On the Same Hill

Talking River Review has accepted my poem “On the Same Hill.”
It will be published in the issue 48 of the Review. Thank you editors
at the Review for choosing my poems.
Talking River Review is the journal for the Lewis–Clark State College,
in Lewiston, Idaho. I’m exited to work with them in the days to come.

–Byung A. Fallgren

At the Blood Center

At the Blood Center

 Millions of red petals of
Wondrous flower,
Stream down the little channel
Toward the reservoir,
Silent cry of
A child slipped off,
Mother’s arms to set free,
To help lift unknown
Slide down the wall of cliff.
Powerful wings of revival
For stranger,
Who
Will absorb
The part of me.
The only magic water ought to be
Shared, with even ugly sister-in law,
                        Over and over, for
We are the shadows and springs of all.

 

©Byung A. Fallgren

guest post

Outlook-mrifgdmq.png, Suzanne Williams - St. Michaels, MD, suzyww@gmail.com

Hydrangea Pruning

Vintage hydrangea inattention bent
Stressed reproducing multiple blossoms
Weeping with seeds for offspring
Relief would come with winter sleep.

Flower-heads are crumbled dust
Leaves have long since shred
The bush now a dormant skeleton
Ready for restorative operations.

I start to cut with caution.
Snap the white sapless stems
Remove age damaged stalks at the base
Unravel entangled branches.

I stand back to assess the essence
Observing natural growth patterns
Discarding superfluous extensions
Pruning just above healthy buds

A shorn skeleton now a sculpture
Stands ready for seasonal adornment
Fed with liquid gold compost
Mulched to ensure moisture retention.

The hydrangea would resist demise
But will excel with attention
Regrowth will burst exuberant
So too, will the sculpturing gardener.

Suzanne Williams – St. Michaels, MD – suzyww@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

 

Beneath the Snow…

Beneath the Snow Dream Pulsates 

I remember the little girl
Who fed the wounded doe the pine nuts
Under this big pine tree, partially chard black
By the fire years before. Some of us the seeds
Had slipped through her fingers and lodged
Between the rocks, but a squirrel came and
Ate, except me hidden deep in the crevice.

Following spring, I saw a miracle:
A tiny sprout pushed out of the soil and
Grew. A spindly fella,
With soft green pine needles!
I watched him smirk, growing stronger.

Dormant in the soil, I keep my hopes up.
The little girl’s mom got her high school GED,
After failing the exam five times!
I’ve failed only one season.

That spring, the girl and her mom planted
A little tree near the spindly friend,
Making me sigh, with envy.

Beneath the snow,
I flex my muscle and keeps
My desire strong and high
As my ancestors, the regal pine trees,
To be a part of this mountain where
The little girl and her mom picnicked
On the grey moss-covered boulder. Where
The black pine trees stand meditate revival.

©Byung A. Fallgren
*This first appeared in The Avocet, Winter 2020.

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