Life is a painting
in process;
we pause
to examine
it as an artist would
to assess the piece,
value of color,
smudged spot,
unbalanced composition..
we adjust and
steer it, yet
it tends to slip
backward like
a wayward child,
some fret and angry,
while others continue
on toward the light.

Recently an elderly man in our community has set
fire on his house and shot himself. Reason for his action
is not clear yet. It could be financial problem or loneliness.
This is one of many such tragedies in America. One wonders
why we call our country rich nation when our social security
system is inferior to others’ such as Germany, Japan, South
Korea, for example. Loneliness can be solved if we reach out
each other. Simple, kind act can save lives.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Yesterday’s passion is
too precious to let go
down stream without
some fruition

every bit of our effort
tucked in beneath the ice,
we reflect, re-plan, assure
the low hanging clouds
final solution

failure, the necessary villain
on the path, ignore offering hands;
no one knows us better
than we do

more of ardent shift and turn
grasp the thread, and we are glad
we haven’t let it slide by

Photo, written by Byung A. Fallgren

All my youth I’ve been
searching for my dream
in the sea of blue world
Now that I’m old-young
still I’m hoping
A masochist or
placid idiot, I don’t care
what they say
My endeavor will go on
until the sea turns into me and
I, the sea, for all I have is the
tenacity.

by Byung A. Fallgren

Despite my deny
my mind
is a sailboat
without wind
when you are gone

— Byung A. Fallgren

When they were a young couple
they often squabbled like children,
found more hidden lint balls
than music in each other, yet
they were the tree branches
swinging in the wind, tangled
together, inseparable,

as the middle age rolled in their old habits
whittled away, overlooked the furrows of
wrinkles, watched in awe the wispy clouds
of graying hair,

with the midlife slips to the threshold
of golden years, their hearts tend to
skip beating at each other’s pain, smile at the
tufts of hair out growing of his ears or
at her spotty hands like quail’s egg,

after all the years of
arduous hills and
treacherous rivers,
they’ve turned to the
couple of doves, cooing,
perched on their favorite branch
in the late afternoon sun.

According to statistics, nowadays nearly half of all the marriages fail. Divorce is necessary for some, while others can be worked out. Some I leaned through their stories are heartwarming that I wanted to write the tributary lines for them.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Pricks of acacia thorns
swallowed, tossed into
the back of time,
brews youth once more,
wishful, playful glance back
at the memory of
the first love affair in lilac aroma,

rises as a wispy feather
weathered, faded, yet
the long story of yesterday
tucked in each fold,
with the serene pride
of cobalt-blue sky,

navigates space of time ahead,
subdued, balmy, settled and
carefree as the splendor
on the gold cottonwood leaves
in October afternoon sun.

© by Byung A. Fallgren

it evokes anxiety like having
an unstable lover, yet

brings hopes like return of
old associates, yet again

the word alone can’t make shy ones
to initiate reaching out,

how unproductive and suffocating it would be
without fluidness in our lives
where everything’s firm as boulder,

fluid, flow like river…change,
despite its shady side, it’s one of the
staunch friends of our civilization;
we prosper in the sea of fluidness
of ourselves.

Sometimes I explore words to get inspiration to write and post; it’s one of
the ways to solve my writer’s block. –Byung A. Fallgren

Hard rock in the fist
crumbles, slip through
between the fingers,
gentle wave moves in,
lift spirit in realization
of the trivia.
A bit of wisdom blooms
in the dark,
reaches out for what’s lost,
what’s needed,
take a side glance at
the meteoroids
searching for new in space,
leaving memories behind.
Wave them transitory farewell.
With a smile greet
the ones returning to mingle.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Dressed in the silver shirts,
purple and yellow
button down green cloaks,
we perform for the music festival
at the sunny hillside for everyone.

*
I adore your delicate beauty
you revere my magnificence,
I am steady
you are fluid.
We breathe and absorb our
very own unique essence,
silver and purple
soft and hard
to be what we are,
yet we are for one another,
embrace the beauty of
our harmonious nature,
let the dusty wind pass by,
share the moisture.
In our better days we
brighten the languid souls,
soften callouses,
let ourselves reach
our possible best.

By Byung A. Fallgren

Under the pastel sky of
twilight and the pale moon,
hometown’s evening settles,
stirring the memory of yesterday,
calm, melancholic,
ponder about the fate of
driving back for so long
every evening.
Whatever her intention of
greeting in such mellow
stories painted in the sky,
yesterday’s sorrow scatters
in the evening breeze.
Deep inhale of the
new brighter day.
With sweet anticipation,
we return home to our loved ones.

Photo, written by Byung A. Fallgren