We gathered on the doorstep
with the moonlight,
dazed by the balmy night,
yearning for the alfalfa and
wild roses, getting ready to fly
away. If only we knew an ol’ man
would spray the kill-mist,
cussing, “Teenage box elder bugs!”
If only we knew snowstorm would
pass through our way. In spite of
all that calamity,
some of us still hanging in
there. Like the ancients, we’ll
rebound; multiplying stars
in the purple field, redolent.
by Byung A. Fallgren
Life is a painting
in process;
we pause
to examine
it as an artist would
to assess the piece,
value of color,
smudged spot,
unbalanced composition..
we adjust and
steer it, yet
it tends to slip
backward like
a wayward child,
some fret and angry,
while others continue
on toward the light.
Recently an elderly man in our community has set
fire on his house and shot himself. Reason for his action
is not clear yet. It could be financial problem or loneliness.
This is one of many such tragedies in America. One wonders
why we call our country rich nation when our social security
system is inferior to others’ such as Germany, Japan, South
Korea, for example. Loneliness can be solved if we reach out
each other. Simple, kind act can save lives.
By Byung A. Fallgren
When cluttered
thoughts keep you
awake at night
drink me with
a few moon-drops,
and all the worries
will vanish, let you drift to
the sleepy land where you
sleep in the gentle hand of
a night queen who will
reward you with the
renewed vigor so
you can tackle the
hard work the next day.
–Chamomile Tea
Chamomile tea is also known to be good for hive;
drink it, rub it on the irritated and itch hive, and
it soothes your skins and mind. 😊
–Byung A. Fallgren
I’m honored to be nominated for The Versatile Blogger Award by petrel41.
It’s a joy and inspiration. Thank you again.
Please visit the wonderful blog of petrel41 at
http://dearkitty1.wordpress.com.
–Byung A. Fallgren
Yesterday’s passion is
too precious to let go
down stream without
some fruition
every bit of our effort
tucked in beneath the ice,
we reflect, re-plan, assure
the low hanging clouds
final solution
failure, the necessary villain
on the path, ignore offering hands;
no one knows us better
than we do
more of ardent shift and turn
grasp the thread, and we are glad
we haven’t let it slide by
Photo, written by Byung A. Fallgren
All my youth I’ve been
searching for my dream
in the sea of blue world
Now that I’m old-young
still I’m hoping
A masochist or
placid idiot, I don’t care
what they say
My endeavor will go on
until the sea turns into me and
I, the sea, for all I have is the
tenacity.
by Byung A. Fallgren
Despite my deny
my mind
is a sailboat
without wind
when you are gone
— Byung A. Fallgren
Recently I've received an acceptance letter and a publishing contract from the publisher to whom I've submitted my book manuscript. Brief joy evaporated as I read the contract. It says that I market the book with my own expense, reasoning that the book has been published before. When? Then I realized that they meant the book campaign I ran on Kindle Scout a month ago. Before running the campaign, I had thought I should find a literary agent or publisher first. But I didn't want to wait a few months to get a response from them. So I ran the campaign unsuccesfully which turned out to be a pitfall that hinders my effort to find a publisher. This publisher wants e-book publishing right also. I've converted my manuscript into an ebook format myself, and I want to keep e-book publishing right to myself. So I've decided not to sign the contract. I've published it with Amazon. The editor of the publishing company says that my book Infinite Deluge resonates. To buy the book, please click the link below Thank you so much for your support.
by Byung A. Fallgren
When they were a young couple
they often squabbled like children,
found more hidden lint balls
than music in each other, yet
they were the tree branches
swinging in the wind, tangled
together, inseparable,
as the middle age rolled in their old habits
whittled away, overlooked the furrows of
wrinkles, watched in awe the wispy clouds
of graying hair,
with the midlife slips to the threshold
of golden years, their hearts tend to
skip beating at each other’s pain, smile at the
tufts of hair out growing of his ears or
at her spotty hands like quail’s egg,
after all the years of
arduous hills and
treacherous rivers,
they’ve turned to the
couple of doves, cooing,
perched on their favorite branch
in the late afternoon sun.
According to statistics, nowadays nearly half of all the marriages fail. Divorce is necessary for some, while others can be worked out. Some I leaned through their stories are heartwarming that I wanted to write the tributary lines for them.
By Byung A. Fallgren
Pricks of acacia thorns
swallowed, tossed into
the back of time,
brews youth once more,
wishful, playful glance back
at the memory of
the first love affair in lilac aroma,
rises as a wispy feather
weathered, faded, yet
the long story of yesterday
tucked in each fold,
with the serene pride
of cobalt-blue sky,
navigates space of time ahead,
subdued, balmy, settled and
carefree as the splendor
on the gold cottonwood leaves
in October afternoon sun.
© by Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 