As we walk along the trail of time
our past disappear behind the knoll
of oblivion, yet reminders are everywhere
in the pebbles along sides of the road
in the silent waves of black eye Suzan
and reticent hills
We try to ignore them, getting busy
with our routine lives, yet at night

they sneak into our closed eyes,
demanding to resolve what’s in doubt
They vanish into the morning light of
wisdom, letting us flow with time,
appreciating what we have rather than
brooding over what we lost
Passion also dwindles with spring butterflies
and withering petals, leaving the past behind,
still, healthy enthusiasm remains

our paces become lighter and surefooted
from here to the end of the trail of our time

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byung A. Fallgren’s Blog.)

 

 

Fruitless days
wither the spirit as
toxic fume to the lung
At the edge sudden
wisdom sparks

*

There is only one success…to be able to spend your life in your way,
and not to give others absurd maddening claim upon it.

–Christopher Morley

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byung A. Fallgren’s Blog.)

 

she’s trapped in
the jealous lover’s
frozen breath
and waits for him
warm up
Or
maybe she’s reluctant to
renew herself in fear
what the outcome
will be like

*

HER FIRST VISIT

Like a little savior she came,
filling my heart with love
Her baby-cry as if we were total strangers
wouldn’t let me hold her even a moment
I laughed, for she’ll grow out of it,
yet tried all the trick to win her smile, to no avail
The day she left with Mama and Daddy,
filling the house with emptiness
I counted for her next visit,
looking around the room,
reminiscing about her short stay,
found the little bear and rattler she left
behind–the baby scented memento!

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byung A. Fallgren’s Blog)

When lost just

picture the darling

and go forward

is often better than

giving up altogether

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byungafallgren.com.)

Smoldering
mist of memory
creeps in
the wintry land
for the lost soul
hidden beneath
the silent earth,
digging until
the knuckles bleed
and the crystals of
grief suspended in
the halting
sunlight
*

This is written in remembrance of a missing woman in our community.  Her children and many friends loved her.  She was a respected businesswoman also.  It’s been over a year since her disappearance.  The winter weather has hampered the search effort.  Spring is here.  Wish them the best for their search effort.

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byung A. Fallgren.wordpress.com.)

In the quiet corner
every sound seem amplified,
the whispers of the juniper branches,
cries of the peacocks beyond the pasture,
see more than a normal eye can see,
among the alfalfa lies an injured doe, frightened
Owl perceives, crystallizes the insight into a wisdom,

amused when a couple of robins dared to build their nest
at his heel, horrified when a female owl flew over one night,
checked him out, noticed his falseness and
gobbled up the poor hatchlings instead

He shudders, knowing he would be like her, had he been
able to breath–a vice of life–although a part of him wishes
to be her mate, perfection isn’t meant to be

Owl woodpecker-watcher and the beholder merge in
one spirit for the stilly moment in the absence of pain,
anxiety, desire but peaceful presence, find
the momentary nirvana-like

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byung A. Fallgren.wordpress.com.)

(Muse of the day)

Of all the emotions, anger is the most

destructive one we know, yet we ignore it

or assume we can manage it

Looking back, I realize how the things would have turned

out better had it not been for the anger

Regret, another villain that follows it, destroying the mind

Now that I’m older, I pause to think:

Like the poppy drops in the tea, a heat of anger

intoxicate us, making us blind and presumptuous,

quick to blame, even become violent, withering self-esteem

as the budding leaves in April snow storm

The damage done is often difficult to be reversed, if not at all

To subdue the rage, imitate a turtle’s cool disposition,

and we grow somehow wiser and

more lighthearted

*

To my friend Alison, I know you don’t need it but I share my thought with you anyway.
Have a great day!

(by Byung A. Fallgren.  Byungafallgren.wordpress.com.)

Have you seen a blue jay cry of a messenger?
The stroller has, when a child is bullied
on his way home walk from school,
when a man is browbeaten by an authority

They call her a mindless bird, the stroller
calls her a blue messenger of the day

She performs her best repertoire
ever so softly as echoes of a Buddhist monk’s
moctack in early morning meditation
Her song soothes the bruised heart
while the hand reaches for the child
Her song a healing astringent
A smile on the sullen face rivived

Her cry awakes the lazy afternoon with a doubt,
what’s in our official repertory?

*Moctack is a Korean name for the small, wooden ball a Buddhist monk strokes while chanting mantra in early morning meditation.

(by Byung A. Fallgren. Byungafallgren.wordpress.com.)