Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 4

Posted on April 4, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

11 a.m. Trying to get started a little early today. Saturdays are usually busy at the store, and I have absolutely no idea what to write. I did take some pretty pictures this morning.

I think I’ll write about the pink rose. It’s the first perfect rose I’ve seen this spring. Others have been half bloomed or stunted by the cold snaps we’ve had. This one had perfect timing. Let’s try a villanelle.

Spring arrives with green glows
flowers, trees, insects abound
and you, finally, a perfect rose.

Pay no mind when wind blows
frost is gone till winter rolls round
spring has arrived with green glows.

and you, finally, a perfect rose

spring arrives with green glows

and you, finally, a perfect rose


spring arrives with green glows

and you, finally, a perfect rose

11:12 a.m. Pausing a moment here because I had to stop anyway to wait on someone at the store. It’s empty again, but I thought I’d explain how I write villanelle. It has a rhyming pattern where you use the same first and third lines. I usually end up altering those lines a bit. (You can tell I did at the end of the second verse above.) But to keep myself on track, I lay the sort of cornerstones before I write. Those are the last lines of each verse.

11:17 a.m. Back to it!

Spring arrives with green glows
flowers, trees, insects abound
and you, finally, a perfect rose.

Pay no mind when wind blows
frost is gone till winter rolls round
spring has arrived with green glows.

Sun is needed, everyone knows
to make violets and clover abound—
and you, finally, a perfect rose

There's no way to express in prose
how it feels when winter loses ground
and spring arrives with green glows

when everything thaws that cold froze
and pinks, reds, yellows arrive to astound
with you, finally, a perfect rose

When spring arrives with green glows
take a moment to rest and look around
Nature puts on her finest clothes
and dons, finally, a perfect rose

11:30 a.m. Finished, but looking back over it, I see a repeated rhyme (one that shouldn’t be repeated!). Lots of people in the store, but I’m going to get started on the rewrite now./

A Perfect Rose
by Michelle Garren-Flye

Spring arrives with green glows
flowers, trees, insects abound—
and you, finally, a perfect rose.

Pay no mind when the wind blows!
Frost is gone till winter rolls round.
Spring has arrived with green glows.

Sun is needed, everyone knows,
to warm the bluebird's song into sound
and summon you, my perfect rose.

There's no way to express in prose
how it feels when winter loses ground
and spring arrives with green glows,

when everything thaws that cold froze,
and pinks, reds, yellows arrive to astound
and give us at last a perfect rose.

When spring arrives with green glows
take a moment to rest and look around
as Nature puts on her finest clothes
and dons, finally, a perfect rose.

11:40 a.m. Amazing what a few minutes of quiet time can do for you. I think it’s good now. What do you think?

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 3

Posted on April 3, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

12:26 p.m. When I can’t think of anything to write about (like today), I write haiku. So today, I’ve decided, literally just now, to write a linked haiku. What about? Well, I just wrote a short article about a ghost cat. How about that? I shall write:

Ghost Cat by the Sea Haiku

12:28

sea breeze passes by
without ruffling his fur
ghost cat waits, lonely

sandy shores are home to him
he plays with side walking crabs

at night the light spears
through the sky above the shoals
ghost cat waits, on guard

did once his feat trod the deck
as he hunted mice below?

morning visitors
spot him in the deep shadows 
ghost cat purrs for them

but nights are long on the shore
as ghost cat waits for the morn

12:36 p.m. Okay. Not awful. Now a quick rewrite.

ghost cat by the sea
by michelle garren-flye

sea breeze passes by
without ruffling his fur
ghost cat waits, lonely

did once his feat trod the deck
of a ship long lost to wreck?

morning visitors
spot him in the deep shadows 
ghost cat purrs for them

the nights are long on the shore
as ghost cat waits for the morn

he sees the light spear
starry sky above the shoals
ghost cat waits, on guard

one hundred years on this shore
he may play here a hundred more

12:52 p.m. There’s one extra syllable in one of the lines, but it doesn’t mess things up, so I’m leaving it. I like the flow of the poem better now. It makes more sense to start in the light and move to the darkness. I also re-wrote a couple of lines.

For anyone interested, this is inspired by the ghost cat of Hatteras lighthouse. You can google it. Also google the cats left on the ghost ship Carol A. Deering. These three cats, the only survivors of the famous ghost ship, are only tangentially linked to the ghost cat of Hatteras as it is commonly believed to have belonged to a past lighthouse keeper. However, it has been speculated he might be one of the Deering’s cats.

Maybe he’s waiting there for the captain.

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 2

Posted on April 2, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:47 a.m. Good morning! Happy Day 2 of National Poetry Month. And so we begin our second live poem.

As I was getting the store opened and thinking about what to write about today, this line came to me.

April is a mystical month.

There aren’t many rhymes for “month”, and I do like to rhyme, regardless of what type of poetry I’m writing, so I changed it.

April is a mystical time.

Lots of rhymes for time. Rhyme, for one. So here goes, wish me luck. It might be a sonnet?

April is a mystical time
pause and listen to its heartbeat
the days are warm and almost kind
but nighttime is still a cheat

10:55 a.m. This is harder than I remember lol.

And I had to help some customers.

Full moon wends through trees to light
a meadow noisy with full-throated song
and new life joins the old in the night
dancing round a bonfire can't be wrong

11:11 a.m. make a wish!

11:12 a.m. back to work.

Make a wish on the waning moon
that the tides will change for the better
April is here but it ends oh so soon
the magic will change with the weather

11:15 a.m. I’ve found my direction now, so that one was easier. One sec. Derby’s meowing and I need to check on him.

11:18 a.m. Okay, going back to read over what I’ve written so I know what to do for the final couplet. (Derby was fine. Just wanted pets.)

The wish you make may float away to the past,
but then, magic was never meant to last.

11:20 a.m. That’s it! Not the best sonnet ever, but it’s passable. Gonna give it a quick sponge bath, and post the rewritten version here:

April 2
by Michelle Garren-Flye

April is a mystical time...
pause and listen to its heartbeat.
The days are warm and almost kind
but the night is still winter's cheat.

Full moon wends through trees to light
a meadow noisy with full-throated song,
and new life joins old in the night—
dancing round a bonfire can't be wrong!

Make a wish on the waning moon
that the tides will change for the better.
April is here but it ends—oh so soon!
The magic will change with the weather.

The wish you make may float away to the past,
but then, magic was never meant to last.

11:24 a.m. And so it is done.

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 1

Posted on April 1, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

April snuck up on me! I don’t have a theme picked!

So I decided to do something I’ve done before and write a live poem each day.

Here goes today’s, which I will be using in the window of my book store (I’ll post a pic later):

April Haiku

April shower blooms

month flowers beautifully

pause a moment…read

April Haiku

April shower blooms

month flowers beautifully

pause a moment…read

More tomorrow!

Book Release Tomorrow! (With Live Excerpt)

Posted on February 27, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

It’s almost time! My Greek Gods meet Regency England romantasy that was SIX YEARS in the making lol. Actually, probably more like three because I kind of got sidetracked from writing novels for a while, especially of the romantic sort.

I tried to figure out a great way to spend this last day before the book release and what I came up with was inspired by how I used to do live poetry writing on my blog. (I plan to revisit that this April, btw!)

I’m going to do live excerpts. That’s right. I have a copy of the book here and I’m going to open it up, find something of interest and transcribe it here. I’m so confident in my writing, I’m certain I can find something to tempt you to buy my book on any page I open to! So get ready…here goes.

Excerpt 1:

“I was born mortal.” Callie wondered if it was true. She barely remembered her parents.

“There are no guarantees as far as that is concerned.” Aphrodite swirled the golden liquid in the glass. “Maybe your mortal mother thought she was never taken by a god, but the things I’ve seen…” She shook her head. “One could have come to her in her sleep, or disguised as your father. Or in a really good bath…” She widened her eyes.

Excerpt 2:

Hades sighed and reached forward as if to touch her face, then stopped, his fingers curling back into his hand. “Very well. But please, join me for a drink.”

Callie looked at the bottle on the table then back at him. His lips curved. “You won’t be trapped here. That was a little fiction my wife and mother-in-law cooked up. I just go along with it. For domestic peace.”

Excerpt 3:

With no other choice, Callie picked up the teapot and went over to the table. She noticed Dionysus’s little frown, Lord St. Clair’s quizzical look. But she focused only on the lady who’d summoned her. “Did you need more tea, My Lady?”

“No, I did not. I wish you to join us.”

Callie’s immediate reaction was dismay. Join the family breakfast table? She had been horrified when Samir proposed she accompany him to dinner, but to sit down with the family for a meal when Samir wasn’t even there? She shook her head. “No, ma’am. I would not presume.”

“You’re not presuming if I ask. There are plenty of servers and we have an empty spot at the table.” Lady Clarissa nodded to one of the footmen. “Please bring another teacup for Callie.”

And that’s all you’re getting out of me. I had so much fun adding my own spin to the gods of Greek Mythology that I fell in love with a long time ago. I don’t exactly remember the first time I picked up a book of Greek mythology, but so much of it has stuck with me. I remember devouring book after book. I thrilled to the adventures of Jason and Heracles, was horrified by the fate of Daphne, and I was always dubious about Persephone lol. (She’s not actually in this one, though, so maybe I’m just taking Hades’s word for it.)

Anyway, tomorrow we’ll open a Pandora’s pithos of our own when I let this book loose on the world of romantasy readers. If you’re intrigued, it will be available on Amazon and at my store, The Next Chapter Books & Art.

Poem: A Sonnet for My Last Hinge Match

Posted on January 23, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

Now that my novel is done and off to the printer, I’m taking a short break from writing seriously. Although, maybe this is a serious poem? Who knows, really.

A Sonnet for My Last Hinge Match
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Let’s not fall in love, just listen a while:
I can’t sell myself short, it’s no longer my style.
I’m not even sure anymore what I want,
and I’m not saying that just to taunt.

I guess my desire is for a hero of old
a god shining above in a chariot of gold
or winging across the sky on Pegasus.
That’s why there can never be an us.

I expect starlit dance floors, fountains of wine,
and you to be faithful, handsome, and kind.
Settle for something less than? I won’t.
I think I’m destined to wind down my life alone.

I know your bargain doesn’t include all that,
so I’ll happily spend the night alone with my cat.

I made another something: Laws of Lightning will be out soon!

Posted on January 21, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

My last original romance novel was published in 2020. I believe it was at the height of Covid, when we all thought the world was going to end. I remember people caught on cruise ships and getting stuck because of Covid cases being detected onboard. And I bravely published a romance that took place on board a cruise ship.

Ah, those were the days.

No fear this time, though. Covid has been interwoven into our society (along with some other unpleasant things). So for my comeback, my first novel in nearly SIX YEARS, I chose to write a total escape romantasy set in 1700s England and featuring Greek gods. Yep. It’s like if Jane Austen met the crazy-ass gods of mythology.

Here’s the summary:

In a world where magic and religion are outlawed, the fates of a natural mage and a wandering god collide.

Callie has hidden her powers all her life while working as a kitchen maid for the St. Clair family—until one night when she is discovered in the woods by Samir, a servant of the Muses. Drawn to the beauty of her magic, Samir recruits his friend Dionysus to help him discover more about the young woman with extraordinary power.

Together, they embark on a search for the lost pithos of Pandora. The journey tests their love, expands their beliefs, and leads them on a wild ride from the excesses of London’s “season” to the mysterious depths of the Oracle of Delphi.

Can the new love Samir and Callie have discovered survive the demands of London society and the quirks of the gods of Olympus?

And here’s the final cover:

Laws of Lightning will be released on February 28, 2026. I’ll be posting more about it between now and then. I’ve ordered my preview copy of it, just to make sure it really is going to look as good as I think it will when it comes out. Just FYI, although it’s a romantasy, I doubt this one would get even 3 spicy peppers on today’s spicy scale. Still, I’m old-fashioned and recommending it for 18+ readers. So approach with caution.

Poem: Poetry Bullets

Posted on January 15, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

Poetry Bullets
By Michelle Garren-Flye

we will start a revolution
under the willow in the park
where you lay with your head in my lap
while I read sonnets and odes and haiku
and you and I store up ammunition
that we fire off in whispered words
to passersby 
(I’m Nobody, who are you?)

maybe they want to be nobodies too?
and walk with us across the bridge
—pausing to listen for Basho’s bullfrog’s splash—
to the woods Frost knows
and Whitman’s untrodden paths
(and our souls rejoice in comrades)

the cars back up on the highway
as we march hand-in-hand-in-hand
singing rhythm and verse
firing off our poetry bullets
until someone comes with a real gun
and the blood runs scarlet like Sandburg said
(dreams go on)

and we wander     lonely
—where are the daffodils, William?—
(and then my heart with pleasure fills)
as we lay dying     maybe we’ll hear at last
    the whistle of the balloon-man
                          echoing
                                                             far       and        wee ee

Poem: The Poet Wins

Posted on January 8, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

This post is for a fellow poet, Renee Nicole Good, who was killed by ICE this week. Her death was senseless, brutal, and unjustifiable.

It was murder, and it was sanctioned by our government.

I’ll be honest, when I first heard about it, I thought it was just another one of the insane things that happen in our crazy-ass world. Our government is blowing up fishing boats and kidnapping presidents of other countries, after all. They’re locking up immigrant children in juvenile detention facilities known for child abuse. Americans are being encouraged to eat red meat, drink alcohol, skip immunizations…and don’t worry about not being able to afford health insurance. Our president is barely conscious, and those are his good moments. And there’s the Epstein files, which are undeniably damning to the bastard.

So, what’s one more dead 37-year-old mother of three in Minneapolis?

Except…shit. She was shot by ICE, she was a U.S. Citizen…and she was a poet and writer.

“Don’t kill the poets,” says the old Irish proverb. So writers have enjoyed this “immunity” for centuries, running around battlefields with press passes stuck in fedoras and “REPORTER” emblazoned on bulletproof vests. And yet, this is no proof against a bullet.

Reporters, scholars, historians, writers, poets are the first to be sought out by a would-be suppressive government. But in the end, there is another proverb that has proven truer than the first.

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

The Poet Wins
By Michelle Garren-Flye

This is how it begins:
killing poets in the street.
Let’s see who wins.

Grow some thicker skins,
don’t be indiscreet:
that’s how it begins.

They’re watching your sins:
Big Brother brings the heat…
But wait! Who wins?

No way out of these ins,
just learn to keep the beat
cause this is how it begins.

Shall we all become shut-ins?
Bend the knee, become obsolete
and let Him think He wins?

No, we’ll stand up against the spins.
Face death, oh, it’s bittersweet!
So this is how it begins…
But in the end, the Poet wins.

Poem: Engagement

Posted on October 2, 2025 by Michelle Garren-Flye

I recently saw a challenge from a magazine I’d love to get published in (Rattle.com) to invent a new form of poetry and I thought I’d done it. I even decided to call it circular run-on poetry. The rules are that it captures one moment in time in a single sentence and it circles back to where it started.

Well, maybe there’s nothing new under the sun, but turns out this is just a combination of two forms of poetry that have already been invented, run on and circular.

Anyway, it was fun to try, and I have enough rejections as it is. (Also, just a note that the first line of this poem was written by a friend in a simple Facebook post. She’s such a poet, even her Facebook posts come out poetically! Check out her work here: Sheila Turnage.)

Engagement

In the tall grass on the way to the chestnut tree
halfway across the field beside the highway
that wends its way through hills to beach
I’m waiting, eyes on the clouds, waiting to see

you, walking through the grass to the chestnut tree

but you pause on your way to our fun, 
while roots dig deep under the ground beneath
and break up the dirt for the seed to germinate
up through the earth to the warmth of the sun

and a floating bee lights on the bloom with delight

and I’m still waiting, eyes on the clouds, dreaming
of driving the highway that wends to the sea
with you and your flower (but not the bee)
away from the tall grass and the chestnut tree.