A Fish Story

A Fish Story

Don't ask me my name,
I can be any fish, small and big.
The point is the fact I am dying
with unknown cause; unknown 
to me and others.

A human examines me and others and 
finds plastic particles in our cell. But 
he's not sure if that is what killed us. 
There are more things, toxic chemicals
poured into the ocean can be also the reason.

humans who consume us worry; what if 
they too eventually end up being like us. 

But why worry? Change your wrong habits, 
and we all be safe. Or won't we?  

©Byung A Fallgren


Kim Sosin–ksosin@gmail.com

We Dream the Dream Dreaming Us

We Dream the Dream Dreaming Us
                                by Brian Tierney

You say we should wait--
It must have snowed all night or season,

we don't seem to know
and there isn't a clock.

I say then 

we should 

wait, I
trust you.

The page is blank outside.
we haven't heard in days.
There is not enough time for a whole new plot.

Inside, the wax dilates.
We sit in the dark
and wait.

and are separate,
but looking at each other--

Brian Tierney is the author of Rise and Float (Milkweed Edition, 2022).
A former Stegner Fellow and the recipient of the 2018 George Bogin
memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. He lives in 
California, teaches poetry at the writing salon.  

The Wound

The Wound

Like the debt we try to avoid 
in the sea of exposure, it usually 
lurks in the dark and hits you
when you don't see it.

It appears raw, gaping mouth of
a roaring bear; silent menace.
Rebukes you for your negligence.
As the days pass, it shrinks a bit,
but the danger still percolates within.
Eyes on your patience like an enemy in ambush.

the wound slowly closes, shaking head
in the blue tremble, lesson learned hard way. 
we, at times; no fools do it no fools way.
Still, it is the spider in the web, and we are
the wise victims of the night. 

©Byung A Fallgren

Pat Hope–thetwohopes@aol.com

Gogyohka sequence

For the Spring Sun
in the river
jumping & jumping
for the spring sun

Spring Grass
in the helmet
of morning dew
the blade
for the seasonal allergy

Countryside sentiment
afternoon ride
countryside where
pronghorns roaming
how wonderful to share
with them this moment

wire fence
by the road
but decorated with
an old cowboy boot

©Byung A Fallgren

Five Haikus

Five Haikus

calves on the pasture
taking naps by their mom's side
prime time for the cows

upturned soil of field 
gets the nod of nearby oil pumps
a rich cowboy's dream

gas stations everywhere 
displays the high price of fuel
games of useless war

a new bouquet 
at the tombstone in the cemetery
a raven on the bench

guitar in the case
sees the clumsy old fingers
spring reverie 

©Byung A Fallgren


Phyllis Castelli–phylcastelli@gamail.com

At the Spring Dawn

At the Spring Dawn
Angelina Weld Grinke

I watched the dawn come,
     Watched the spring dawn come,
And the red sun shouldered his way up
    Through the gray, through the blue,
Through the lilac mists.
The quiet of it! The goodness of it!
     And one bird awoke, sang, whirred
A blur moving black against the sun,
     Sang again--a far off.
And I stretched my arms to the redness of the sun,

Stretched to my fingertips,
     And I laughed.
Ah! It is good to be alive, good to love,

     At the dawn,
         At the spring dawn.

(At the Spring dawn appeared in Negro Poets and their
poems in 1923.) Angelina Grinke, born in Boston February 27,
1880, was a journalist and poet. Her work was collected in
several reviews and anthologies. She died October 1958.