Wheee!
By Michelle Garren Flye
You test the top of the slide
And yell, “It’s slippery, Mommy!”
At first I think you’re scared to try,
But next thing I hear is “Wheee!”
I know how right you are.
Time is slippery, too, I think.
Each second echoes in my heart
But they pass within a wink.
My child, you’re growing too fast—
I know soon you’ll need to be free.
I feel I’m watching you slip past
And all I hear is “Wheee!”
Wisdom of the Baby Bird
By Michelle Garren Flye
Like an eagle or hawk soaring
We want to leap into the sky!
We don’t know what waits;
We just know we want to fly.
Hawks dive onto their prey,
Seagulls wheel above the sea,
Eagles may drift along drafts
Our senses cannot perceive.
Maybe turn our eyes instead
To the baby bird in the nest.
Standing precariously on the edge—
He’s waiting, not taking a rest.
Take a leap of faith—oh yes, let’s do!
But only when the time is right.
Stretch the wings out first—
Take a short practice flight.
Only then will we grow stronger,
Only then will we avoid a plunge
Headfirst into a maelstrom
Of dangers we cannot dodge.
I saw seagulls this morning. Though I live near the coast, I don’t see them often here. I’ve been longing to go to the beach, but it hasn’t happened in quite some time. These gulls reminded of one of the things I love about the beach. The freedom. I actually had my camera, but was so spellbound by their flight, I didn’t take any pictures. I’ll be sure and do that when I go to the beach for a week or two this summer.
Seagulls
By Michelle Garren Flye
I watch the seagulls wheel and sail,
Spitting their free cries into the sky.
What is it like to know so well
That feeling of being so high?
Oh, to spend all my time in flight,
To dance all day on summer breezes,
To fling myself with all main and might
Into heaven’s divine, feathery creases!
But I’m bound to earth’s filth
And know in my heart nothing
Will entice God to impart the skill
Of etching sky with tip of a wing.
No poem today.
But do not fret and worry.
Poetry returns.
🙂
Seriously, I’m kind of happy to be done with the poem-a-day challenge. Writing poetry—everyday, anyway—gives you a new respect for Emily Dickinson. Not appreciation. Respect. There is a difference! I’ve always appreciated Dickinson, but the volume of poetry she wrote is something I now respect. It’s hard to write a poem every day.
But on to other things. It’s May Day! Let’s celebrate spring in spite of quarantine. What better way than by anticipating my upcoming new book? This is my new romance novel that takes place, of all places, on a cruise ship. Lol, right? If you can stop laughing long enough, though, take into account that I began writing this novel three years ago after I went on a cruise to Alaska. It was an amazing, truly magical experience, and to me, there is nothing so romantic as the sea. So, if you can clear the tears of laughter from your eyes, here’s the cover and a brief excerpt.
“Do you want me to leave?” He turned his hand over in hers so he could curl his fingers around hers.
“I think it would be best. Yes.”
“I will then.” He dropped his hand from hers, but then he leaned forward and kissed her, very quickly and softly, on the lips. “I’ve got plenty to do and you don’t need me here. I won’t see you again before your show tonight, though, so I want you to think about one thing for me.”
She wasn’t sure she could think about anything else but how his lips felt on hers and how much she wanted to repeat that experience. “What?”
“Have you ever once worried about what would happen if this thing doesn’t work out? Or have you just wondered what will happen if it does?”
His words gave her a jolt as she recognized the truth in them. She hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be stuck working on a ship with a man she’d attempted to date, perhaps to see him start another relationship with someone else. Not even once had that occurred to her. Why wasn’t she worried about that?
Because it won’t happen. I feel it. If we let this thing get started between us, it’s not going to stop. And maybe that’s what I’m scared of.
He stepped away from her, his eyes still locked on hers. He nodded. “Neither have I.”
From Magic at Sea by Michelle Garren Flye
So go celebrate May Day with cake, dancing (even if it’s solitary, dance anyway) and singing. If you have a May Pole, decorate it. Smell some flowers. Enjoy life a little. We all deserve it.
Well, this is it for National Poetry Month 2020. I had hoped my bookstore would be full of poetry all month long. And in a way, it has been. I’ve certainly written a lot of it. And read some (including by NC Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Greene—and you should too!). And a wonderful friend brought me several new poetry books to read. It’s been…not quite what I wanted (poetry readings and fun times with fellow poets), but I’ve celebrated my love of poetry the best I could in the confines of coronavirus quarantine.
And with that, I leave you with this. Stay well, my friends. And keep reading poetry, and writing it if the spirit moves you. Remember: “To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.” Or so said Robert Frost.
(Note: This is for all the parents and grandparents whose visits from family have been put off because of COVID-19.)
Through the Window
By Michelle Garren Flye
Through the window, I see the squirrels play
I hear the birds singing about the new day—
And you say you’ll be coming to see me
When the world makes travel for you easy.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Looking out the window doesn’t tell me a thing.
The traffic flows past, and I sit alone.
And your voice sounds weak on the phone.
Watching does no good, I know.
Nothing I do makes time slow.
The world continues to spin on its way
Even if I sit here watching all day.
The Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
Remember the year it rained so much
Water stood in every crevice and cranny.
The sky was never blue, just gray.
Like concrete, like it stopped us there.
Then we saw the rainbow and blue sky
And we thought the storm was over.
But it was just a little bit of calm.
And then the real storm started.
First the concrete sky came back
And then it began to move and boil
And rain and wind lashed us until
We cowered inside and watched.
The puddles grew bigger and fatter,
Eating everything they touched
Like some sort of dime movie monster
Until everything was drowned in them.
And then the rain stopped finally,
And we waited to discover
If anything had survived the storm.
I’ve become more and more experimental as the month wears on, it seems. This morning I decided I wanted to write haiku because I didn’t have as much time. But haiku won’t always hold everything you want to say. In a way, haiku became gravity on my dance. So I tried a different way. I’m including both. I actually plan to revisit the second of these later on.
#1
Gravity’s Effect on Dance
By Michelle Garren Flye
Walking by a field—
Three birds startle and take flight.
I laugh in delight.
The sky holds their dance
Steps made up of soars and wheels—
Wish to join the feels!
Stuck instead on earth…
Feet firmly rooted to ground…
My leap only a bound.
#2
Gravity’s Effect on Dance
By Michelle Garren Flye
Walking by a field today,
I watched three birds startle into flight
Seeing their dance, I laughed in delight.
The sky held their dance,
The steps made up of soars and wheels!
Oh how I wished to join their feels.
Stuck instead to the earth,
My dance can never leave ground—
My leaps to gravity are bound.
We could do this, you know. Normality as we once knew it is gone. The slate really could be wiped clean (with a Clorox wipe) and we could begin something extraordinary, if we wanted to do it. I don’t think we will right now because you need a visionary leader to accomplish such a thing, probably more than one. And I haven’t seen many visionaries recently. But right now while the slate is erased, I can’t help but contemplate the possibilities.
Normality is Too Normal
By Michelle Garren Flye
Normality is too normal for me.
I have no wish to go back there.
What’s so great about normal?
Extraordinary is better.
Rainbows and butterflies
Are not normal at all.
Last year, small toads
Hopped through our yard
All spring.
That became normal.
It wasn’t great, though.
We ran over them by accident
And felt bad when we saw it.
Normal. Not good.
Definitely not great.
Roses and daffodils aren’t normal.
Not really.
You have to wait for them to bloom
And then they’re only here for a while.
They are extraordinary.
What’s normal?
If you think about it all the great moments
Aren’t really…normal.
So why go “back to normal”?
Forward to extraordinary, instead!
Ditch Flower
By Michelle Garren Flye
I’ll take your picture now
For tomorrow is uncertain;
We cannot tell when or how
The future pulls the curtain.
It’s pretty sure you’ll go
Sooner than later, my flower,
For the farmer is going to mow
Ere the clouds turn to shower.
Let me capture your grace
Behind my lens to store—
A ditch is not a safe place;
Soon you’ll be here no more.
Sometimes the words flow easily and sometimes not so much.
when you don’t feel the rhyme
by michelle garren flye
you say you’re down and just can’t
feel the rhyme
the world off its axis and fallen aslant
you haven’t the time
and life’s hours seem too scant
let the pain flow away instead
to hold us in sway
while an unjust world continues to tread
unless you stay
your hand and find the rhythm instead.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 