Spring has its own kind of power, it gets straight from Apollo. April’s blessings blossom and shower along the flower path you follow.
How long has it been since you felt the sun shine on your shoulders, making you happy (like John used to say, in the yarn he spun)? Winter was so long and the weather, crappy.
In the evening, sit down to watch the star shine as the sky goes from blue to orange to black. No velvet cloth has ever been so fine as this background is for the zodiac.
Be still as the clouds gather for rain… With luck, it will only bring passing pain.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye
Today is my birthday, so I wrote a poem. It’s still pretty rough, and it’s actually two poems since I’m still doing the sonnet-from-a-haiku thing. Anyway, here it is along with the photo I took that inspired it.
Misty morn in spring Sidewalk stretches steadily I’m caught in happy
Sidewalk Stroll on my birthday By Michelle Garren-Flye
Today, the day I turn fifty-something, I see the sidewalk stretch ahead, a true flower path on this day in spring, warmth after the winter we suffered.
I salute the sun, bathe in the breeze, meander about in midnight moonlight; happy to live for a moment at ease with nothing to mourn, no one to fight.
Grateful for all that gives my life spice because living too easy just makes you fat. For true happiness, you must pay a price and sometimes it will knock you down flat.
Today, I know I’ll follow my sidewalk to the end; I’ll round every corner, never hesitate at a bend.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye
My mother, Geraldine “Gerry” Garren, 84, passed away two years ago on this day. I wrote this for her, but it was also inspired by others I know who are suffering. This month has been a cruel one for many.
I hope this will give someone hope, because I truly believe that if you love someone and they love you, death does not take that love. I don’t think it can.
This poem is my theory of what happens to that love…and why it makes your heart ache.
What Happens to the Love? By Michelle Garren-Flye
Losing you left all the edges: your love moved into my heart… god it hurts when it stretches.
Indelible, your love stresses; oh, can I bear this part? Losing you left me with edges.
Death can’t claim successes, so love moves in with art, causes aches as it stretches.
Accept the way it presses and tears your chest apart; losing someone leaves edges.
Patience, time progresses and lightens what once was hard. Just breathe as the heart stretches.
Grief is the way love compresses your love and mine as one in my heart. Yes, it hurts when it stretches, and sometimes I still feel the edges.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye
I have been experimenting with haiku and sonnets. I have written sonnets based on haiku and haiku based on sonnets. I should probably make a note about which is which. I will eventually publish all of them (or all that are worthwhile, anyway), but of course, I can’t wait for that. Here’s my most recent attempt.
winter’s mossy wrap cannot hold back spring blossoms riotous reform
Spring Scheming
Winter’s moss won’t hold me back! No, in spring I’ll bloom anyway. When the night is less black and winds make new leaves sway.
Patchy growths won’t take me over. When the sun shines yellow and warm and bees buzz among the clover, our schemes begin to take form.
You see my buds emerge today and tomorrow they’ll only grow. Moss can’t hurt me; I won’t decay. Beauty is my power to bestow.
The world will soon be full of color; just wait, we’re staging a takeover.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye
They’ve been predicting snow, but I didn’t really believe it might happen until I walked my dog this morning. I walked outside and the clamor of the birds in the trees greeted me. So I wrote a villanelle about it. It’s still kind of rough, but thought I would share it.
the day before it snowed by Michelle Garren-Flye
walking, the day before the snow the world hushed, except the birds singing songs of cold with gusto
the treetops housed their show and I stopped to hear their words sung the day before the snow
what wisdom do they know these creatures making records, singing songs of cold with gusto
Nature whispers pianissimo, Her voice lower than the birds, “‘tis the day before the snow”
the wind may breeze and blow but won’t cut their sound by thirds as they sing of cold with gusto
oh, hear the song of the sparrow for they are the wisest of the birds listen, the day before the snow as they sing songs of cold with gusto
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 