Spring Night
Sara Teasdale 

The park is filled with night and fog,
   The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
   Are dim and pearled.

Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
   Gold and gleaming the misty lake,
The mirrored lights light sunken swords,
   Glimmer and shake.

Oh, is it not enough to be 
Here with this beauty over me?
My throat should ache with praise, and I
should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
Oh, beauty, are you not enough?

Why am I crying after love
With youth, a singing voice and eyes
To take earth's wonder with surprise?
Why have I put off my pride,
Why am I unsatisfied,
I for whom the pensive night
Binds her cloudy hair with light,
I for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?

Sara Teasdale, born on August 8, 1884, in St. Louis, is the author 
of several poetry collections, won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and 
the Poetry Society of America's Prize. She died on January 29, 1933.   


    

Gray Morning Light

the gray light 
of the morning
let it 
touch you
with a healing hand

© Byung A. Fallgren

What Insomnia Conjures

Ongoing sleep disorders
pluck the memories;
dilutes judgments.
the email from the publisher smashes my head:
“Although your book is written deftly and engagingly,
we can’t accept your book because
it has already been published elsewhere.”

Alas, I’ve forgotten about the poetry collection that
I had sent to the publisher six months before,
and self-published it at Amazon.

“If you have a manuscript that has not yet been published,
I want to see it,” she says.
O, yes, I will. I hurry to pick up poems from the old pile;
it takes time; editing; proofreading, etc.

Try to forget the unlucky collection; despite its beauty,
it is destined to be buried in a dump, unless…
I’ll pick it up, in my bosom, give it a warm bath, and
dress it in wonderful words before sending it to
a contest judge? Or, else.

©Byung A. Fallgren

In Reading & Writing at 3 AM

Hearing him babble in my 
half-asleep: "Out of pay the bill."
What does it mean?
The face of the young man appears
in my head: the young plumber with a smiley face.
Of course, we'll pay when he sends the bill.
What does it have to do with you? 

Are you implying that he is you? you
the usual demon-lazy ghost?
You are using the hard-working man to disguise you.
Not too bad. If that is your wish, wish means:
you wish you were him, not a demon-lazy ghost.
To encourage you to morph, even a bit of fragrance,
I will give you some, not much.

I must add: I cannot afford your demand:
I am frugal to the bone and soul. 

©Byung A. Fallgren
  
  

My two Haiku are included in this week’s journal.
Thank you, Charles and Vivian, for taking the pieces.

–Byung A.

Pondering on Saving Earth, Saving Us

Climate change, everyone's concern,
but we wonder what to do;
there are universal hints that remind us:
use natural gas instead of coal;
stop rainforests from vanishing;
walk or use a bike whenever possible, etc.

As to protecting our water source:
use the pesticide as little as possible;
do not throw used water with household cleaning 
chemical agent on the lawn;
change the lawn grass that needs less water; with
some research you can find one that you like, etc.

Polar bears if they are in trouble, their entire 
an ecosystem is in trouble; fewer of them could
lead to an overpopulation of Sears, which threatens
fish population, our food source.
Protect other endangered species; tigers, lions, etc.
Save millions of marine lives and us too. 

--Byung A. Fallgren
  

Some Moments

As we drift in
the stream of 
our days we 
come upon

odd moment
evokes our wit,
smile that wash
the doldrums,

discover merits
in our selves
that have been
buried in the

dimmer days, like
little gold nuggets 
found in sand, they 
brighten our spirits. 

©Byung A. Fallgren
This first appeared here on 2018/11/6.

bare tree limbs conduct
the sad song of Northern Wind
first snowflakes dance away

©Byung A. Fallgren

Tanka

for a good night's sleep
take melatonin and tea
but the sleep eludes
remember to add one thing
reading a poetry book also

©Byung A. Fallgren

Her Nails 

Of all the nails.
Her fingernails 
Are the loveliest,
Yet you regard it at the least.
Oval, pink, and neat;
In the heart; and great.
But they morph into something
You fear but should be bracing;
With no fear, raging sea, like peril,
When your force goes over the hill.

©Byung A. Fallgren