May all night long gutter drums with drizzle Mother's heart Mother's Day poor daughter sends her selfie with a love poem Mother thinks that is the best gift she's ever received ©Byung A. Fallgren
May
The Weekly Avocet
Spring Hill Song
Spring Hil Song Poems of the hills and dales donned rainbow. echoes in the clouds and hawks glide in the sea of blue sky. Even the lazy tumble weed among the gorgeous maidens can't help but dance in the zephyr. Dazzling smiles of the rainbow in the fields and dales; celebration of the roots and seeds; their survival beneath the snow, more resilient and stronger than the little stars in the night. To begin the new life; to try again the failed dream in the season gone; to renew the lost love; Mother nods in the wings of the time. ©Byung A. Fallgren
Nearly or Surely Solved Mystery
Nearly or Surely Solved the Mystery While visiting Son, we took the grand boy to the park, enjoyed the warm sun, geese on the pond and took the photos. On our back home, we dropped by the store to get some soft drink. At home, we ate dinner prepared by daughter-in-law. That was a good day, or so I thought. The grand boy began to get sick, then his dad also. We rushed them to the emergency room. The doc. said they got a food poison. We suspected the drink might have been contaminated by the unclean tank. But why the rest of us who drank the same one were fine? The food, I thought, might've been the culprit. We all ate the same food she lovingly cooked for us. Why the only two were sick? Jasmine rice, I pondered, the rice with the unfamiliar spices. I recalled when my son was on a business trip to China he was very sick after eating food. I thought then unfamiliar food could cause some people to get sick. Now, the jasmine rice is not so unfamiliar, but the spices she lovingly added to the rice might be. Those spices, even to me unfamiliar, were from South Asia, the Indigenous ones. The two might've been allergic to the spices! All the people are the same in many ways, but we have different perspectives, tastes, etc.; one that is good to a person can be a waste to others, even poisonous. Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Nothing Gold Can…
Nothing Gold Can Stay Robert Frost, 1874--1963 Nature's first green is gold, Her heart hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour, So dawn goes to day. Nothing gold can stay.
On Looking Back
On Looking Back Yesterdays, forest of night with the long days of rain and sleets no one wants to visit, not even the sentimental, old soul. Don't look back, you urge, but the scar-ridden emotion has no ear but wayward eyes. Tiny voice whispers: In the spirit of hooting owl at dawn, do you see the gossamer of glim from the pile of decaying leaves? Hear the tiny voice of forgotten love? Feel the little hands trying to smooth your feet that went through many paths? If none, how 'bout grab one of the wounds and turn it into a poem; and look back again for more? ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet/Abor day
Afternoon by the River
Afternoon by the River After shopping, grab the sandwich, go to the riverside bench and eat; eyes on the river pregnent with spring, so much to do in the days to come; the branch nods to the gibberish robin; as the sun showers over the trees. Time to come, time to leave; why feel as if an invisible hand on my back; no one but the passing wind, sun and the river. ©Byung A. Fallgren
The Couple of birds on the Pink bough
The Couple of Birds on the Pink bough Within the pink world, sweet smell and cozy; he leans to her, yawns, and closes eyes. She nudges; don't be so lazy, dear, hawk's eyes are magnet to us. Ah, he murmurs, have a faith in the blossoms, while their magic lasts; like the lone house, stands unscathed in the ruins of the twister. I'll keep an eye open for you; flowers and magics are whims of wind; my love is the root of a tree. ©Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 