The Argument

Four-thirty in the morning, the next door woman yells,
Her children blubber; blubbering and yelling.

The cry echoes in the neighborhood. What's going on?
Getting ready for the camping trip. Dark valley ghosts yelling.

My parents used to argue often; I thought they'd divorce,
which didn't happen, but they continued on yelling.

My daughter and her hubby repeat the family tradition. 
Suddenly for days they stop yelling.

Red rose plants appear in the little garden at the front door.
I never know why. I only pray the roses flourish; no yelling.

©Byung A. Fallgren

Above poem is another GHAZAL I am practicing. Ghazal is Arabic 
poetic form, like sonnet, ghazal has strict rule requirement. 
 

   

Pain

There are red-pain, amber-pain, and gray-pain;
as stabbing pain. headache, and dull pain.

Of all the pains, feeling no energy and sad (gray-pain)
can be ignored or considered as no pain.

My brother's plethora of white blood cells kills red cells;
whose condition, beyond treatable; feels gray-pain,

which can be confused as no pain. At the stage,
the doctor would say: keep him comfy as less pain.

Medical marijuana, why does he not try? Sis says,
not to worry, his son knows better, he has no pain.

I do not believe it. every illness comes with pain.
His son might know of the degree of his pain,

than me living in oversea. If so, fine, but not so to me.
What if he suffers in silence the pain?

As usual, my tummy growls, then swoosh, the pain passes;
it can be serious. Byung, see your doctor for the pain.

 ©Byung A. Fallgren

Above poem is GHAZAL, Arabic poetic form I'm interested in learning
lately. Like sonet, it has strict rule requirment, which I don't like, but as I do 
practice, I find it fun. 

Heart toughened 

Once in a year trip to see them,
might as well let it be the day
for the granddaughter's ballet recital,
perfumed by the lilac bloom.

Packing the suit case, with slow brewing
joy and Jun day scent; but 
a strange, brief stench.

Sudden ringing of night phone;
heart churns with the daughter's 
dismal voice: "We have a problem.
the septic revers flood the basement,"

(No wonder the stench.)

"If you still coming, stay in a motel, sorry."

My heart, calm as lake;
it's just a thrown stone on the lake;
my heart still recalls the midnight teen's 
car event.

"Dad and I will be there. we've got to see 
her perform, sweetheart."

the reversal stench flood;
the midnight police call;
toughened heart;

I can still sleep through all that!

©Byung A. Fallgren
 

Art of Love

"Wife wants you and dad come over,"
his voice on the phone. "It's holiday!"
"I'm cooking, Mom." her voice 
a background song.

"Sure, we'll be there," I chime.
At first, genuine appreciation. 
On second thought:
her cooking, spicy and greasy, yet tasty;
with cabbage, tofu, etc.
all those known to be healthy food;
my tummy says no; my heart yes.
I'd just visit, 
for the food is visit is art of Love.  

©Byung A. Fallgren 

Siblings

We are like the fingers on our hand;
when an echo from the mountain calls 
you, our ears perk, our nose twitch,
until we know you are still in the sun.

We are the petals of the flower;
we shudder in unison in the rain,
we smile at the touch of the sun.

When we begin to fall, one by one, in the wind
of time, we shed tears celebrating our lives,
until the last one to go. Wish to come back
as we were; petals of the flower;
year after year.

©Byung A. Fallgren