Haiku 2 (National Poetry Month)
Tag Archives: magic
Haiku 1 (National Poetry Month)
Poem and illustration by Michelle Garren Flye. Copyright 2021
Happy Birthday to Me! (with another teaser for UnSong)
Today is my birthday, and I’m celebrating by writing, but not just writing. I’m writing whatever I want. I’m also going back and reading some of what I’ve written in the past. If that sounds like self-gratification, keep in mind that I write what I want to read. It’s the main reason I enjoy it so much.
But I wanted to share another little bit from UnSong. I’m still working hard on the illustrations, and I’ve done most of the easy ones (and by that, I mean the ones that lend themselves to illustration more easily—they have a definite image. Poetry being poetry, not all of the poems in my volume do…or the image they have is a bit difficult for a novice artist like me to put on the page.
My point is, I’m getting there. The book is taking definite shape now. And I’m using Scrivener to build it, so I’m kind of proud of that, too.
I guess old dogs can learn new tricks.
A Poem for Valentine’s Day
What if Valentine’s Day was a way to renew what you feel instead of declare it?
Daring
By Michelle Garren Flye
Fold up your petals
Don’t dare to emerge
On this not-even-just-spring-day
You’ll win no medals
In the pre-spring surge
Sp don’t dare rush along the way
But maybe the one who meddles
And pushes life to the verge
Daring to jump ahead of the fray
Will be the one who gentles
That which would otherwise scourge
Maybe Love’s daring will keep us safe.
A Brief History of Word Processing and a bad picture of a poem
Okay, so there’s this songwriter/musician I follow on Instagram and am a little obsessed with. (His work, not him!) Recently he’s been posting these amazing pictures of new songs he’ll be coming out with this year. They’re all neatly handwritten in a really cool looking journal with rough-edged, linen-like paper, and they brought back memories of trying to handwrite stories and poems in my own journals back before I progressed to a typewriter and then to a Brother word processor and finally to my MacBook.
I decided I should try handwriting again. So I’ve been carrying around a journal (mine is lined because my handwriting goes hopelessly uphill if I have no guides). I’m not exactly sure why, but poetry eluded me for some time while I carried that journal. I think it was fear. I think I was honestly afraid that if I tried to write something in a journal, I wouldn’t be able to do it.
Last night, just as I was supposed to begin making dinner, inspiration finally struck and I rushed for my journal and a pen and started writing. What came out of my pen isn’t exactly what inspiration whispered to me, but I don’t think I did too badly. It’s definitely different writing on paper and not as easy for my inner editor to make me rethink things. A good pen makes a huge difference. I like this one, but it’s one I picked up at my dentist’s, so it may not last long. I’ve never liked writing with a pencil (too scratchy), but I may try that next time.
I haven’t even titled this poem, either. I hope I can read it when I go to transcribe it onto the computer. My handwriting isn’t awful, but as you can see, my inner editor did kick in once or twice, resulting in a few scratch-outs.
What this experience did remind me of was that I didn’t start taking my own writing seriously UNTIL I had a computer. Until I could sit in front of a screen and type my words in and erase as necessary and have a finished product that looked like it should, I was almost literally frozen creatively. I had ideas, but when I sat down to write them, they poofed away.
Is my inner editor that strong? Did it keep me from being creative for years by whispering to me that my ideas wouldn’t turn out right if I wrote them out on a legal pad? If so, what would happen to me tomorrow if the EMP finally happens? If all computers are wiped out, will it take my creativity with it?
Maybe I better try writing in that journal more often.
Poem: Taking the Lead
I’ve been entering contests, so I haven’t had much to put up here recently since most contests won’t accept previously published poetry. I wrote this one this morning, though. because my daffodils are already starting to bloom, and I decided I should share it here instead of trying for fame.
Taking the Lead
By Michelle Garren Flye
There’s always one to emerge before winter’s done.
Poking bright petals out to the sun, as if no one will care.
It seems as if the cold air should bring on despair
But you must lead the way, the charge before spring
When there’s still too much bite for the robin’s wing.
Why come out now, oh, little yellow flower?
Why stick your neck out before the seasons change?
Don’t you know you have no real power
And your appearance now is nothing but strange?
The frost will still nip you back when you bud.
But maybe you’re here to bring hope to us all.
Maybe your courage will stir all our blood!
Why wait for the rest of the world to stand tall?
There must be one to lead the way
To hold up the standard and show that we care.
That first soldier marches so we have one to follow
Like the little yellow flower that doesn’t mind cold air
And risks a frosty death in a show of bravado.
Poem: A Hard Left
Make no mistake. It’s not going to be easy to come back from where we are. “Hard” has more than one meaning.
A Hard Left
By Michelle Garren Flye
Safe footing may take a while.
We’ve hovered so long over the abyss
Trembled with fear, mile after mile
Lips stuttering our tremulous wish
Oh, safety, security, sanity, please
Return to us in our daily life
We know you embody the keys
To free us from all this strife
Now we understand how hell feels
Evil creeping in through marble halls
Peril lingers here, flames lick our heels
Darkness still beckons with wanton calls
We’ve landed just this side of hell
We’ve still got such a long way to go
And our journey may not go well
But at least the direction we now know
Stand still a second before taking a step
Gain your balance, then make a hard left.
Poem: Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
By Michelle Garren Flye
Merry Christmas we cry,
Admiring our tree,
Wishing we could fly
But there’s nowhere left to flee.
The soft glow of white light
Illuminates our night’s work:
Vision of loveliness to our sight
While we ignore what’s in the mirk.
It’s the last of 2020,
The year everything went berserk.
We know that our fates
Rest on whatever comes next,
On untested dates
That still may be hexed.
Maybe, just maybe, our lives will get better?
Maybe we’ll get past this year that was cursed?
Whatever lies in wait is just round the corner—
No time to waste, we plunge in headfirst!
Never mind, doesn’t matter; this year’s a goner.
Poem: I wrote the most perfect sentence
Sadly based on real life events.
I Wrote the Most Perfect Sentence
By Michelle Garren Flye
Right there for a moment
The most perfect sentence
Written in an instant
In a flash of brilliance
Nostalgic but not sappy
Surely worthy of award
I was superbly happy
It struck just the right chord
But I was busy with life
Unable to write it down
Settling scores and strife
Bustling about my town
When at last I sat to write
Nothing was left to recall
Try and try as I might
The words had gone AWOL
A Day of Promises: Happy Winter Solstice!
I try never to let the winter solstice pass unnoticed. Of course I was asleep at 5:30 a.m. or whatever ungodly hour the solstice actually happened, but today is one of my favorite days.
The shortest day of the year.
I’ve watched the days get shorter since the summer solstice (you really can notice it after a week or two). Once daylight savings runs out, it’s really noticeable. Suddenly I have to hurry to walk my dog before it gets dark.
And then you get to today. The shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere at least. And that means tomorrow it will be light longer. Today is not a day of darkness. It is a day of promise.
Tomorrow will be brighter.
With that in mind, I thought I would share the first bit of something from my next comic, SeaGlass. Because that’s my promise. I’ll finish another comic next year.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 