My poems, Even the Leaves; While Walking in the Trail; and Haiku are published in this 
Weekly Avocet. Thank you, Charles, Vivian, and Valerie, for taking these pieces. 
--Byung

Winter Song
Wilfred Owen

the browns, the olives, and yellow died,
and were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each down and set of sun till Christmas tide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed.
Fell back, and down the snow drifts flowed and flowed.

From off your face, into the wind of winter,
The sun-blown and summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
and through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

Wilfred Owen, born on March 18, 1893, in England, was a
poet of the First World War. He died November 4, 1918. 

Rising from the Night

nothing
is serious
to kill,
let go
and go well

In Loving the Insomnia

wee hours
in the night
comes 
easily
hard answer

Choosing

of all 
the terrible voices
a few
can be worthy
of consideration

©Byung A. Fallgren

I've lost Internet connection for days until before now. 

A good news for a change: The Avocet accepted my poems
January, Mother's Temper, Winter Berries, the Crow; They will
be published in The Avocet, Winter issue, 2023. 
Thank you Charles, Vivian, Valerie for accepting theses pieces. 

--Byung A. 

Negotiating the Nightmare Demon

When it spits
the red words and bully you,

catch them with a net
and trash them,

if it growls and unfold the claws,
declaw them with a mighty hack,

for the claws regrow and demand
for a piece of gold,

tell it "With a good reason and
a fine attitude get a grain."

©Byung A. Fallgren
 

Random Poem

Kid dreams,
Dad tells his son,
Be anything but kid scum.

You have tried everything
But failed to buy your house?
No good excuse for joining organized crime.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Imitator of the Wave

Ocean waves go to
the beach, home
of sand shore,
uninvited,
for it is only virtue
of nature;
and it is not only beautiful
to see but also deliver us
things from afar:

wastes, hidden matters, only we can
decide what to do with them. 

But you, 
not a wave,
thinking creature,
dare to copy the ocean waves;

only to
surprise
the dweller?
what else more?
would not want any more,
for the core seem hollow as the mind.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Picture Book

Born humble,
yet Straight-backed;

self-made,
with the ambitious song for the world;

the egret folds the wings,
perches on the top shelf of the library;

and invites the children in the world. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Faces of Autumn

We reflect myriad of colors of faces
we have perceived in the passing season,
like a broken mirror does in each 
pieces as our leaves turn many hues of
red, gold...
with full of emotion;

disturbed by the voices of stones
that ignore very essence of law of
Nature, being, living, which echoes 
in our red leaves.

She rides in the September sunbeams,
in the smile of brave ones. We cheer the
broken hearts, despaired, which mirrors 
in the scent of Mother, in our golden leaves,

fallen, gather beneath it the ambitious ones,
enrich the ancient beds,
as the young forest creatures grow and
fatten for the coming winter, as 
the trees recite the story of the autumn night. 

This was published in The Avocet Fall 2020 issue.
Also, this appeared here in the past. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Breath for Metal
Ching-In Cheng

This is a story
I've kept in soft
orange inside
my steel body. I've wanted

to wait until I've 
cooled to hum, until
my touch wouldn't burn.

I've practiced to gentle 
      not to be odd. To remember
me a calm line transmitting not artificial

sugar smile melts a rainy spring I don't want
to feel a tug   you wait again for what's 
     dissolved into scent for this week. 


Ching-In Cheng is a trans/gender queer and
fewer Chines American poet. They are the authors of
recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017), winner of 
the 2018 Lamba Literary Award for Transgender Poetry, 
an assistant professor at the University of Washington 
Bothell, Chen lives in Lake Forest Park , Washington on
Snokomish lands.