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.
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.
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.
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.
Like many, I’ve been watching the developments of the riot at the Capitol Building last week. Probably more than I should…although, maybe not.
You see, at first, I thought it was a bunch of yahoos that overwhelmed an unprepared bunch of basically mall cops. Were the cops even armed with anything but batons and shields? I wasn’t clear. It seemed, at first, like a bunch of rednecks got out of control at a tailgate party.
Over the course of the past week, it’s become very clear, that’s not what happened at all. The rioting crowd was out for blood. And blood was spilled. Some theirs, but a lot of it from the courageous police who were all that stood between the mob and the fragile gears of our democracy.
I think it’s important that we all not only realize this but accept it. Maybe there were good people in that mob swept up by the evil and the hell. Maybe we all need to be on guard because if the events of January 6, 2021 are any indication, hellfire is just a step away.
Hell at Your Doorstep
By Michelle Garren Flye
Hell’s not far away
Pull back the shade
You know it’s there
It doesn’t try to hide
Watch people tumble
Unresisting to the flames
Follow, follow, the light cries
Come and meet your doom
The eagle’s flight wavers
Courageous profiles darken
When hell flames alight
At your very doorstep
Massive gates won’t stop
The press of fiery rage
Stone burns the same
As wooden crosses then
Thorns bleed tears of wine
Drip down marble visage
Don’t look out the window, love
Hell will greet you there
Echoes: For Our Congress
By Michelle Garren Flye
Angry bangs and steps echo
In hallowed halls
While souls scrunch under chairs
And keep silent
To avoid detection
Anguished texts and last-minute calls
Words left unsaid must be spoken
Because time is suddenly ending
A doorknob rattles
(Is it friend or foe?)
Huddle down, small one,
Don’t grab attention now
The loud crashes might be gunshots
Those screams might be a friend
Don’t react, keep your cries quiet
Until someone calls the all clear
Then hold your hands up,
Follow directions through bloody halls—
And welcome the U.S. Capitol to the ranks
The domestic terror list that includes:
Parkland
Sandy Hook
Columbine
Listen to the echoes
And know what they endured
Because of your neglect.
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.
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
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.
I haven’t put anything up here in a while, but I’m hard at work. I’ve been writing, poetry mainly, but the second comic book is starting to take shape. Rekka and Kat will be back. You’ll find out a bit more about them in the second issue. My poetry is getting better, I think. I can’t always share it because I’m entering poetry contests and the rules say “no previously published work” in most of those. My blog counts as “previously published”, I guess (rolls eyes), so I can’t share stuff I want to enter into contests here. Which severely limits me for both!
I wrote this one the other day and decided I’d rather put it on here than enter it into a contest. I don’t know why. It just seemed right somehow. Maybe something is telling me there’s someone out there who needs to hear it right now.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 