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Sometimes

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
Sometimes

I feel as if, I've lived for years in an outland,
just returned home; everywhere strangers,
myself a hundred-years-old tree.
the next door children, now parents of their children.
only the old man walking the dog, same as before;
the man whose heart monitor wouldn't let him relax,
has to move and move, except the night
when asleep; a little evidence that

most in the world, not a hundred percent good or
bad; why worry so much?
How 'bout be little like the little creature
snuggles on the petal and asleep, let the God
decide its fate of waking, in an enemy's belly.

Absurd, you might scoff, but i need it now, or
might lose more. 


©Byung A. Fallgren

Cleverness, modern Wave

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
Cleverness, Modern Wave

The Farmer entered a contest,
after putting together the words
she raised and nurtured,
which she thought great,
waited for five months, hoping she'd win.

The final month, countdown;
four, three, two; the final week, she got a letter
from the judge: "Dear contestants, will you see me
at the ceremony?"

Having been suffering from arthritis, the farmer replied;
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I won't be able to, perhaps next time."
Soon after that, she got a rejection letter from the judge.

The heartbroken farmer realized: the judge chose ones who
would go to the ceremony. What a trick.

She nods, with wry smile; 
this is how the brains of shady modern souls work;
in doing so, quality of winner's work and
the contest compromised.
Next time, she knows what to say to a clever judge.


Byung A. Fallgren

Aunt

~ Byungafallgren ~ Leave a comment 
Aunt

She was sick and nowhere to go, Mother said. So
she came to us, her brother's home. Most of her days
she sat in her room, looking out the door at us, little kids
in our room looking at her thin face, with wry smile, for
hugs were not allowed; only hello and blown kiss.

Wearing her shame, like a thick, bruised skin,
the possibility of spreading the disease to the loved ones,
she wished her days were brief; she would wait for the day
she could rest, beneath the snow of the backyard mound.

After she had gone, Mother came down with the aunt's 
breath and fever; worried for us; blamed the aunt's gift that
would bring the doom home; we all were wrapped in her shadow.

To this day, we siblings have been free of the aunt's 
feverish breath; wish it would stay that way, like the days
of the vanished wind. Aunt's ghost smiles like the olden days,
when she could play with us kids.

©Byung A. Fallgren