Poem for Mama: What Happens to the Love?

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

Poem: Can’t Touch

Happy Valentine’s Day! (with respect to M.C. Hammer)

Can’t Touch
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Nothing ever really touches
so you can’t touch my heart.
No matter how the blood rushes,
I’m untouchable from the start.

Tis just the repulsion of electrons
that you feel upon your hand.
That’s what fires up your neurons;
it’s nothing like love so grand.

No atom will share its ground
no matter how you may sigh.
To laws of physics we are bound;
can’t escape! Give up, don’t try.

Nothing ever really touches
no matter how the blood rushes.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: Spring Scheming

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

I Could Not Have Gone to College Without Federal Aid

When I graduated from high school (I think I was third in my class and my SAT scores always got an “ooh” of respect although I do not remember what they were), I already knew where I wanted to go to college. UNC-Chapel Hill received my “yes, please” in the return mail.

Problem was, I had no money, my parents (who had not had the opportunity to attend college) had never had a chance to save any, and I had little or no know-how on how to get money for college. A conversation with the financial aid office at UNC solved that problem. I soon had several low- or no-interest loans from the federal government and a couple of higher-interest loans from private institutions to tide me over for the full four years. My father also applied for and received a federal grant so he could help me.

This was my first real experience with the federal government, and I was very grateful. My country believed in me! My country was willing to invest money in me and the promise I had to be a contributing citizen. The belief of my country gave me the belief I needed in myself.

I now own my own business, having raised three children after working as a journalist and librarian. My student loans were paid off years ago, I pay taxes every year, and I’m happy to do it because of the opportunity my government gave me when I was in need.

This is how the American Dream should work, and I pray the U.S. government will not fail the students of now and the future. Believe in them.

Copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: It Is Okay to Hope

In case you need to hear this right now. Please don’t give up. Hope.

It Is Okay to Hope
By Michelle Garren-Flye

It is okay to hope in the middle of the night;
to whisper a prayer to the gods that be,
and believe they can make everything right.
You want to? That’s all right with me.

It is okay to try to find joy in your life,
to look for the positive, to feel happy.
Enjoy a sunset, forget all the strife.
Watch the moonrise and get a little sappy.

Refuse to live your life in fear!
Banish dismay, doubt, and despair!
Hope will help keep your eyes clear
even when all the world seems unfair.

Do what you need to find your own way;
just remember hope is always okay.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

I think it’s gonna snow! (with a poem)

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

Photo by Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem for the New Year: Stranger

My resolution for 2025: I’m going to figure out who I am and why I was given the gifts I was given. I’m going to finish the novel I’ve stopped and restarted multiple times. Maybe I’ll figure out why I am not as kind or giving as I want to be. Maybe I’ll figure out what it is I actually want.

Why is my hair pink, anyway? Obviously because I dye it pink, it doesn’t grow that way. But why? I feel like it’s always been pink, whether that was my doing or not. At one point, I thought dramatically that it turned pink from my broken heart, but now I think, just as dramatically, that my heart never really broke.

It’s probably somewhere in the middle. That’s usually where you find truth.

Anyway, Happy 2025, everyone! May we all find something new and shiny this year.

Stranger
By Michelle Garren-Flye

I want to know you better, stranger.
Why do you tick on even when beat?
I know you quicken when in danger
that so far you’ve managed to cheat.

Breaking you once was a simple chore
but now you’re smart and made of stone.
Like the pig’s house, you’re something more
than straw, but you survive there alone.

I dread with anticipation the day we meet,
come face-to-face and I can no longer pretend.
If only we could shake hands on the street,
perfect strangers right up ‘til the end.

It’s no use, it must be confessed:
I feel you beating away in my chest.

Poem: Out of Season

I’m exploring a connection between haiku and sonnets again. I did it once before with a haiku by Matsuo Basho. I like the way that one turned out, and as I’m either at an impasse with my novel or at least a long hesitation, I thought I’d try to break out of it by writing a haiku and turning it into a sonnet.

It’s not the most cheerful of poems. In fact, as I wrote the sonnet, I began thinking about how we all try to hang onto our youth and how that can appear. I used to think I’d prefer to age gracefully, now I’m working out daily, trying things I’ve never tried before, dying my hair pink…it all feels right, but maybe it’s not?

Then again, if you never had a chance to bloom in spring, maybe you take the opportunity when you find it.

fall shadows don’t flatter
your rosy vernal blossoms
it’s too late for you


Out of Season
By Michelle Garren-Flye

What are you doing here, little pink bloom?
It’s obvious to all your time is long past
and putting off death just creates gloom.
Your beauty offends, you weren’t meant to last.

You weren’t meant for this kind of shadow
when even the sunlight is just a tad too gold
casting bare limbs in an unearthly glow
as a wind shivers by, leaving you cold.

I’ll have to bury you in the dry, brown leaves.
Remember how they looked in your youth?
That’s when your beauty was sure to please!
Now I’m afraid, it seems uncouth.

Stay buried please, accept what’s been done;
for flurries and frigid winds, the time has come.
Photo and poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: Call to Action

Call to Action
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Guess it’s time to get strong again—
I think I’ve really let myself go…
but all the drips and torrential rain
will never make me slow.

I’m up for this, I’m working out,
strengthening for the work ahead;
there’s no time to cry or pout.
Just watch as my wings spread!

Come on, come on and join me!
Come here and take my hand;
Nobody ever said this life is easy
or that things will go as planned.

A monster in charge who we disdain?
Guess it’s time to get strong again.
Be strong like the oak tree. Photo and poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem for the Scariest Time of the Year: Haunted House

I try not to get too political…anymore. And yet, it has not escaped my attention that November 5 is much more frightening to many of us than October 31. In that spirit, I would like to wish you all a Happy Halloween and ask that you please vote this year. Our democracy may or may not be at stake, but just in case, wouldn’t it be nice to say its success or failure was decided by a fair vote?

In case you’d like to watch a mini movie in which I read the poem: