Three autumns ago, he passed;
why did she keep it from me for so long?
Even her pet's death was moaned louder;
why the question hides in my throat;
a cautious balloon of fit pops,
finding answers in the lovely picture-words
of encouragement she'd send in evenings,
lest I'd fall ill, with lingering claws.

I'd seen and felt of bleakness in his empty room
when I thought of him;
like a worn feather on the snowy sand beach;
her relief, after years of caring for him who would
pay her by drinking and weeping.

Words swirl in the smoke from the chimney,
silent yet loud, brother; after that, peace;
like the gossamer of light 
in the room. all things understood. 

©Byung A. Fallgren


Shades of the Night

Shades of the Night

Her brother slipped away from

the days of dreams and pains,

unbeknown to her; while reading 

or thinking of the book "Story of

Buddha" he gave her long ago.

Every evening, her sister would
send her the lovely pictures;
her tears would drown in the sea of
the encouraging lines, from abroad;
but it could not stop her worry
for her daughter moans of her life.
she'd walk in the dream, listening to
the beggar or robber; he'd kill if
he doesn't get the money. The dirge
from the radio woke her. Wind howls
at the crescent moon; melting ice jeers;
drink the tea of moon drop.

©Byung A. Fallgren 

Behind Stowe

Behind Stowe
  Elizabeth Bishop

I heard an elf go whistling by,
A whistle sleek as moonlit grass,
that drew me like a silver string
To where the dusty, pale moths fly,
And make a magic as they pass;
A there I heard a cricket sing.

His sing echoed through and through
The dark under a windy tree
Where glinted little insects' wings.
His singing split the sky in two.
The halves fell either side of me,

And I stood straight, bright with moon-rings.

Elizabeth bishop was only sixteen when the poem was published 
by The Blue Peniel in 1927. She was born February 8, 1911 in
Massachusetts. She won the 1956 Pulitzer prize in poetry and 
winner of the 1970 National Book award. She died October 6, 1979.   

Winter Berries, the Crow

Winter Berries, the Crow

Red clusters of the seeds of dream;
silent screams of time
gone too soon, hanging from
the bear branches; soft snow's 
empathy; lone crow ponders,

if this beauty is what death looks like.
He listens to the spirits of the season gone,
in the nature, in the human voices that
always gives him shiver,
in the drifting snow from the pine trees,
too profound to chew and swallow.
He pecks the little berry; surprised 
by the firm grip on the community of its world;
tilt his head, gaze more,

feels the knot in his heart,
with sudden yearning, he takes off. 

©Byung A. Fallgren

Night Haiku

Night Haiku

in the wee hours
two owls hoot to each other
wise winter night

it happens at midnight
a screech owl flies by my house
shrills the climate change

moon hides in the tree
as rabbit skids on the ice
spring won't be here soon

©Byung A. Fallgren

Winter Haiku

Winter Haiku

no birds are flying
but the drifting snow everywhere 
deep winter is here

green juniper's branch
sticks out through the snow on it
what is going on

the town under the snow
so quiet, it is picturesque
lone rabbit hops round 

under the deep snow 
nothing seems moving, even trees
why the wind howls so

clouds seem to tell us 
looking at the deep snow here
put it to good use

©Byung A. Fallgren