Two Haiku

gone are the songs of
crickets and frogs in the night
storm clouds thunder

silent evening pond
bull frogs wail no more
moon hides in the cloud 

© Byung A. Fallgren  

Face mask, not for others

The flock of gulls at the parking lot,
one wearing a face mask around her neck,
not a souvenir from a day's trip;

she doesn't even know how she got it,
nor does she care for it, even annoying.
She's seen them on humans
that makes her blush to see it on her?

Someone, please take this off me,
she pleads to the clouds,
that seemed to laugh at her.
Passing wind only tries to snap it loose.

This is published in The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry, Spring 2022.
© Byung A. Fallgren

What about the others like me?

I was locked in a ball tangled
of fishing nets and lines;
sat on the sand beach, 
like a rock, can't move.
Peeking through the hole 
in the ball, I saw 
a young man approaching. 

I struggled to move away
from the man; to the water;
I cannot budge, locked in the ball.

He stands over me.
"O, you poor turttle," he says.
From his pocket, he takes
a knife and begins to cut
the entangled fishing lines.
I want to run, afraid
but cannot move an inch.

Little by little, the lines 
begin to unravel; I can breathe now;
still, in fear.
What seems like an hour later,
the loosens lines free me;
only then do I realize 
the man's good deed.

As I crawl to the water, 
I think, what about 
the others like me, somewhere?

(This is published in The Weekly Avocet, #657, July 6th, 2025.)

© Byung A. Fallgren

My poems, "What about Others like Me", "The Doe", "The View side of the Road", are
published in this Weekly Avocet. Thanks so much, Charles, Vivian, for taking these pieces. 

--Byung A. Fallgren 

View on side of the Road

Silver sky and the land join in the sea of smog;
Submerged, the wind turbines wave their arms,
Like drowning octopuses.

Drying lake gives way to the green invaders,
Like old soldiers with no weapons.
Hope the smoke will dwindle with winter's arrival;
Dried lakes will begin to refill
As the irrigation stops in October.

In the smoke, the wind turbine points fingers,
As we panic at the foot of crumbling hills,
Fumbling in the sea of plans.

They say eventually Nature replenishes what she has lost,
But she cannot revive the perished creatures;
Polars bears, beavers, and others may live only
In the children's story book.
Mother whispers in the wind, we can do more. 

© Byung A. Fallgren
This piece is published in The Weekly Avocet--657, July 6, 2025. 

Early Summer only in my Mind

This year, you've come reluctantly, or so it feels.
Your visit, nevertheless, with a bright smile,
elicit a life of me in my deepest darkness.
So, with a trembling hand, I fuss over you
to serve a cup of tea or a bowl of jasmine rice,
hurrying, knowing you will
be gone soon, as
the simple-minded lover when we were young.

Now, young-old, I know, how to spend our 
brief time together;
still I tend to be forgetful or lack cleverness, 
I'm afraid I might upset you.

Review what I have done last spring:
planting pink roses, peonies, tiger lilies, etc.,
growing well; a promise of a blessed summer.

I need some more work to do: soften up the soil
of the garden in our world; remember to water until
they bloom and wither in autumn. For now,
I will pry what the moon whispers to them,
as the petals tremble in the passing wind;
and in the morning, I will greet them and
do what I have to do more; for you and me.

This is published in The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry, Summer 2025 issue.
© Byung A. Fallgren

Hey there my Friends,
My sincere applogies, for not posting for a while. 
I've been on a trip and lost internet connection.
Here I am today, and try to get back on the normal schedule. 

Longing to hear their Music,

It is a June evening,
the last light of the twilight long gone,
without the usual giving
of their little present of the day's music.
What's happening?
wondering mind searches in the grass,
there's no finding,
not even a little dead wing.
The image of the man with a tank on his back
flashes, spraying. 

Insects are an important member
of a healthy ecosystem, with no food,
birds are dying;
with no birds, trees lost one of their ways 
of spreading 
the seeds, etc..

Like the olden days , how about burning
some sagebrushes to repel the mosquitoes?
a grandma implores, bring 
back the night music band--Crickets & Frogs. 

© Byung A. Fallgren

 

My poems, Morning Wher I Live, Pink Vace, Pink Lilacs, Spring Tree Song are published in this issue. Thank you, Charles, Vivian, for taking the pieces.

She Settled there to be with Her Mother's Eternal Place

The old friend waits for me outside of the door
to her apartment, at the end of the long, dingy hall.
In recognition of her morphed figure, I smile.
"Come on in," she says.
Her beaming face lightenes up the place; yet,
her room, conforming to the rest of the place; dim;
is gray every senior's favorite color?
Gray hair; gray emotion.
Red mood is a taboo; a villain, the cause
of insomnia and heart failure.

I'm doing better than the shape I am in," she quips. 
I nod to be nice; stealing a glance of her pot belly and
missshaped eye lids;
for which she blames the recent Parkinson's.

I humor the subject: "Do you live here all alone?"
"Uh-huh." We both laugh. 
"I like a poodle," she says. "But I can't take care of it."
We continue on chattering; me, informing of 
my writing life; her, about the neighbor and 
the weekly card game, etc.

"My son is supposed to pick me up," she says.
"I am going to watch the ball game in the city."
"Your son moved to the city and you stay in this little town?"
She nods, matter fact.
I nod; her family's root is in this town and so this 
is their resting place; so will hers to be with her mother.
Something stirrs in my heart; melancholic;
her alonness at the somber place, waiting...until...
she a leaf in the wind?

Ah, just enjoy; this is the part of our life; like that. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

On the Same Hill

We Pursue
The same dream,
Complying with the laws,
Purple and yellow
On the same hill.

I remember 
How I got here,
Just as others do;
Some are here by the wind;
Desperate waves,
Baffling the concerned.

We avoid 
making more tears;
Find the right solution,
To put everything 
In order and
Embracing all. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

This poem first appeared in Talking River Review
Issue 48, Spring 2020.