This Old Lilac

You've grown like the old lady.
She began you from a sapling,
one spring long ago.
Now, you think you are done,
despite the many branches.
the gnarled arms, dried, some broken
by the wicked wind.
A few signs of new life at the root;
eager to renew; with bout you doubt.

Now and then you remember the days
you were a robust beauty, pink blossoms
with a sea of aromas.

One thing you don't like even then--
the big orange butterfly and her caterpillars
that devour the leaves until they 
withered and died.
the summer days hooligans.
 
Despite all that, you always sprang green in spring
and bloom, scent the air in the whole neighborhood
like a soul for the world.

You long to do so in the upcoming season.
And then at the end of spring,
you weep, defenseless against the invaders.
But worry not. your mama is watching over you.
She is armed with pepper spray.

The butterfly has a sharp sense of
its power, which surely burns the lips
of the caterpillars. Isn't that great?
You and I still have many springs to come,
as Mother Nature smiles upon us.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Resilience

Despite the caterpillars
devour the leaves
the tree
bounces green
every spring

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Brief Visitor (Gogyohka)

On a warm day
in January,
a stray snowflake
lands on a lilac branch;
the eternal shadow.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Young again poem

Two mirrors
One on the wall
The other in the mind

In the mirror
See the youth once was
Time travel past
Bring back the youth
And walk along
The river of dim light

©Byung Fallgren

Illusion

Wile typing at dawn, I see, in my peripheral
vision, something stirs in the dark doorway
and drag itself toward my desk. Charlie?
I peer under my desk; seeing nothing, I sigh;
the cat's been gone for years now.

On the back porch, I gaze at the sky;
a head of a dragone looms over the cloud
and stares at me before vanishing.
It looks so real; my heart is still jumping.

I saw, in the store, my neighbor. when
I'm about to greet her, she shoots a leery
eyes and turn. What did I do? I want to
poke her head, but I just stared. all that 
morning, the mad eyes stuck in my mind,
like a millions of maggots.

Later that afternoon, she sat on the porch
alone, drinking coffee. I sauntered over.
 She says, "Come, sit."
Grabbing a chair, I studdy her smile and
noticed a swallon sty in her eye smearing her smile.
I laugh; the illusional day!
We chat for a while, as the ladies in gray.

© Byung A. Fallgren