Poem: Pinned

Pinned

By Michelle Garren Flye

Pins hurt, I remember. Pins stick in your skin when you put on a new shirt without checking. Crimson stains on ivory.

Why pin each other, then? Why pin those we love? Stay here. That’s your spot.

It hurts.

Why pin those unlike us? Stick them with scarlet letters. You’re not us. Stay away.

It hurts.

We do it anyway. Jab into flesh until blood comes. Pins like Judgment, like nails on the cross. Us. Other. With us, against us. Pins line up, sharpened stakes to keep us in or push us out.

I hold one in my hand, a dagger to slash and judge. Watch. The blood waits, pulsing, just beneath the sin.

Poem: For Tom (broken)

One of my heroes made the news for the wrong reasons this week, bringing home to me that all of us become less relevant as we age. Even the great ones.

For Tom (broken)

By Michelle Garren Flye

Don’t speak too loudly.

Stay out of their way.

Their edges are sharp and they will cut you,

Force you to retreat, retire.

Your own edges are worn—

Who is impressed by Woodstock anymore?

You didn’t win your wars.

Vietnam, civil rights.

Even the drug war is left for this generation to fight.

Compassion is round

In your hands, but

It turns flat in theirs—and shows only one side.

That side has edges

And they are used to cut.

So be careful, stay silent, keep clear and beware.

For the round and the soft,

The worn and the frayed

Have no place in the edgy world of the young.

Poem: No Pain (for the Jerks)

No Pain (for the Jerks)

By Michelle Garren Flye

It’s little things.

Playground things.

A hard bump

Instead of a pass.

A mocking word

Like a tiny barb.

A whisper, a lie,

A rumor spread

Like stinky cheese

On a wilting cracker.

It’s dumb things

That shouldn’t matter.

A missing invitation

To a birthday party.

Picking me last

For every team.

Just bullshit really.

Nothing that hurts.

You can’t make me cry.

I’m too tough for that.

I don’t cry when

The leaves fall.

I don’t weep when

Rain thunders down.

I don’t mourn the

Wilting dead flowers

By the walk.

How could neglect

Pierce my heart, then?

Why would contempt

Cause me grief?

Or cruelty sadden me?

I feel no pain.

I feel nothing at all.

romance, author, writer, photography, love

“Reflection” Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem: Resolution 2019

assorted color flowers

Maybe this year can be better. Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Resolution

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

This year, it will all be different.

I’ll study Love, find its uses.

I’ll know how big it is.

I’ll measure it, weigh it.

I will find its boundaries.

 

You say that’s impossible.

You say Love knows no such things.

You say it has no limits.

You say it’s ageless, timeless,

And you say Love never stops.

 

Well, we’ll see, won’t we?

When I put it in a test tube

And place it in the centrifuge—

Apply enough pressure…

We’ll see who’s right about love.

 

I’ll spin out all my discoveries.

For the whole world, of course.

Everyone wants to know,

Every body longs for my answers

About why Love is, who it’s for.

 

This year I’ll figure it all out:

Who deserves Love?

What is Love made of?

When is the right time, and

Why is less Love too much to bear?

 

Just wait and see.

Because when it’s done,

They’ll adore and worship,

Congratulate and adulate—

They will all love me.

Poem: Magnum Opus

“If people knew how hard I worked to achieve my mastery, it wouldn’t seem so wonderful after all.”

–Michelangelo

 

Magnum Opus

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Is that your masterpiece?

Your legacy and estate?

 

When you look at it,

Do you know it’s finished?

Or do you want to wipe it clean?

 

Completion is nothing.

Finality is all that counts.

You could dot the last “I”—

Then black it all out.

 

The creator’s Hand decides.

Or maybe it’s accidental?

In the end, it won’t matter.

 

Shake the Etch-a-Sketch

And start over again.

 

Author’s Note: As the year draws to a close, I’m looking hard at where I am and where I want to be. I’m making plans for changes. Watch this space.

But don’t worry. I still have plenty of romance left. I’m not erasing the Etch-a-Sketch. I’m adding another one.

Poem: What Happened to the Last Grey Knight?

adult ancient arena armor

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

What Happened to the Last Grey Knight?

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Don’t look now.

It ate him.

The profane darkness hurtled

Engulfed

Swaddled

Blinded even the stars.

The hideous murk stalked

Striped

Pounced.

Consumed

While peace, love, hope, charity

—All shivered in shadow.

And the last grey knight was gone.

But don’t look now.

It’s hungry still.

Perhaps it will come for you.

Wrap yourself in vermillion, ivory and bluest blue

—Pretend you wear armor, too.

 

 

 

Fading (Poem)

at the end of a day

Photo by Monique Laats on Pexels.com

Fading

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

There’s less of you today.

I watch you fade like print on paper left in the sun too long.

Don’t worry, Mama, you say. I’m all right.

I know it’s a lie, but we’re all fading.

Some lose little bits.

From serif to sans serif print.

Courier to Helvetica.

But you fade—you’re not bold anymore.

You’re not underlined.

You’re italic

And the ink is seeping away from you

Like blood spreading in a pool.

Are you still there? I whisper.

Even when every touch brings you pain,

I still have to touch.

It’s the only way to know.

When newsprint breaks down, it becomes transparent.

I can see through you.

There’s no print anymore.

Just a period at the end.

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