What do you want to do with all the collections?

SuGray Hairstreak 16 September 2020 copy
Photo by Susan K Hagen–shagen@bscedu

What do you want to do with all the collections?

I collect anything ripples my mind;
rocks, to pry the journey;
words, to sail the sea unknown;
money, to breathe.

Some rocks end up being the garden border,
making the steps pause and think;
money, windchimes,
catch the winds blue and pink;
filler of the mud puddle,
the path high and low;
words, the builder of the fantasy, near & far–

moan of the mountain with pain or glee;
whispers of the night fog;
grunts of the earth at dawn;
echoes of the stars’ song.

©Byung A. Fallgren    

Moving

Moving

Thoughts in the deep sea
of confusion–the blurred zone,
haste, self-centered;
what is in the center?
to be closer to the granny
so she can see her little sweeties often;
or, to return to the city you grew up
where your memories
and familiar faces live;
are they so weighty that you would force
your spouse to abandon the job she or he loves;
when a new one might not be available?
Job let you breathe and do necessary things.
What is more precious than that?
Avoid the bumpy road in the dark wood.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Unintentional Enemy

The Unintentional Enemy

She, the creator of me;
love, the one thing
in her heart
on normal days
of her mind.

Madness, touched by
another she; the stranger
sowed the seeds of the blue
in my skin and bone.

Knowing her true;
that abominable stranger;
had i known her,
long before her departure,
i wouldn’t have to stand
at her tomb,
in the rain, the rain;
the rain in the dream.

©Byung A. Fallgren

After the Winter

After the Winter
Claude Mckay–1889–1948

Someday, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning white
The shivering birds beneath eves
Have sheltered for the night,
We’ll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire to shafted grove
And wide mouthed orchids smile.

And we’ll seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we’ll build the cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade.

Claude Mckay, who was born in Jamaica in 1889,
wrote about social and political concerns from
his perspective as a black man in the United States,
as well as a variety of subjects ranging from
his Jamaican homeland to romantic love.

Spring

IMG_2233

Spring

arrives with a cartful of optimism,
to begin her work on the canvas;
fields of brown and blue.

New born calf moos; his first vocal practice;
old cowboy sings to his apprentice young,
to praise him for the calf he helped born;
mountain brook cheers the lad, proud,
what a good job he has done;
hawks dance round the sky.
Wrens return to the old nest;
move to the tree home, high and safe.

She takes a step back, to assess her work,
smiles; plans for the coming summer,
thinks that can wait;
for now, she’d enjoy what she has done;
dazzling hues; pink and green.

©Byung A. Fallgren