Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 24

11:53 a.m. I’m late today because I was at a high school awards ceremony. My daughter won a scholarship for performing arts. I’ve watched her develop as an actress and singer since she was six years old. Mostly backstage, but I’ve been lucky enough to be onstage with her some, too. But where I usually am is backstage or in the audience. That got me thinking about being backstage.

rustles and whispers engage
and you see a different play
from the shadows of backstage

it may feel it lasts an age
or that time has slipped away
as rustles and whispers engage

you know every line on the page
and for the actors you pray
from the shadows of backstage

war is something you cannot wage
and in vain you will try to stay
the rustles and whispers that engage

spotlight doesn't reach the cage
behind the curtains to the fray
in the shadows of backstage

in the end, you may feel your age
as if you're suddenly old and gray
in rustles and whispers that engage
from the shadows of backstage

12:15 p.m. Not too bad.

Backstage
by Michelle Garren-Flye

Rustles and whispers engage,
and you see a different play
from the shadows of backstage.

It may feel it lasts an age,
or that time has slipped away
as rustles and whispers engage.

You know every line on the page
as do the actors, you pray,
from the shadows of backstage.

War is what they must not wage,
and in vain you will try to stay
the rustles and whispers that engage.

Spotlight doesn't reach the cage
behind the curtains to the fray
in the shadows of backstage!

In the end, you may feel your age
as if you're suddenly old and gray
in rustles and whispers that engage
from the shadows of backstage.

12:29 p.m. Villanelle seemed to suit this one. It’s supposed to be sort of lighthearted. Backstage drama usually is, even if it seems like the end of time right at that moment.

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 17

12:42 p.m. I guarantee I’ll be interrupted, but I’m trying to finish this before lunch. I have only a line in mind:

“Making yourself small enough to fit.”

It was inspired by the book I just finished, Weyward by Emilia Hart. An excellent read and all about learning not to try to fit into society’s expectations of you.

12:46 p.m. Here goes:

Make yourself small enough to fit
the hole that has been provided for you
even when that lifestyle doesn't sit
well, and nothing about it seems true

But what if, say, you didn't slim down
and instead put on your loosest jeans
and didn't mind what was said in town?
Say fuck it all and spread your wings!

Even if you've spent the past few years
cutting edges off your square peg
feeling pain, self disgust and shedding tears
the ache in your knee when you bend the leg

Stop cutting yourself, stop holding back
let the ground fall away as you take flight
Bet you never thought you'd have a knack
for living life with all your might.

Don't bother trying to make yourself fit
life is better if you just live it.

1:10 p.m. Yep. Several interruptions. Also, I didn’t know it was a sonnet. A little cleanup:

Square Peg
by Michelle Garren-Flye

Make yourself small enough to fit
the hole that has been provided for you;
even when that lifestyle doesn't sit
well, and nothing about it seems true.

But what if, say, you didn't slim down
and instead put on your loosest jeans
and didn't mind what was said in town?
Say fuck it all and spread your wings!

Even if you've spent the past few years
cutting edges off your square peg,
feeling pain, self disgust, and shedding tears—
oh, the ache in your knee when you bend the leg!

Stop cutting yourself, stop holding back!
Let the ground fall away as you take flight.
Bet you never thought you'd have a knack
for living life with all your might.

Don't bother trying to make yourself fit;
life is better if you just live it.

1:14 p.m. Done. Whew.

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 11

10:34 a.m. I anticipate many interruptions today, so I’m going to get right to it. I saw, of all things, a Disney commercial today. It talked about playing. I also saw a VW bus parked in my neighbor’s carport. Intrigued, I stopped to talk to him about it. He said something about going to see a hippie band in it.

My brain combined the two things.

Sometimes you gotta stop to play
take a ride in a van to see a hippie band
splash in the puddles, act a little cray

the world's troubles on you may weigh
nothing may go as you had planned
so sometimes you gotta stop to play

you deserve to go on a break today
take a long walk along a beach of white sand
splash in the puddles, act a little cray

your life can sometimes go astray
or maybe you just imagined it more grand
sometimes you gotta stop to play

dress up is fun, or when the day is gray
play tag or castles, then go out and
splash in the puddles, act a little cray

games aren't just for kids, I say
when troubles make it hard to stand
that's when you gotta stop to play
splash in the puddles, act a little cray

11:11 a.m. make a wish.

11:12 a.m. It’s another villanelle. They’re both harder and easier than you might think. I’ve got to go over this one now. Make sure it’s got the right rhythm and rhyme.

Cray Play
by Michelle Garren-Flye

Sometimes you gotta stop to play:
take a ride in a van to see a hippie band,
splash in the puddles, act a little cray.

The world's troubles on you will weigh;
nothing may go as you had planned,
so sometimes you gotta stop to play.

You deserve to go on a break today!
Take a long walk along a beach of white sand,
splash in the puddles, act a little cray.

Your life can sometimes go astray—
or maybe you just imagined it more grand?
Maybe you ought to stop to play.

Dress up is fun, or when the day is gray
play tag or castles, then go out and
splash in the puddles, act a little cray.

Games aren't just for kids, I say!
When troubles make it hard to stand,
that's when you gotta stop to play,
splash in the puddles, act a little cray.

11:26 a.m. Done. What do you think?

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 8

10:38 a.m. Here I am, fresh out of ideas of things to write about lol. But I think I’d like to write a villanelle. And as I am as inspired by our space heroes as anyone, I believe it will be about space. So here goes.

Catch a falling star for me, won't you?
Cup it in your hand and run to me;
light my face, my smile anew.

All the world may be astrew,
bombs fall, life thrown away with glee,
but catch a falling star for me, won't you?

I'll watch the brilliance break through
fingers clenched tight, and you will see
it light my face, my smile all new.

Wars are waged, the world is a zoo,
but right here and now, I can be happy;
catch a falling star for me, won't you?

Joys in this life may be few
grabbing onto them is the key
light my face, my smile anew

Up in space, you get a different view
where gravity releases and you are free
Catch a falling star for me, won't you?
Light my face, my smile anew.

11:04 a.m. Took a minute, but that’s the gist. Going to go over it again.

My Starlight Smile
by Michelle Garren-Flye

Catch a falling star for me, won't you?
Cup it in your hand and run to me;
light my face, my smile anew.

All the world may be astrew,
bombs fall, lives thrown away with glee,
but catch a falling star for me, won't you?

Just watch the brilliance break through
fingers clenched tight, and you will see
it light my face, my smile all new.

Wars are waged, the world is a zoo,
but right here and now, I can be happy;
catch a falling star for me, won't you?

Joys in this life may be few,
grabbing onto them is the key
to light my face, my smile renew.

Up in space, you get a different view
where gravity releases and you are free.
Catch a falling star for me, won't you?
Light my face, my smile anew.

11:10 a.m. I think that’s about it for today. There’s a store full of kids here and they’re very interested in the cat. And the cat isn’t terribly happy.

11:11 a.m. Make a wish.

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 3

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

We don’t live in Dystopia…or Utopia (somebody please ban my books!)

Banned books available right now in my store. Local author books in the background. Guess which one I’m most excited about selling?

There’s a list making the rounds of social media right now of “banned books”. Yeah, it sucks that such a list has to exist. We don’t live in Utopia. But are those books going anywhere? Will you ever have a really difficult time finding a copy of The Catcher in the Rye or The Harry Potter series? Probably not. (Even though J.K. Rowling has managed to piss off just about everyone.)

Why is this?

One simple reason. We may not live in Utopia, but we don’t live in Dystopia, either. Banned books are an effective tool employed by libraries and booksellers. There is no easier way to get your book on the bestseller list than to have it publicly banned. Human nature prompts us to immediately rush out and find out why those books were banned.

There are exceptions to this rule. When six Dr. Seuss books were withdrawn due to “hurtful and wrong” imagery, I had a hard time deciding how to feel about it. The reason for this can be found in And to Think I Saw it on Mulberry Street: “…a Chinaman who eats with sticks…” You might think that would be harmless, but I knew. I spent a large portion of my childhood with an image of Asian people wearing weird pointy hats and eating noodles with “sticks”. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I began to appreciate the beauty of Asian culture. And the fun. I’m a big anime and manga fan, and I’m listening to K-Pop right now thanks to my much less culturally insensitive daughter. Someday I hope to visit Japan, South Korea, China and anywhere else that will allow a humble American.

Yes, those Seuss books are mostly off the shelf or on sale on e-Bay for hundreds of dollars. But what happened to Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind when our “woke” culture wanted to cancel it? It hit number one on the Amazon bestseller list. You can still find it on Amazon, by the way. And the N-word has not been removed. Same for Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. And everybody knows about the success of another “banned” book, Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. For the most part, there are no bonfires of these banned books, and even if there are, you can’t burn digital copies and more copies are printed of most of them everyday, anyway.

That’s why when I get requests to feature banned books more prominently in my store, I have to admit I don’t have very many of them. They’re sold out.

I’m writing FICTION again

Grief does weird things to your psyche, but if you’re a writer, it can destroy creativity. That’s because writing fiction is just dreaming. And dreaming, at least about good stuff, is hard when you’re grieving.

Due to recent upheaval in my personal life, I haven’t written fiction in several months. I was grieving and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but that grief. Dreams seemed like a thing of the distant past. Life sucked and it seemed like it always would.

But grief passes. Or lightens, at least. For me, that happened recently. It followed close on the heels of both acceptance and the conscious decision to let go. It didn’t happen instantly. In fact, I hit rock bottom before I was able to let go of the great rock of grief that was dragging me down.

And this week, I started dreaming again. My future is still foggy and uncertain, but steps are being made and they’re all going up. Fortunately, I’m strong and I know I’ll get to the top. I’ll make it there. Eventually. Even if I sometimes have to pause on the way or even take a step back.

In the meantime, dreaming and writing are a definite step forward for me.

Self-affirming self portrait. By Michelle Garren Flye Copyright 2021.

Poem: An Empty Bookstore

I know how lucky I am. I get to go into a bookstore every single day. In these coronavirus days, that’s something special. Admittedly, I know this time is a setback. I certainly never imagined I would end up closing down for weeks and possibly months this soon after becoming the owner of a bookstore. But life’s lemons make sweet lemonade if you know the recipe, and for me, that recipe includes a lot of books and time.

Today, I will go back to the bookstore. I will sit behind my desk and do paperwork and hope the phone will ring. I will spend some time dusting and rearranging shelves. And I will spend some time just sitting silently. But I won’t be alone.

An Empty Bookstore

By Michelle Garren Flye

An empty bookstore is still quite full.

Just sit silent and listen for a minute.

You’ll find the characters of another soul

Acting stories for your entertainment.

Look there! It’s Hazel from Watership Down!

He’d best watch out, McGregor’s not picky—

Peter Rabbit escaped and ran into town,

And farmers say all pesky rabbits are tricky.

In a quiet corner, the Little Women gather.

Meg, Jo, Amy, Beth dream dreams of future days.

I wonder what they’d think of today, whether

Marmee would approve of our wayward ways?

Curious George flies a kite with Paddington Bear,

Ignoring Jekyll’s Hyde lurking in the shadows.

Scarlett O’Hara ponders which dress to wear

While Atticus Finch seeks to deal legal blows.

Over yonder lies Dracula’s coffin in state

And don’t forget to check in on Miss Havisham.

Now that you’re ready to flee, just wait—

Anne Shirley is here with green egg’s Sam.

The longer you sit quiet in this empty place

The more peopled you’ll find it is in the end.

You know, you can do the same in your own space?

Books are all you need to make a friend.

PC: Politely Considerate; A study of two viewpoints

I read two editorials in The Washington Post this morning. One was about the Republican Party, the other about J.K. Rowling. Two diametrically opposed subjects that somehow made me think about the same thing.

In his article, Wake up Republicans. Your party stands for all the wrong things now., Stuart Stevens says Republicans have become a party of white grievance in the midst of a population of diverse “immigrants and multiculturalism” by labeling kindness and compassion with a somehow evil label of “PC”. He’s not wrong. I’ve felt this way myself. Political correctness is not evil. It is thinking of others before shooting your mouth off. But this got me thinking about the many times I’ve been browbeat as “part of the problem” by my fellow liberals. Sometimes I’m not PC enough, evidently, to really be considered a liberal. Which I admit. I’m a fifty-year-old, born-and-raised-in-the-South, white lady. What do you expect?

And still, I try.

In her article, Has J.K. Rowling figured out a way to break our cancel culture?, Megan McArdle muses about the intriguing J.K. Rowling case, in which the hugely successful, Trump-hating, liberal author dared to support a woman who said binary sex is a biological fact that cannot be denied, not because she thought the woman was right, but because Rowling believed the woman had a right to her opinion. And the mob swarmed, according to McArdle, but Rowling has yet to acknowledge any wrongdoing. She has not deleted her tweet, she has not scheduled any conferences with groups who could educate her as to why she was wrong, and she has not apologized. Instead, Rowling is ignoring the would-be mob, letting her reputation stand for itself.

I mean, yeah, but damn. That takes courage.

These two articles got me thinking about what troubles me about left-wing liberals. They’ve taken the whole PC thing to a militant level. If you don’t watch every hand gesture, every word, every joke, every casual remark or tweet, you are “part of the problem.” You must stay well to the left of the white line and tread carefully lest you wander into the middle of the road. Because to those on the far left, there is no common ground. But if all the left stands for is being PC police, then we are in as much danger as the Republican party right now. As Stevens says, “Republicans now partly define their party simply as an alternative to that other party, as in, ‘I’m a Republican because I’m not a Democrat.'”

“You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.” —Aaron Tippin

Yet, as McArdle says, “we fret about the opinions of officious strangers, possibly thousands of miles away, who swarm social media like deranged starlings…” In other words, instead of forming our own opinions based on our own beliefs, we let others mandate them for us. McArdle does attribute this behavior to both the left and the right (the left being the offender in the case of Rowling), but in my mind, the left is becoming exceptionally less accepting of other opinions, and that is dangerous. If we are to be the party of acceptance and tolerance, we must learn to accept and tolerate a multitude of ideas without attempting to summarily cancel them.

In the end, if we hear out the opinions of those who disagree with us, we can choose whether or not to accept them into our beliefs. Yes, be polite and considerate—in fact, that is what PC should stand for—to all. Even those who disagree with you. Accept into your own heart what you believe is right. Blow the rest away like unimportant dandelion fluff.

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Yes, I did write that last line so I could use this picture.  Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Dear Millenials: It’s okay to have high hopes. Love, Gen X

Yeah, I said it. Before you go making fun of Generation X’s “High Hopes” dance, take a few notes from your elders. (And maybe read the lyrics of that song, too. It is the Generation X anthem.)

I have not yet decided which Democrat I will vote for in the primary election. I like different aspects of several of them. I wish I could combine all these different aspects into one Super Candidate. Lacking that, I wish that all of the other candidates would get behind one candidate in a kind of Super Coalition and promise to help that person defeat the Great Evil, Donald Trump.

I have High Hopes.

You gotta have High Hopes.

Truth is, I started out my adult life with High Hopes. My generation, who hadn’t yet been disregarded as Generation X—not Boomers or Millenials or even The Silent Generation, but evidently not even worthy of a name—at any rate, my generation was the first to realize we needed to recycle. I remember how proud I was to cart my little blue bin from the apartment I shared with my husband while he was in medical school to the larger blue bins labeled by colors of glass, newspaper or aluminum cans. I was making a difference.

I had High Hopes.

Not many dimes, though. I worked for a tiny newspaper an hour away, covering local news in a town I didn’t live in but grew to care about. I covered politics, police reports, wrote features about interesting folks, even tried my hand at writing about sports (baseball was my favorite, basketball a close second, football killed me).

I was going to make it big at the little newspaper and catch the eye of the bigger ones. I pictured myself eventually writing something that caught the attention of Rolling Stone. It could happen. After a couple of years of it not happening (and late nights at the paper keeping me from my new husband), however, I was tired of commuting. Burning your biography and rewriting your history isn’t all that easy after all. A job at the library of the medical school attracted me, just as jobs at libraries always had. I went back to my roots.

But I still had High Hopes.

Twenty-some years later, I still have high hopes. I still write, and it’s not all romance or kid stuff. I write about my politics and my beliefs and just my thoughts, not because I hope Rolling Stone will take note, but because I know words have a way of getting out there. Sometimes in an article like this one.

Maybe my generation hasn’t changed things. Maybe we aren’t the ones who will save the world. But we have the influence and the power to effect change when we find the one (or ones) who will. We’ve got one more run in us, and it’s going to be a sight to see.

We want everything.

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The sun has not yet set on Generation X. We still want it all.