June aroma
of lilac with fading blooms
midnight muse

cottonwood seeds
settle in an abandoned pot
nearsighted plan

a wasp flew in and out
of the window, teasing the tomcat  
a dead wasp on the floor

bird eggs 
in the pot won't grow into plants
whimsical politics

©Byung A. Fallgren
Dianne Vais–cactusdi@msn.com

Mommy’s Boy

Mommy's Boy

for she's the one who gave you birth.
No one blames for that.

But do not confuse your wife with 
a housekeeper and nanny.
She is a mother of your child.
she deserves some respect. 

Please, do not ignore her and discuss family matter 
with your mom: when that happens habitually, and
you call her unimaginable names when she points out
your wrongdoing, you've got a serious problem;
a male wasp with wayward wings;
an emotionally crippled son of a bitch. 

But you don't want to get a therapy, nor divorce;
you totally ignore how she feels;
yet she stays in marriage for the sake of the child,
embracing her bruised heart and pride, accepting 
your sickness.
she cries like a poet, silent lament
for you, twisted soul.
Respect your wife for the sake of your beloved child
as well. your shame knows.   Grow up.

©Byung A. Fallgren 


Spring Pasture

Spring Pasture

She greets the old cowboy
who shares tears and joys,
loves her as the cows love
the grass beneath the deep snow.

The haystack grows low, as the days near
the spring; she embraces the blue, seeing 
the cowboy moves his cows to
the high country, where the 
blueberries bloom.

She dons purple dress,
put on a spring perfume,
greets the doe and fawn.

The old cowboy plans for
the first harvest of hay,
forgetting yesterday's sorrow
of Wife perished of the COVID.

She cheers him, wishes for 
the grass grow slow;
blossoms stay longer.
She enjoys May's gentle touch 
a bit better than the passion of July.

She loves all the ups and sillies of spring.

(This piece is one of my six poems appeared 
in the Weekly Avocet #491, May 1st, 2022.)

--Byung A. Fallgren


She will be smarter, just like us

She'll be smarter, just like us
              For my granddaughter

On a spring day, a couple of robins
decide to build a nest, by the fake owl
whose duty is to scare away woodpeckers
drilling holes in the wall.

What is in the bird-mind? Let the owl babysit
their chicks; smarter than John on the street.

They sing joyfully when the three chicks 
emerged from the eggs; tell the owl to watch
their precious ones, while they search worms.

One night, an owl falls in love with the fake one,
then realizes he is wrong. But he finds the serendipity.
the three chicks in the nest.

The following day, the robins notice the empty nest.
In fury, she swoops over the cat scared and run away.

O-ho-ho, she laughs at the coward cat.
Sitting on the post, she grieves her lost chicks,
then flies away. Time to rebuild a new nest.
This time she will be smarter; just like us.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Flying with the New Songs of Clouds

Flying with the New Songs of the Clouds

Being a minimalist, I used to throw a lot of
things; caught in the frenzy of moment, some
valuables would disappear; then panic, search
in every hill and valley, like the mad woman
in the dream.

The selfie, with the idiotic smile, crumpled and
trashed long ago, haunts, jeers: 
with the original one gone, no way to make another.
lost not only the image but the time also,
acting on impulse,

the echo of the youthhood. Faces suddenly flash,
gloat, for had been tossed off, like the wads of useless
pieces. a pang in the deep; take a deep breath and smile.
They happened for reason, keep them where they 
were, fly off with the new songs of clouds,
and the ghost of failed one will live only in the dream.
Change within. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Ocean Water

Ocean Water
Dasha Kelly Hamilton

The ocean pushes back
Alive and vigorous 
The heritage of habitat
Leans against expectation
Muscles its due respect
Without regard
Without warning
Without reorienting the ones
With swimming perspectives
Limitations of consistent temperature 
and painted cement walls

The ocean rumbles its sovereignty 
Full weight of freedom on my skin. 

Dasha Kelly Hamilton is a writer and performance 
artist. She is National Rubinger Fellow and currently 
Poet Laureate for the city of Milwaukee and the 
State of Wisconsen. In 2021, she received an 
Academy of American Poets Laureate Fellowship. 

Most of Wyoming Trees, the lesson

Most of Wyoming trees, the lesson (Gogyohka Sequence) 

in April
still asleep
shivering in the wind
like the children
in the war-torn land

in May
start budding
or flowering
like just awaken
lazy person in a hurry

sudden snowstorm
blankets the flowering trees
shuddering at the unexpected
after storm passes
dazzling smile

Wyoming trees'
face the disaster
be patient
then rebound

©Byung A. Fallgren