One-eyed Willy

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This eroded sandstone is located by the backcountry road I sometimes drive on.  I named it One-eyed Willy.  (No offense.)  As much as he is one of those sandstones in any country side, his story is sort of banal.  So I ignored him.  Then yesterday he shouted at me to interview him before he disappears.  Hum, interview with sandstone?  Sound crazy.  But I said yes.  After he’s gone, I’ll remember him by it.  So here is our brief conversation:

Me:  “Tell me about yourself and your observation on humanity so far.”

One-eyed Willy:  “I thought you would ask that.  So here is my um…poetry, if you will.”

Me:  “How romantic.”

Willy:  “I long for my hay days of
being the part of this beautiful hill
where the octopuses used to dance by
while school of little fish hid in the weeds
where the buffalo and wolves once roamed
Lost and remained quality of me
is no longer my concern but
what happened to the lad
who’s car rolled down the slope
while texting and drove one night
I’ll be gone, never understanding
lunatic human behavior”

Me:  “The lad recovered from the head injury, got married and has a little boy now.”

Willy: “Liar, your sad face tells me you are lying. And what’s that strange sign over there?”

Me: “He didn’t make it.”

Willy:  “Never text and drive or talk on the phone while driving.”

Me:  “Thanks for the reminder.”

Aloft (2)

At last we are there
let the glory bloom,
embrace the arduous days
yet to come, let the youthful
reverie and ardor reach for higher,
the force of ingenuity, spring of our culture

Exhaustion may consume our body,
yet we bless the equal opportunity,
cherishing all the hassle and effort
Eventually we’ll head to the ocean,
leaving our legacy behind
If we were to be reborn,
we would do so
just as we were?


I am optimistic.  Sometimes I am pessimistic also.  I wouldn’t say I have a bipolar
disorder though.  I believe this is common as we live in a society where we can communicate with anyone in the world in seconds.  We can collect too much information in a heartbeat, which can be a contributing factor of anxiety also.  If the condition, however, gets severe that’s when I should be mindful.  But I am lucid.  Enough to edit my writings. : )

(by Byung A. Fallgren.


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At last we are there,
the arduous days still
running in our veins
While the greed crave for more,
some of us choose modesty
Youthful reverie and heat subdued,
our subconscious mind even desire
to go back to the simplicity when
the yearning sparks the humble existence

We writhe in exhaustion, yet
bless the equal opportunity
Eventually we head to the ocean,
doubting the worth of all the hassle,
denounce our vanity, the albatross
around our neck, yet wishful
to be of a phoenix of wisdom

(by Byung A. Fallgren.

Love Like the Mountain Snow

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I tuck them under my
quilt for the winter
for you to enjoy their
renewed beauty in June
Windy nights a part of
me rest at your window
to watch you dream
a long winter repose

When spring unfolds I tremble
with joy of my journey for you,
streaming down the hills
to quench your thirst
to moisten the pasture,
wheat fields then to

the lake where you swim after
the long days of toil in the field
or wrangling the cows and calves
I’m a soothing agent for your body
and soul till my last drop vaporize


This sort of one way love can be called unconditional love, which is parental love.  Love between man and woman is two-way love, of course.  They have to love each other, not only one sided.  And no one argue about that because it works that way.  So, nowadays, unconditional love between different sex is considered to be un-smart or foolish by many.  But long ago in Korea, even other parts of the world, such a love, especially in women, was not uncommon.  Woman like that was considered to be a graceful prude.

Watching the snow-capped mountain, I thought about the unconditional love between man and woman.  Is that really extinct specie?  Depends on individual and circumstance, it may still alive somewhere in this world?  I haven’t researched on that so I’m not sure.  If there is, I would call her or him a Jewel, not a fool.

(By Byung A. Fallgren.


A photo by Julia Caesar.

She remembers
the golden beam
when she was a little girl
The soft, warm touch on her
goose flesh, like Mom’s caress

It lost the tenderness now
Gentle yet prickly, thought provoking,
leading her eyes to the far side where
the little girl slid into the thirteen-winged
creature broods in wonder, yearning
and reaching for the glimmer in
the spring mists, untouchable yet

beckons, tantalizing enticement
She folds the wing momentarily,
lulls in the olden beam, aware of
the rawness calls for an ardent preparation
When the feathers matured, gained knowledge
she will search for the vision
beyond the hazy horizon

(by Byung A. Fallgren.


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Deep inside her
lives her ancestor
yearning for the
ancient habitat yet
she strives to adapt
herself to the new haven
like a shy child at the
new foster home

Her perpetual blush
turns gold, drenched in
sunlights and praises
her image mirrored in
the dark water below

Studying her lovely reflection,
she apprehends all about it
If every birth has a purpose
So does a flamingo’s

(Photo by Rose Rohlfing Pennel
Poem by Byung A. Fallgren.