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There

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments

There
Robert Mezey

It is deep summer. Far out
at sea, the young squalls darken
and roll, plunging northward,
threatening everything. I see
the Atlantic moving in slow
com templative furry
against the rocks, the beaten
headlands, and the towns sunk deep
in a blind northern light. Here,
far land, in the mountains
of Mexico, it is raining
hard, battering the soft mountains
of flowers. I am sullen, dumb,
ungovernable. I taste myself
and taste those winds, uprisings
of salt and ice, of great trees
brought down, of houses and cries
lost in the storm; and what breaks
on that black shore breaks in me.

Robert Mezey was born In Philadelphia in 1935.
He enrolled at the University of Iowa and
completed his bachelor of arts degree.

The Particular Thursday

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
The Particular Thursday

Woke at four by the voice
in the dream: Assassin!
that drove all the senses to the edge.
Why? I'm only unknown poet.
It must be a moron's game. Shrug, shrug.
Yet the word stuck in the back of my neck, 
like an insect bite. Cancel the plan;
don't  go to the County Fair;
where a maniac could be hidden.

On second thought, go, enjoy the day.
At the fair ground, got a long walk, bought 
the corns on the cobs and water bottles,
sat with him at the table under the shade,
and ate the hot and sweet corn; smiled at
the old lady nearby. she smiled back.

Visit the Garden Exhibition, took some photos
of winners' work.

Next, visit the animal show. little ducks pant
in the heat, while a fat alpaca gobbles up
the dry grass.

The last stop at The Forest and Its Habitants;
learned the burrowing owls live in the burrow 
of the prairie dogs'; winner take it all. 

On the way driving home, thanked God
for the safe day. 

   ©Byung A. Fallgren

Moon Tonight

~ Byungafallgren ~ Leave a comment 
Moon Tonight
by Gwendolyn Benett

Moon tonight,
Beloved...
When twilight 
Has gathered together
The ends
Of her soft robe
And the last bride-call
Has died.
Moon tonight --
Cool as a forgotten dream,
Dearer than lost twilights
Among trees where bird sing
No more. 

Gwendolyn Bennett was born on July 8, 1902,
in Giddings Texas, was a poet and artist from
the Harlem Renaissance.
Her writings appeared in various magazines
and periodicals, including Opportunity, Palms,
and Fire! She died in May 31, 1981.

At the Sunflower Field

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
At the sunflower Field

The farmer
charged you $15
for picking some flowers.

You, smart one, picked more than 
the flowers: the songs, smiles of 
the jovial gathering of the strangers.

In the sea of the giant blossoms,
no broken hearts of seagulls;
you can only smell the scent
of the waves;
and the day ebbs.

©Byung A. Fallgren

In the Moaning of Moon

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
In the Moaning of Moon

Stealthily, CO2 level rises everyday,

so does the greenhouse effect, and more.

Earth, like elderly woman pants.

sweats, feverish.

Trees breathe in CO2, as the girl coughs.
She watches the moon, worrying
for her dog suffering from skin dieses;

She wants to know why the dog's 
condition worsens despite all the care.

You must use sun-block lotion, she says
to her pet. The moon moans. The girl and
the dog don't know why the moon is sad,
but the Earth knows;
she shivers in fear of what would happen
if more forests disappear;
if factories emit more CO2,
as if the leaves of our senses are falling
in the wind. Moon kisses on the trees,
the leaves that wouldn't fall, lest CO2 level
creeps up when they are gone; Haning on
to the trees till the next spring;
till the new leaves appear; new vigor.

©Byung A. Fallgren