It’s almost the end of National Poetry Month. I’ve ended up with almost fifty pages of poetry! I finished my little epic “Where the Sidewalk Begins”, which means I’ll start putting together the book next month. it will have many of the poems I’ve written here in it. I’ve nearly figured out how to illustrate it, too. I finished the cover the other day. Not to mention, I broke out of my writing slump.
These are all good things to take away from National Poetry Month. I also discovered new ways to share my love of poetry. Like “live poetry writing” lol. Those were fun, especially when I was working and constantly interrupted. And my live readings on Instagram. I’m hoping to find the courage to continue those, even if it’s just to read someone else’s poetry.
One thing I didn’t expect to discover was a sincere appreciation for poetry prompts. When I started my book of love poetry, I had no idea what this year of the rabbit held for me. Let’s just say it’s been mostly hard to concentrate on light themes. But that’s okay because love isn’t all light, and some of the poetry I’ve written has helped me explore the darker side of love.
Today I’m going to do something a little different than I’ve done yet. I’m going to write a poem based on a picture of a tree (trees?) that I discovered in my yard yesterday. Here’s the tree:
It’s 11:06 a.m. I’m off to write the poem now.
11:20 a.m. The poem took an unexpected turn. I’m pacing to see if I want to allow it. I’m also going to make another cup of coffee.
11:37 a.m. I finished it. I’m not sure how I feel about it. It went much further into the dark than I’d intended. But I think it’s good. Still needs some work to get the rhythm right, maybe.
Disassociate By Michelle Garren-Flye When did it begin, this twining of lives, and how can it end…unless death intervenes? Darkness and light combine to create a weaving pattern I both love and hate. Beauty of together should not be denied— shadow perfects light, bright foils the dark. Even when harmony cannot be reached the two make each other complete. Tear them apart if you dare, won’t you? Sort it all out into two imperfect piles, never quite even, no matter how you hack. (Equitability is something the heart can’t fathom.) Sometimes I forget I once was alone, the wealth of that time got lost in my past. Perhaps when I leave when it’s over and done I’ll find some of me left in my stack…at last.
Photos and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye