Hi guys, I’m going live in about 25 minutes to read my poems from this week if you’d like to join me. 🙂 See you on Instagram!
Day 23: Happy National Poetry Month!
Day 22: Happy National Poetry Month
There’s a forest fire in the Croatan National Forest a few miles away from me. Close enough so we have air quality alerts and I got ash in my hair when I walked my dog yesterday. And there was a meteor shower last night but I didn’t even try to watch it because of the ash.
But I was sad about it. It occurred to me how very subjective our experiences are. The trees are dying. People are risking their lives to stop it. But I can’t see the stars.
Of course I wrote a poem about it.
Forest Ash By Michelle Garren-Flye I thought we could watch the stars fall together in in the light of the fading crescent but what’s falling now is ash from the forest that’s burning across the river. The dead souls of a thousand trees block our view of streaking stars and the silver moon has turned orange, and is too weak to shine through death. Across the river and through the woods people are fighting to save the trees but here in my backyard I’m sad I can’t look into the heavens with you.
Photo and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye
Day 21: Happy National Poetry Month
Today we have another poem written from a poetry prompt. You can find the prompt list here. I chose the first one, which says:
Grab the closest book. Go to page 29. Write down 10 words that catch your eye. Use 7 of words
in a poem. For extra credit, have 4 of them appear at the end of a line.
Fun! I work in a bookstore, so it was, actually, hard to figure out which book was closest. I actually have four poetry books sitting on my desk, but it didn’t seem right to choose those. So I looked to my left instead of my right and found a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows. I don’t know about you guys, but that book scarred me for life. I’ve been afraid of axes ever since.
It has amazing words in it, though. I found these on page 29:
- shaggy
- sigh
- jackets
- patched
- sycamore
- pokeberry
- mountains
- comb
- cloth
- spiderweb
Needless to say, it was not difficult to form a vision with these words to prompt me. I grew up in the mountains of North Carolina. Much of my life is colored by those years. I related to all of the words in this list…except pokeberry. But I do like the word!
Anyway, this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy:
Memory Bank By Michelle Garren-Flye Spiderwebs hang shaggy from dusty doorframes in this old house in my mind. I keep the memories I treasure there: winter coats laying on the oil stove to warm before we step out into cold mountain air. We laugh when the polyester scorches, leaving small holes on the interior that no one can see, anyway. I discard the patched up jeans that made me sigh and the battles with the comb in Mama’s hand. It’s best to forget some things.
Day 20: Happy National Poetry Month
The eclipse was on my mind all day yesterday even though I couldn’t watch it. I remember the total eclipse in August 2017 very well. My family made an event of it, bought the silly safety glasses and sat outside to watch. It was fun. What fascinated me the most was the way the sun cast crescent shaped shadows. I loved those. The whole experience was magical, like night and day meeting and declaring a truce.
In other parts of the world, they got to see a pretty cool eclipse yesterday when the moon exerted her power over the sun for a short time before moving on. That’s why I wrote this poem. However, as you know, I’m a fan of K-pop and yesterday Moonbin, a member of the Korean group Astro, died unexpectedly at the age of 25.
I’m not a huge Astro fan but I did know who Moonbin is, and K-pop fandom is like family (or a cult), so yes, I was shocked and sad when I heard of his death. It felt like someone close to me had died. I can’t imagine how his real fans felt. So I changed the last line a little bit and I’m dedicating this poem to him.
The Power of the Moon By Michelle Garren-Flye Watch now. This is where you’ll see. Day belongs to the sun, but watch! The moon drifts between and dims the light… Remember the last time when all the world grew dark on a cloudless day? I never told you, but I peeked and then I was afraid so I watched the crescent shadows cast by the leaves until the sun returned. But I couldn’t help but wonder: What if the moon decided not to move? What if he stayed?
Photo and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye
Day 19: Happy National Poetry Month
For the past few months I’ve been working on a longer poem called “Where the Sidewalk Begins”. With all due respect to Shel Silverstein, I always wondered if maybe he was looking at things wrong in his iconic poem. As I’ve gotten older and fought life’s battles as valiantly as I could manage, I’ve become more and more certain it is so. Because the sidewalk may be orderly and straight, but it’s easier to avoid deception and pitfalls when you walk on it. And after fighting most of your life, maybe all you want is a little peace…
Anyway, I digress. I finished the poem today. You can’t read it here (sorry), but it will be in my next poetry collection, aptly titled Where the Sidewalk Begins. I haven’t decided if that one will be part of my Poetry Diaries series or not. It’s mostly love poems, so I may just market it that way. I’m hoping to have it out by June 30, which would have been my parent’s 60th wedding anniversary. Still is, I suppose.
On to today’s poem! I got caught up in the whole “night” concept from yesterday so I wrote this one. Hope you enjoy.
Night Comfort By Michelle Garren-Flye I’ll be the Night draining the garish color of the day, leaving shadows to cushion you. Let me surround you— watch the red fade from the rose and forget lost love and hate. Emerald greed is lost on me and golden shame of cowardice means nothing. I will silence it all, the blame and guilt and distractions from dreams. Just lay your head on me. Let me fill you with wonder at my silvery beauty. Let Night be your comfort.
Day 18: Happy National Poetry Month!!
Did you enjoy yesterday’s live poetry reading? I’m actually thinking it’s good for me to do stuff that’s not terribly comfortable for me, so I’m toying with the idea of keeping it up. I’ve tried recording myself reading poetry, but there’s something about the live aspect that makes it a little tougher. I mean, you’re basically just talking to the whoever shows up. I’ve never been a great conversationalist…
Anyway, moving on, today I have not one, but TWO poems for you. Yay! National Poetry Month has definitely shaken something loose in my brain so I can think poet-like again. Or maybe it’s spring, which definitely inspired these two poems, which started out as one poem, but I realized they’re actually companion poems.
I hope you enjoy.
***
Springlight
By Michelle Garren-Flye
I’d like to be the light you see
when clouds part after rain—
transform leaves into glistening green glass
and reveal jewels on flower petals.
Can I be that for you?
I want to be the sunrise
at the end of the long night,
blooming over the horizon,
spilling into the fields
and onto your face with a soft shimmer.
Will you turn to me?
My desire is simple, really:
to be a glimmer of hope,
a shimmer of sunlight,
a ray in the darkness of night.
Is that what you want, too?
Springnight
By Michelle Garren-Flye
I want to be the night
closely covering you,
a breath of a caress
graying out the day…
so you can leave it all behind.
You won’t be afraid of the dark
when the Dark is me, will you?
I’ll let the stars sparkle
and the moon set a path for you
so it won’t be all black,
but you’ll find comfort in me, too,
a rest the day cannot provide.
Fear has no place in me
because you will not be alone.
Cuddle up in me,
I’ll be your blanket,
silvered by starlight
and delicate dreams.
Day 17: Happy National Poetry Month!
I didn’t do a live yesterday and I seriously considered not doing one today but decided that’s the coward’s way out, so…anybody wanna join me on Instagram? I’ll keep it short.
Day 16: Happy National Poetry Month
So yesterday I posted a failed sestina. But what I didn’t realize was it could always get worse. My second try was so bad I named it “Take 2” and I haven’t even gone back to work on punctuation and capitalization. If you’ve ever read the children’s rhyme about the old lady who swallowed the fly, then the frog to eat the fly, then the cat to eat frog, well, that’s what Take 2 is like. I can post it here for fun. Shall I? Why not? This is all about learning, right?
Take 2
let me tell you a secret
it’s beautiful like a rose
although filled with regret
you told me a lie
when we stood in the rain
but still I decided to stay
why should I stay
I dream of places so secret
and getting lost in the rain
until the sun’s rose
reveals that lie
you told without regret
I cannot help but regret
the decision I made to stay
even after I knew the lie
that you tried to keep secret
by handing me a rose
all covered with rain
here comes the rain
and it fills me with regret
that I can’t find a single rose
or a real reason to stay
but it’s still a secret
that you told me that lie
don’t we all tell a lie
when we stand in the rain
we keep it a secret
so that we won’t regret
but do we stay
or follow the compass rose
follow the direction of the rose
or choose. Instead. the lie
we never know unless we stay
if it will always rain
and that, I guess, is my regret
after all, it’s not a secret
if you regret the lie you told
come find me in the secret roses
where I stay, living in the rain
Truly awful. Sestina three is slightly better. I chose the words at random. I’m not sure why it’s a murder mystery/ghost story set in South Korea (okay, my fascination with Korean drama and K-pop probably influenced that), but it’s definitely better.
Han River
Meet me by the Han River
where no one looks like me.
But I’ll carry a yellow rose
and you can wear a white coat.
That’s where I can tell my tale
of love long lost and buried.
Meet me where seeds are buried
asleep on the banks of the river.
Are you sure you wish to hear my tale?
it’s really only about me.
There’s no real way to sugarcoat
or exchange my yellow for a red rose.
It’s been a while since I rose
from where they thought I was buried
and stood without dress or coat
at the edge of the Han River.
I’m not sure why you linger with me
just to hear this tired old tale.
They thought I’d never tell the tale
of how I was deceived by his rose
and how they tortured and murdered me,
dug a shallow grave and buried
me there on the frozen banks of the river
where ice had begun to freeze and coat.
I saw a beaver shake water off his coat
and I whispered him my sad tale
before he slipped back into the river.
It was winter then, there was no rose
of any color where I was buried
in this icy wasteland where they left me.
You say you’re only here to help me,
you in your beautiful white coat.
Do you know where the dead are buried?
Do you know how to tell my tale?
But we watched as the sun rose
above the banks of the Han River.
The same river where they buried me…
I can’t pin a rose on your white coat…
My tale ends here where I am buried.
So that’s where I am with sestinas. It is definitely not my favorite form I’ve tried, but it is the most challenging. I didn’t think it could get harder than villanelle, either! Will I continue writing them? Tune in tomorrow to find out. In the meantime:
A rose I found outside a Church kind of makes me believe in God. Photo and poems copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye
Day 15: Happy National Poetry Month?
Today, I fail.
Well, it was yesterday, really. I flopped. Hard. While looking for a poetry prompt to write about, I came across these very interesting ones. (I’m totally not blaming the prompt here, but my lack of skill.) One of them was to write a sestina, a form I’ve never tried before. Several others included the normal “write a poem with these words in it” along with a list of words. One of these was “fire, spice, burn, chill, tangled”. I loved those words. (Note the past tense.)
Welp, I decided I was going to write a sestina using those words (plus one I chose) as the end ones for the six lines of the six verses a sestina is made up of. Easy, right?
A word of advice for would-be writers of sestinas (although who does that to themselves these days—besides me?): read a few sestinas first before wading into the fray. Sestinas are madness. Not only do they use the same six words at the ends of the lines for all six verses, these words have to be in a particular order. It’s like the Mad Hatter designed a poem.
But some people can make it work so elegantly! I read some sestinas after I wrote my hot mess. The good ones are beautiful and tell a story you’ll love listening to. I looked at my mess and laughed.
Part of the secret of sestinas, I believe, is to choose the right words. I haven’t quite figured out what words those are yet, lol, but I’m going to try to write a sestina with these words for tomorrow: secret, rose, regret, lie, stay. I chose these words myself, so I can’t lay the blame on anyone else tomorrow!
Anyway, if you want to wade your way through my hot mess, check it out:
Hell
By Michelle Garren-Flye
I want to run away from the chill,
find a way to add some spice
to the ice that holds back the burn.
Each moment I become more tangled—
break to gaze at a tarnished star—
and race headlong into the fire.
I feel it in your touch, this fire
that may at last unfreeze the chill.
I’ve wandered too far from my Star
living this life without spice
in this web of lies so tangled.
Let’s just watch it all burn.
Why say chill out when I want to burn?
Of course, the heat is hottest in the fire
but maybe it will loosen what’s tangled.
Let me leave the web that chills.
It’s not impossible to live without spice
but you’ll never make to the stars.
Are tears enough to add spice
when you find yourself all tangled
and there’s no one around to start a fire
to light the way—a nearby star
may guide you but it will not burn
and you’ll feel the wind’s chill.
Hot and cold become entangled
and the light of the distant star—
so hot when it leaves home may chill
as it crosses space, loses its burn.
Banish me into the fire
sweetened with ginger and spice!
Essential to life is warm spice;
in the scents you can be tangled.
The smoke will lead you to fire—
a flame in my heart like a star.
Take a moment to watch it burn
then return to the everyday chill.
A tangle of herbs may produce spice
to add a burn to dispel the chill
but nothing matches the fire of a star.
Day 14: Happy National Poetry Month!
Good morning! Today I’m presenting a fresh poem, but it’s actually one I wrote yesterday. I revised a bit this morning. And it’s all about this:
That’s what my yard looked like day before yesterday. Gorgeous, right? Absolutely. I love flowers. I especially love wildflowers. But spots of it were well over ankle-deep. I do not like snakes (I mean, I’m okay with them in theory, but since one killed my dog, I haven’t been super fond of having them near my loved ones). I also don’t like rats and mice in the house and keeping your yard cut back is essential to discouraging pest infestations.
And so I cut my yard. As much as it pained me to cut all those beautiful flowers, I did it. Because I’m a grownup, damn it. Sometimes that sucks.
Massacre
By Michelle Garren-Flye
I mowed my lawn yesterday,
painful as it was to cut down buttercups
and crowpoison and violets.
I picked a few to make a bouquet,
but the rest I had to let go,
sacrificed to the mower’s blade.
Tell me please, what else could I do?
Rats love weeds and grass
and don’t care if flowers contribute
to the refuge they require.
In shadows, snakes slither through,
so the overgrowth must go!
And still I knew I would miss
the cheerful heads I decapitated
so I stole a moment to admire
Nature’s beauty I must erase.
A masterpiece of color and scent
nevertheless met its fate.
Photos and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 