In a Disused Graveyard
Robert Frost (March 26, 1874--January 29, 1963)
The living come with grassy tread
To read the graves stones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
To morrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.
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The Weekly Avocet
This is the missed last week's Weekly Avocet. Enjoy reading!
Internet connection
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.
Happy Thanksgiving
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU AND ALL!
I have never failed before to have dinner with my children
and grandchildren on Thanksgiving Day, but this time
we stayed home coughing. Thanks to the flue vaccine,
we’ll be soon fine. Stay well, friends. –Byung A.
Haiku/Senryu
Haiku/Senryu dancing yellow leaf before landing on the grass joy of golden age bare branches waves to the feathered travelers' call Winter comrades who recites the poems out the window all night long dry leaves and homeless in the twist of wind dance party of the leaves carpe diem ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Negotiating the Nightmare Demon
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
Something inevitable as Old Pain
Something inevitable as Old Pain
It hits me in the neck, in my morning bed,
like malicious elf from nightmare;
no more nod or shake, it orders, or
you will fly right into hell of the
childbirth throes in your neck--
alas, the pain, souvenir of age--
Cautiously, I look to the side;
as if being alone in a tipsy boat,
drifts far from the shore;
then thrown back, forehead planted on
to the pillow, panting, tears oozing;
every day, apply the cream, three times,
with a devotion of care for elderly mother,
for over two months.
still, the pain lingers,
as the landlord
demands all the past due.
with the high red ebbs, I wonder,
what is next? Can it be slow and benign?
©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Random Poem
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
Byung A. Fallgren 