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.
Inspired by the juvenile owl I saw perched next to his nest in my backyard while his parents chased away the hawks that saw him as prey. As well as my own experiences letting go
Stay
By Michelle Garren Flye
I know the wild world calls—
You want to spread your wings;
But, stay, a little longer, dear.
Put off your springtime flings.
Trust me when I say to you
I remember feeling that way—
Like I’d burst if I didn’t leave
To dance on the wind and play.
But stay, a little longer, dear;
There’s no need for you to rush.
There are dangers you don’t know
That all your dreams may crush.
Coalescence
By Michelle Garren Flye
My brother had a kaleidoscope
When we were little, and I
loved looking into it
Watching the little
Flowers and
Figures
Join.
I feel like that now, watching as
Tiny beliefs and strategies
Join together into one
Whole at the center.
A tiny pinprick,
With fans of
Color
Expanding
Outward in a
Glorious rainbow
Technicolor colors
Many individuals with
Only one cause at the center.
In the Middle of the Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
In the middle of the storm
There’s no time for wondering
If what we are doing is right
(That’s what preparation is for)
The noise and distraction
Leave no room for discussion
About what we’re supposed to do
(So we just do and hope)
It’s only after that we find out
It’s only when we stand on the edge
And survey what’s left that we know
(If we’re lucky enough anyway)
History watches every decision
Written by victors (or victorias)
A reflection of what we did
In the middle of the storm
(un)social
By Michelle Garren Flye
if I waste my time worrying
what others might think
my life may pass in a blink
leaving me sorrowing
(whose fault would that be
where does the blame lie
if common courtesy I defy
and refuse to say I’m sorry)
life goes on with and without
toilet paper on the shelves
and the news overwhelms
the very people it is about
I’ll just drink my corona (beer)
with a little slice of lime
and we’ll talk another time
no matter what you may hear
Another attempt at rhyming poetry. Some are better than others
Leakage
By Michelle Garren Flye
The pool in the forest looks endless and deep.
But I know a secret that I will always keep.
The stream that away from the pool leads
Now has all the water a little stream needs.
But look closer, look harder, and you will find
That time to the stream will not be kind.
Upstream a dam has been built to cut off
The flow to the pool and the stream’s runoff.
Does the pool know it is leaking away?
Will it attempt to make the water stay?
Or just like us, it may avoid the strife
And allow the leakage to continue for life.
World of Fire
By Michelle Garren Flye
It’s hard to inspire
In a world of fire.
It’s best to prevent
Such a common event.
If day to day life
Is uncommon strife
The world fails
To hear your wails.
In a world of fire,
Down to the wire,
Very little impresses.
Even your caresses.
Every day a travail
No way to set sail
No way to escape—
This is your fate.
A walk after rain is often enlightening. A walk after rain in the spring never fails to bring to mind e.e. cummings. A walk after rain while thinking of e.e. cummings will either bring inspiration…or make you feel like a dullard. I’ve had it both ways, but I still like to try.
April 9, 2020
Inspiration After the Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
Shhh.
This is my favorite part.
After the storm,
When the world comes back to life.
Listen.
The birds sing their
Survivor song.
I walk quiet
Through the mud-
Luscious world
Cummings warned me about.
Careful. Feel it?
Desire.
For the words
For the waiting photo
For inspiration—
But all I see is the mess after the storm.
Leaves and branches
Cast aside,
Petals litter
Wet pavement.
My dog stops to watch as a bird bathes in a puddle—
But I didn’t bring the right lens.
We walk on…Oh,
Where is my balloon man?
But wait.
Listen.
Shhh.
I hear him now.
Or maybe it’s a frog.
No, look.
That leaf is new.
That rose.
That puddle with petals
Of the dogwood tree
Drowned inside.
Oh yes.
This is my favorite part.
Inspiration always comes after the storm.
April 8, 2020
Spellbound
By Michelle Garren Flye
I stopped for the butterfly,
Spellbound by his splendor,
As if he were dressed in finery
At an event where I wore jeans.
Sunlight sparked jeweled wings,
Black and gold speckled shade.
Magnificence in the midst
Of common beauty.
He took no notice of me
Though I froze in place
To make way for his jaywalking.
He just fluttered by,
Leaving me foolish,
A heart-deep longing
He woke in me.
April 7, 2020
Mother’s Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
The storm hit us finally, with a smack—
A big, backhanded, whack.
We didn’t know quite what to think.
Why would Mother do us this way?
Why cast us into the fray?
Why would she push us to the brink?
And yet rain poured, and the water rose.
We were in it up to our nose.
And the storm, we found, was the link.
We figured out Mother wasn’t just mad,
No, our Mother was downright bad.
She wanted to blind us, wanted us to sink.
That’s not in a mother’s nature, it is true,
But when she’s thrown askew,
Mother Nature will kill without a blink.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 