Almost missed this one. Busy day…
Poem 13
Heirlooms
By Michelle Garren Flye
A dusty place inside my brain.
A room with one shaft of light.
Filled with memories filed away
…Ideas stowed for future design.
When I find myself at a loss,
Then I revisit the dusty gloom
And paw through the mossy
Files of memory’s heirlooms.
Please keep in mind that these poems are written very much off-the-cuff, usually when I sit down at the computer to update this blog. So they’re very rough. Some of them aren’t very good. Some of them I’m not sure about. Maybe some of them will speak to some of you, maybe others won’t appeal to anyone. It’s a fun thing to try, though, writing a poem a day. I highly recommend it.
Poem 12
Pink Moon
By Michelle Garren Flye
When the moon turned pink,
The flowers bloomed and you said you loved me.
But there’s no such thing as a pink moon
And that makes love extraordinary.
Moonlight doesn’t change colors.
Nature is what makes the flowers bloom.
Everyone knows the moon is green
…Except when it’s blue.
Poem 11
Mandala Journey
By Michelle Garren Flye
I take a trip inside my head
Through swirls of colors
And intricate patterns.
My feet would be sandy
If this journey were real—
But what color sand?
Blue for the sky,
Red for the blossoms,
Yellow for the sun.
A mental journey for me
Along the paths and
To rest in the garden.
This is harder than I thought it’d be. So many things I’d like to write about come out seeming trite in poetry. Here’s my offering for today:
Poem 10
Bumblebees
By Michelle Garren Flye
Did you know she could sting more than once?
It’s not a suicide mission like with a honeybee.
The bumble can rule the planet if she wants.
But she’s content carrying out her mission,
Visiting the flowers and making her honey.
Pausing to check out her reflection in my window.
Note: A perfect example of rough draft. I just realized I misspelled “deliquesce” in the first draft, which meant a total rewrite of the first stanza of the poem. Nice.
Poem 9
Crossword
By Michelle Garren Flye
Ten letters, means liquefy.
There’s that word.
The one I keep seeing.
Deliquesce.
A term from chemistry
But it sounds like more.
Like something sweet,
Almost romantic.
But it’s not romantic
When ice cream deliquesces,
Or steel, or even
A body.
Then it’s loss.
Destruction of property.
Decomposition.
Deliquescence.
Poem 8
Little Girl in a Flowered Dress
By Michelle Garren Flye
There’s a little girl
Wearing a flowered dress
In my kitchen.
So pretty.
There’s a little girl
Wearing a flowered dress
In Russia somewhere.
She’s lovely.
There’s a little girl
Wearing a flowered dress
In Syria.
Her father says it’s time to go.
Time to run.
They’re coming.
She grabs her favorite doll.
Takes her little brother by the hand.
And they run into the street.
A little late with this one, and I tried a little rhyming. No real scheme to it, but maybe that would come in a later draft.
Poem 7
Bang, Explained
By Michelle Garren Flye
I just heard a bang downstairs.
The house is dark and cold.
No one’s home but me, I know,
Cause Mom went to the store.
Do I investigate?
Oh, I can’t be that bold.
Tiptoe to the banister and peer below?
Surely it’s better to wait.
That was a creak,
But I’ve heard that one before.
What could that bang have been?
I’ll just go back to my game.
There’s nothing here to hurt me now.
There, I heard it again!
What’s down there creeping around?
I’d better go check—no, wait!
That’s nothing at all but the cat at my door.
Maybe’s he’s lonely…like me.
Poem 6:
Little Kitty
By Michelle Garren Flye
Little kitty, you gaze so long
From the floor at my lap.
Would you like to join me?
I invite you with a pat.
You consider my offer
With eyes half closed.
You leap—so graceful,
Your purr is divine.
Step once, step twice…
Then back quickly away.
Was my lap your desire?
Or was it always my chair?
Poem 5:
I Dreamed About…
By Michelle Garren Flye
I dreamed three dreams.
I dreamed about grandchildren
Although I’m too young.
There were three,
But I only remember one.
Beautiful, blonde and laughing at me.
I dreamed about clouds in the sky
But when I woke, the sun was shining.
You said it was my imagination.
But later when I looked up
I saw a cloud and it reminded me.
I dreamed about tornadoes
On the eve of the inauguration.
One, two, three, four…
All went around me.
But there was a fifth on the horizon.
Of the dreams, I only like the first one.
I cling to it when it wants to fade.
A beacon of hope
When the others strive to overwhelm,
Or when I fear they may be true.
I actually wrote this last night, but it was after midnight, making it the day after my oldest son’s birthday.
Poem 4:
The Day After Motherhood
By Michelle Garren Flye
I still remember the moment they woke me.
They said my baby needed me.
I remember thinking, Really?
He’s mine?
You were.
For years after that, you really were.
Mine to tote to the store.
Mine to entertain.
Mine to sing to, to read to,
To coax into sleep.
Mine.
But now, it’s the next day,
You’re almost ready now.
To make decisions, to venture out…
To live your life.
Still mine…but more.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 