Breath for Metal
Ching-In Cheng
This is a story
I've kept in soft
orange inside
my steel body. I've wanted
to wait until I've
cooled to hum, until
my touch wouldn't burn.
I've practiced to gentle
not to be odd. To remember
me a calm line transmitting not artificial
sugar smile melts a rainy spring I don't want
to feel a tug you wait again for what's
dissolved into scent for this week.
Ching-In Cheng is a trans/gender queer and
fewer Chines American poet. They are the authors of
recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017), winner of
the 2018 Lamba Literary Award for Transgender Poetry,
an assistant professor at the University of Washington
Bothell, Chen lives in Lake Forest Park , Washington on
Snokomish lands.
Waiting
Waiting Waiting for The Weekly Avocet; It usually arrives in time. What's happened? * After a long pause, I began to write again for The Avocet, and my poem "Autumn" has been accepted for The Avocet, Fall Issue, 2023. Thank you, Charles and Vivian.
Moth-like
They argue like they breath. Just because the light is there doesn't mean the door to her room is open. shock from the hot bulb that knocks him down to the hard wood. Slowly recover senses. In evenings, it happens again; her patience, limited. Burn-wound; regret; exhaustion; no word heals it. a drop of morning dew; her tear before she left; encouragement; he rises; but for how long? ©Byung A. Fallgren
Taking back the abandoned
Taking back the Abandoned Grabbing the empty shopping cart, I heard the voice behind me: take this, still warm. I turned to see the man whom I unfriended on Facebook grinning. Oh, sure. I took the cart and the heart softened, followed him to the register. Would you like a free copy of my new book? He just smiled and said, someone is following you. My husband greeted him and, together, they started chatting like old pals. Hard words can dissolve over time; garden of life can bloom more often depends on the green thumb of art of life. ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
There
There
Robert Mezey
It is deep summer. Far out
at sea, the young squalls darken
and roll, plunging northward,
threatening everything. I see
the Atlantic moving in slow
com templative furry
against the rocks, the beaten
headlands, and the towns sunk deep
in a blind northern light. Here,
far land, in the mountains
of Mexico, it is raining
hard, battering the soft mountains
of flowers. I am sullen, dumb,
ungovernable. I taste myself
and taste those winds, uprisings
of salt and ice, of great trees
brought down, of houses and cries
lost in the storm; and what breaks
on that black shore breaks in me.
Robert Mezey was born In Philadelphia in 1935.
He enrolled at the University of Iowa and
completed his bachelor of arts degree.
The Particular Thursday
The Particular Thursday Woke at four by the voice in the dream: Assassin! that drove all the senses to the edge. Why? I'm only unknown poet. It must be a moron's game. Shrug, shrug. Yet the word stuck in the back of my neck, like an insect bite. Cancel the plan; don't go to the County Fair; where a maniac could be hidden. On second thought, go, enjoy the day. At the fair ground, got a long walk, bought the corns on the cobs and water bottles, sat with him at the table under the shade, and ate the hot and sweet corn; smiled at the old lady nearby. she smiled back. Visit the Garden Exhibition, took some photos of winners' work. Next, visit the animal show. little ducks pant in the heat, while a fat alpaca gobbles up the dry grass. The last stop at The Forest and Its Habitants; learned the burrowing owls live in the burrow of the prairie dogs'; winner take it all. On the way driving home, thanked God for the safe day. ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Moon Tonight
Moon Tonight by Gwendolyn Benett Moon tonight, Beloved... When twilight Has gathered together The ends Of her soft robe And the last bride-call Has died. Moon tonight -- Cool as a forgotten dream, Dearer than lost twilights Among trees where bird sing No more. Gwendolyn Bennett was born on July 8, 1902, in Giddings Texas, was a poet and artist from the Harlem Renaissance. Her writings appeared in various magazines and periodicals, including Opportunity, Palms, and Fire! She died in May 31, 1981.
Byung A. Fallgren 