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at the Mountain Trail
At the Mountain Trail
While he's looking for the key,
she's running from the car to nearby pines;
back and forth, back and forth.
Trees and wind whisper,
What's on her weird behavior;
why can't she enjoy running ahead?
fear of being attacked? By what?
Mountain lion, or human?
Both, she thinks,
for the beast is human is beast;
wish the beast is flower;
human is butterfly;
as a child, she once thought.
silly, thought then;
now, blue and true.
©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Travel Haiku/Senryu
two houses at the foothill
the railroad runs along the river
peaceful hamlet
passing through the town
oil smell scratches the throat
not gold but trees heal it
about interracial marriage
he says he doesn't understand
she says if you do, you do
summer green
spring green matured
what must be done?
widen the mind
with green miles of prairie
why the gray sky?
©Byung A. Fallgren
In the Forest
In the Forest
Oscar Wild (1854--1900)
Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown- eyed,
Flashes my faun!
He skips through the corpses singing,
And his shadow dances along!
And I know not which I should follow?
Shadow or song?
O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and
I think him in vain!
The Weekly Avocet
Before
Before
You smile on the first day
leads to the proposal to join the "Family",
as you call it.
Thanks, but making such a bond,
I don't easily do.
Since that day, I hear you
in the tree's murmurs;
in the wind; or gabbing sparrows.
Then, you appear
in the swirl of dust and leaves,
and say "Family!"
I smile and say "Friend, perhaps,
a young friend."
reluctantly you nod.
I add, "Wish us to be polite and light;
on the muddy hill or in the rain;
in the sun and sunless days.
©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Fear Grows with Age
Fear Grows with Age
Fear flares in the temp empty house;
keep the lights on, in all room at night;
lock all the doors after twilight
vanish, from the pine tree tops.
Tour the house and find any possible weapon,
that can be used by an intruder; alas, so many!
kitchen knives and hammers and what not.
First temptation: put them all in a box
and store them in my room. that would be
funny and inconvenient.
so, just lock the room before going to bed.
thought about a pistol self-defense,
in case the nightmare demon turns real.
considering I don't do well with a gun,
pepper spray would be a better choice.
It seems fear grow with age,
for life gets complex and risky
on the wings of time. moonlight crawls
stealthily across the wooden floor.
a sudden low call, so low as if from dream.
it's from behind the door. what can it be?
I peep in the hole. nothing's in the hall.
the sounds again. it's from behind the curtain.
outside, lilac shrub branch waves. sigh.
return to the bed and read; ignore the
mystery call of a thing.
it could be anything; hidden fly, and the like.
think I'll get a little poodle; and
grab the string of sleep.
©Byung A. Fallgren
Little Things
Little Things
Marion Strobel (1895--1967)
Little things I'll give to you--
Till your fingers learn to press
Gently
On a loveliness;
Little things and new--
Till your fingers learn to hold
Love that's fragile,
Love that's old.
(She was a poet and critic and editor. Her collections
of poetry includes Once in a Blue Moon and Lost City. )
Byung A. Fallgren 