My poems Winter and Lesson on the Trail have been accepted by The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry. They will be published in The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry, Winter-2022, printed issue. Thank you, Charles, Vivi, Valerie for taking these pieces.
–Byung A.
Night Winter night his snore keeps her reflect on the past blue; the refugee the rain gutter recites the war poem; lighted window the night rain drums in November; artic dream polar bear dreams of old ice home. ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Sister, one of the two fingers Her eyes see things others don't when it comes to her bro. when she catches his post on the Facebook about his past surgery as if recent one and his worry on the hospital bill, her senses go purple alert; halt her impulse to send him a check, give her mom a call to make sure if he'd do that. Mom says it must be a hacker. she'd call her brother for sure. Mom's heart blooms: she knew two fingers are better than one, like a nation needs ally. --Byung A.
My seven Haiku appear in this week's issue. Thank you, Charles, Vivian, Valeri for getting the pieces. --Byung A.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! --Byung A.
Keeping her safe As the sea rise with the global warm The villages grow skyward? Tall and wind-ridden? but away From iron grab of angry ocean. The vulnerable woman we neglected. Memory of yester years, dreaming To go back to her Of yester years. Is it too late? Why not keep her safe now? * unbelieving or selfishness everywhere signs of global warming but smokestacks still emit CO2 ©Byung A. Fallgren
in some Assuming once been a fiction writer, some think her poems are lies, with horror and thrill and all. "It must be some fiction trying to..." they'd jeer. She smiles then shudder at the imprudence of it, then with pity, jokes, "Probably you are right." then shrugs. Nevertheless, she examines her poetry; sees it as true and hurried as the impatient dame herself. only needs to morph more. "Assume all you might," she whispers them, "but know that, in doing so, you lose your empathy and quality of word; what a waste. "That's how we lost each other, long ago, on the green hill, on a balmy, dazed day. what follows: years of tossing at night in doubt." (c) Byung A. Fallgren
The Mother and Daughter, like lunar eclipse The daughter who is born writer doesn't write and tells her mom to write, like the mom used to tell her. Now, her mom has become the daughter's youthhood. She's the daughter is the mom is the daughter... the mom would do it for the daughter, like the daughter should've done it for the mom; they are two in one. Who would've guessed it? Not the Earth, nor the moon. (c) Byung A. Fallgren
from The Dream Songs John Berryman (1914--1972) 257 The thunder & the flaw of their great quarrel abased his pen. He could not likely think. He took himself out of it, both wrong & right, beyond well beyond moral, in the groves of meaningless rage, with ach & stink unlike old shit which loses its power almost in an hour, ours burgeons. When I trained my wives, I thought now they'd be professional: they became professional, at once wedlocks went sour because they couldn't complete with Henry, who sought their realization. The J.P. coughed. Married life is a boat forever dubious, with the bilge stale. there's no getting out of that. Gong & lightening crowd my returned threat, I always wept at parade: I knew I'd fail: Henry wandered back on stage& sat. John Berryman was born John Smith in McAlister, Oklahoma, was a teacher and scholar at Brown, Princeton, and the University of Minnesota. Received the Pulitzer Prize in 1965 and National Book Award in 1969.
Anticipation magpies hover over the ash as a homeless man waits for good news Attraction in the pile of wrapping papers and old ornaments a terry bear still sings (c)Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 