Praise the Cereal of the Kitchen god

Praise the Cereal of the Kitchen god

Mom, buried in insomnia-hill,
slips into
the comma-like-rose-garden at the dawn’s vil,

why bother to wake,
once in a blue occasion,
let the children help themselves,
with cereal and milk,
before going to school;
it’s full of vitamins and minerals;

let the grandpa wave them on the bus;
ah, no problem.
She can even write a poem
in the half-asleep-dazed state in the perfume of rose,
the prayer for the children’s safety,
trusting God,

while Fruit loops and Cheerios sing
in the mouths of the saints;
love song for her.

©Byung A. Fallgren

I wrote this poem during the time I took care of my grand kids for a month;
With insomnia, sometimes I fell asleep at dawn and had hard time to
get up to make breakfast, so I let the children eat cereal and milk before going to school,
and let grandpa wave them on the bus. I had never been more grateful to the cereals
than that time. 😊

Running Water

Running Water
by Alfon Sina Storn

Yes, I move, I live, I wander astray
   water running, intermingle, over the sands.
I know the passionate pleasure of motion;
   I taste the forests; I touch strange land.

Yes, I move–perhaps I’m seeking
   storms, suns, dawns, a place to hide.
What are you doing here, pale and polished–
   you, the stone in the path of the tide?

This poem appeared June 1925 issue of Poetry. Ms. Storn was an 
Argentina poet and teacher. She authors many collections of verse, 
including Mundo de siete Pozos (Editorial Tor, 1926).
She died on 10-25-1938. 



Skiers skip going down the slope;
travelers postpone their plan;
as the weather man warns of the snowstorm.

Hostile warning: a chicken tells the cows
that the dog belittles them;

they stiffen and guard against the dog;
their invisible ears hear
what the physical ones don’t.

What should the dog do,
bite the chicken for slandering?
He or she is too gentle to do that;
waits for the slow cows to learn the truth,
believing the truth always come out.

Meanwhile, the dog endures his or her image dying
in the miasma;
even after the air clears by the sweet breeze,
the stench lingers like dross.

©Byung A. Fallgren

One Night

One Night
by Juan Ramon Jimenez

The ancient spiders with a flatten spread
Their misty marvels through
the withered flowers.
The windows, by the moonlight
pierced, wound shed
their trembling garlands pale
across the bowers.

The balconies looked over to the south;
the night was one immortal and serene;
From field afar the newborn spring times’ mouth
wafted a breath of sweetness o’er the scene.

How silent! Grief had hushed its spectral moan
Among the shadowy roses of the sward;
Love was a fable–in shadow & overthrow
Trooped back in my rides from oblivion’s ward.

The garden’s voice was all–empires had died–
The azure stars in languor having known
the sorrows all the outcries provide,
With silver crowned me there, remote and lone.

One night appeared in Hispanic Anthology (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1920).
Juan Ramon Jimenez was a Spanish poet awarded the
Nobel Prize for Literature in 1956. His many works include
La Soledad Sonora (Revista de Archivos, 1911) among others.
He died on May 29, 1958.