Two Haiku
gone are the songs of
crickets and frogs in the night
storm clouds thunder
silent evening pond
bull frogs wail no more
moon hides in the cloud
© Byung A. Fallgren
Uncategorized
The Weekly Avocet
The Doe
The Doe
On a warm evening, walking the dog
near the pasture, I saw an unusual event
unfold in the distance:
a doe and fawn, chased by a coyote;
to keep up
with its moghter running for her life,
the fawn fell.
The coyote approached the injoured fawn;
my dog, free from my grip, dashed to the
predator, howling; the coyote fled.
To examine the injoured one, I got closer,
and it limped away to its mom
watching us from afar.
When the young buck with the limp leg,
excluded by his group,
the doe joined him walking in the night,
foraged together in the pasture or my yard.
The doe and the buck with crippled back leg
and lovely antlers; the nightly visitors,
now, enjoy a midnight snack on
the leaves of my apple tree. The buck,
his antlers reaching for the moon, his mouth
to the apple in the tree; an art of nature.
As I watch them in the moonlight, in awe,
for her motherly love, tears well in my eyes.
How long? She doesn't care; she just lives in the
momentary joy. But she knows instictively
that her care for her son in the season will pay off;
her son is well nourished and fat for the winter.
The night stealthily moves on, and they trot off
into the light of dawn.
This piece is published in the Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry,
Summer printed issue, 2022.
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Face mask, not for others
Face mask, not for others
The flock of gulls at the parking lot,
one wearing a face mask around her neck,
not a souvenir from a day's trip;
she doesn't even know how she got it,
nor does she care for it, even annoying.
She's seen them on humans
that makes her blush to see it on her?
Someone, please take this off me,
she pleads to the clouds,
that seemed to laugh at her.
Passing wind only tries to snap it loose.
This is published in The Avocet, a journal of Nature Poetry, Spring 2022.
© Byung A. Fallgren
What about the others like me?
What about the others like me?
I was locked in a ball tangled
of fishing nets and lines;
sat on the sand beach,
like a rock, can't move.
Peeking through the hole
in the ball, I saw
a young man approaching.
I struggled to move away
from the man; to the water;
I cannot budge, locked in the ball.
He stands over me.
"O, you poor turttle," he says.
From his pocket, he takes
a knife and begins to cut
the entangled fishing lines.
I want to run, afraid
but cannot move an inch.
Little by little, the lines
begin to unravel; I can breathe now;
still, in fear.
What seems like an hour later,
the loosens lines free me;
only then do I realize
the man's good deed.
As I crawl to the water,
I think, what about
the others like me, somewhere?
(This is published in The Weekly Avocet, #657, July 6th, 2025.)
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
My poems, "What about Others like Me", "The Doe", "The View side of the Road", are
published in this Weekly Avocet. Thanks so much, Charles, Vivian, for taking these pieces.
--Byung A. Fallgren
View on the side of the Road
View on side of the Road
Silver sky and the land join in the sea of smog;
Submerged, the wind turbines wave their arms,
Like drowning octopuses.
Drying lake gives way to the green invaders,
Like old soldiers with no weapons.
Hope the smoke will dwindle with winter's arrival;
Dried lakes will begin to refill
As the irrigation stops in October.
In the smoke, the wind turbine points fingers,
As we panic at the foot of crumbling hills,
Fumbling in the sea of plans.
They say eventually Nature replenishes what she has lost,
But she cannot revive the perished creatures;
Polars bears, beavers, and others may live only
In the children's story book.
Mother whispers in the wind, we can do more.
© Byung A. Fallgren
This piece is published in The Weekly Avocet--657, July 6, 2025.
Early Summer only in my mind
Early Summer only in my Mind
This year, you've come reluctantly, or so it feels.
Your visit, nevertheless, with a bright smile,
elicit a life of me in my deepest darkness.
So, with a trembling hand, I fuss over you
to serve a cup of tea or a bowl of jasmine rice,
hurrying, knowing you will
be gone soon, as
the simple-minded lover when we were young.
Now, young-old, I know, how to spend our
brief time together;
still I tend to be forgetful or lack cleverness,
I'm afraid I might upset you.
Review what I have done last spring:
planting pink roses, peonies, tiger lilies, etc.,
growing well; a promise of a blessed summer.
I need some more work to do: soften up the soil
of the garden in our world; remember to water until
they bloom and wither in autumn. For now,
I will pry what the moon whispers to them,
as the petals tremble in the passing wind;
and in the morning, I will greet them and
do what I have to do more; for you and me.
This is published in The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry, Summer 2025 issue.
© Byung A. Fallgren
Longing to hear Their Music
Hey there my Friends,
My sincere applogies, for not posting for a while.
I've been on a trip and lost internet connection.
Here I am today, and try to get back on the normal schedule.
Longing to hear their Music,
It is a June evening,
the last light of the twilight long gone,
without the usual giving
of their little present of the day's music.
What's happening?
wondering mind searches in the grass,
there's no finding,
not even a little dead wing.
The image of the man with a tank on his back
flashes, spraying.
Insects are an important member
of a healthy ecosystem, with no food,
birds are dying;
with no birds, trees lost one of their ways
of spreading
the seeds, etc..
Like the olden days , how about burning
some sagebrushes to repel the mosquitoes?
a grandma implores, bring
back the night music band--Crickets & Frogs.
© Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 