Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 16

Posted on April 16, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:26 a.m. Good morning! Yesterday I spoke at a local writers group about the importance of promoting poetry. It’s one of the duties of my position as a poet laureate. I talked about how I had impostor syndrome and couldn’t think of myself as a poet for a long time. Almost right up until I became poet laureate.

But I’m a poet now. Even when I’m not writing poetry, I’m a poet. Even when I wrote my novel and published it, I was a poet.

Today, I’m going to write a response to one of my favorite poems, which was handed out at the writers group yesterday. Robert Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. In it, he mourns the loss of springtime and youth. The best part of life, according to Frost, is the beginning. Spring. Youth. First love’s first days.

But to me, I’m only just getting to the best part. The part where I really know who I am. Where the sidewalk begins.

10:31 a.m. Excuse me, I need to brush the cat.

10:36 a.m. Seriously, he jumped up on the desk and demanded to be brushed. Anyway, the way I’m going to write my response is to use the same pattern Frost used for his poem.

Rhyme scheme: A,A, B,B, C,C, D,D. So four rhyming couplets. They’re not long lines, either. Syllable count for each line: 1:6, 2:6, 3:7, 4:7, 5:6, 6:6, 7:6, 8:5.

The final line is the title of the poem.

So I’ll start with my final line. Five syllables.

10:42 a.m.

Live a golden life.

I like that. Okay, here we go.

Live a Golden Life
by Michelle Garren-Flye

You mourn the loss of youth
Waste time but here's the truth

10:51 a.m. Took a break to chat with a customer. Back at it now.

Live a Golden Life
by Michelle Garren-Flye

You mourn the loss of youth,
waste time but here's the truth:
no season takes all the gold;
there's always plenty to hold.
Winter sunsets, fall leaf,
summer rose suspends grief.
Jealousy causes strife.
Live a golden life.

11:02 a.m. Not too bad, eh? Not up to Robert Frost’s standards most likely, and he would most likely dismiss my “reply” out of hand, but I give him only a shrug emoji.

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 14

Posted on April 14, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:40 a.m. One of the past years (can’t remember which) I wrote fortune cookie poetry. I cracked open a fortune cookie every morning and wrote a poem based on the fortune inside. Thought I’d try that live. Here goes:

Listen to the wisdom of the old
their words and memories may bore
but somewhere in them there is gold
that makes listening worth the chore

10:53 a.m. Took a short break to make a cup of coffee. Here we go. Again.

Believe inside each person of age
their real self still in their prime
resides within what might be a cage
stuck there counting minutes of time

11:11 a.m. make a wish.

11:12 a.m. I’m having a hard time not being trite with this one. Sonnet may not have been the best choice. Oh well, I’m committed now.

When bodies grow old and mind cobwebs
and life has entered its reprise
the tide that once crashed now ebbs
thoughts and wisdom don't come with ease

11:18 a.m. That one was not easy.

Still pay attention to the old man on the street
Because as we know, history is doomed to repeat

11:20 a.m. That’s not awful. Let’s see what it looks like all put together.

11:35 a.m. Okay, now let’s see what it all looks like with punctuation and rewrites. (Sorry, had a couple of interruptions.

Reprise
by Michelle Garren-Flye

When bodies grow old and mind cobwebs
and life has entered its reprise,
the tide that once crashed now ebbs
and wisdom doesn't come with ease.

Yet, listen to the wisdom of the old;
their words and memories may bore,
but somewhere in them there is gold
that makes the hearing worth the chore.

Believe inside each person of age
their real self still in their prime
resides within the fleshy cage
created by the passage of Time.

Pay heed to the old man on the street!
As we know, history is doomed to repeat.

11:45 a.m. I like the rewrite much better. I had a hard time with the title, though.

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 7

Posted on April 7, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:18 a.m. Today I should be at work, but I’m at home because this is where I need to be. You see, on Easter Sunday, I went downstairs into our basement and discovered about six inches of water. Fun stuff.

Of course, it happened on Easter. National holiday and all that jazz. Fortunately I have a plumber who doesn’t mind me texting him, and so I did, but I added, please don’t come today. (I knew the price would be astronomical.) I then went downstairs and whacked my sump pump with a broomstick and it kicked on and started working.

Seriously when does that happen?

Anyway, long story short, the plumber is here today, and it’s not going to cost me my food budget for the month, and so I’m making this corner of my world a little better.

But what am I going to write about?

Basements in Eastern North Carolina? Creepy and not the best choice at all.

Plumbers who come to your rescue? Love them, but not poetic.

Which leaves me with the irises that are growing outside my house.

Queens of flowers.

They guard secrets.

This is feeling poetic.

10:26 a.m.

10:35 a.m. Okay, I may have to come back to this. My brain just isn’t doing the poetic thing right now. I’m going to go read over some of my old poems and see if I can get any fresh ideas.

12:39 p.m. That happens sometimes. Just a bit of difficulty focusing with other stuff going on. I’m not writing about Queen Iris, I don’t think. But I’m back in my bookstore now, plumbing has been settled for the moment. I’m counting blessings.

Ode to the Book I Just Sold
by Michelle Garren-Flye

It's not always easy, the bookseller life—
sometimes you want to stop a sale.
I want to keep that one, your soul will wail
as the last touch cuts your heart like a knife.

But letting go is what it's about
so little book I love, go out into the world!
Come back read, with pages bent and curled;
spread the knowledge readers can't do without.

Better, isn't it, than sitting on a shelf all day?
At least maybe make it to a reader's nightstand
where some night she'll pick you up, unplanned,
and get sucked into the worlds you display.

1:20 p.m. Maybe not the best poem I’ve written, but not horrible. I’m running late so I’m not going to rewrite now.

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 6

Posted on April 6, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:50 a.m. I’ve been thinking a lot about my corner of the world. My concept is that if everyone concentrated on making their corner of the world, no matter how big or small, a better place, the entire world would follow.

I know how lucky I am in my corner of the world. I have a beautiful home (currently with some plumbing issues, but you know…), and I have my store. I’ve worked very hard to make both warm and happy and beautiful.

Anyway, I think I’m going to use this concept for my next poetry book. And in that vein, today I want to write a poem about my corner of the world.

11 a.m.

If my corner of the world is dark
I find a lamp to give it light
if the walls are white and stark
I add a painting to save its plight

Silence is sometimes what I need
but I welcome a cat's sweet purr
and musical ditties that bleed
into nights when insects chirr

Soft grass outside, carpets within
greet tired feet after a long day
pillows for heads laid down in chagrin
I'm finally done with this long fray.

Make your corner of the world safe and true
to what you wish to see in the larger view.

11:11 make a wish.

11:12 Moving on. Now for a rewrite:

My Corner of the World
by Michelle Garren-Flye

If my corner of the world is dark
I find a lamp to give it light.
If the walls are white and stark
I add a painting to make it right.

Silence is sometimes what I need,
but I welcome a cat's sweet purr
and musical ditties that bleed
into nights when insects chirr.

Soft grass outside, carpets within,
greet tired feet after a long day.
Pillows for heads laid down in chagrin—
and finally done with the long fray.

Make your corner of the world safe and true
to what you wish to see in the larger view.

11:16 a.m. Okay! See you tomorrow!

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 3

Posted on April 3, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

12:26 p.m. When I can’t think of anything to write about (like today), I write haiku. So today, I’ve decided, literally just now, to write a linked haiku. What about? Well, I just wrote a short article about a ghost cat. How about that? I shall write:

Ghost Cat by the Sea Haiku

12:28

sea breeze passes by
without ruffling his fur
ghost cat waits, lonely

sandy shores are home to him
he plays with side walking crabs

at night the light spears
through the sky above the shoals
ghost cat waits, on guard

did once his feat trod the deck
as he hunted mice below?

morning visitors
spot him in the deep shadows 
ghost cat purrs for them

but nights are long on the shore
as ghost cat waits for the morn

12:36 p.m. Okay. Not awful. Now a quick rewrite.

ghost cat by the sea
by michelle garren-flye

sea breeze passes by
without ruffling his fur
ghost cat waits, lonely

did once his feat trod the deck
of a ship long lost to wreck?

morning visitors
spot him in the deep shadows 
ghost cat purrs for them

the nights are long on the shore
as ghost cat waits for the morn

he sees the light spear
starry sky above the shoals
ghost cat waits, on guard

one hundred years on this shore
he may play here a hundred more

12:52 p.m. There’s one extra syllable in one of the lines, but it doesn’t mess things up, so I’m leaving it. I like the flow of the poem better now. It makes more sense to start in the light and move to the darkness. I also re-wrote a couple of lines.

For anyone interested, this is inspired by the ghost cat of Hatteras lighthouse. You can google it. Also google the cats left on the ghost ship Carol A. Deering. These three cats, the only survivors of the famous ghost ship, are only tangentially linked to the ghost cat of Hatteras as it is commonly believed to have belonged to a past lighthouse keeper. However, it has been speculated he might be one of the Deering’s cats.

Maybe he’s waiting there for the captain.

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 2

Posted on April 2, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

10:47 a.m. Good morning! Happy Day 2 of National Poetry Month. And so we begin our second live poem.

As I was getting the store opened and thinking about what to write about today, this line came to me.

April is a mystical month.

There aren’t many rhymes for “month”, and I do like to rhyme, regardless of what type of poetry I’m writing, so I changed it.

April is a mystical time.

Lots of rhymes for time. Rhyme, for one. So here goes, wish me luck. It might be a sonnet?

April is a mystical time
pause and listen to its heartbeat
the days are warm and almost kind
but nighttime is still a cheat

10:55 a.m. This is harder than I remember lol.

And I had to help some customers.

Full moon wends through trees to light
a meadow noisy with full-throated song
and new life joins the old in the night
dancing round a bonfire can't be wrong

11:11 a.m. make a wish!

11:12 a.m. back to work.

Make a wish on the waning moon
that the tides will change for the better
April is here but it ends oh so soon
the magic will change with the weather

11:15 a.m. I’ve found my direction now, so that one was easier. One sec. Derby’s meowing and I need to check on him.

11:18 a.m. Okay, going back to read over what I’ve written so I know what to do for the final couplet. (Derby was fine. Just wanted pets.)

The wish you make may float away to the past,
but then, magic was never meant to last.

11:20 a.m. That’s it! Not the best sonnet ever, but it’s passable. Gonna give it a quick sponge bath, and post the rewritten version here:

April 2
by Michelle Garren-Flye

April is a mystical time...
pause and listen to its heartbeat.
The days are warm and almost kind
but the night is still winter's cheat.

Full moon wends through trees to light
a meadow noisy with full-throated song,
and new life joins old in the night—
dancing round a bonfire can't be wrong!

Make a wish on the waning moon
that the tides will change for the better.
April is here but it ends—oh so soon!
The magic will change with the weather.

The wish you make may float away to the past,
but then, magic was never meant to last.

11:24 a.m. And so it is done.

Poem: The Poet Wins

Posted on January 8, 2026 by Michelle Garren-Flye

This post is for a fellow poet, Renee Nicole Good, who was killed by ICE this week. Her death was senseless, brutal, and unjustifiable.

It was murder, and it was sanctioned by our government.

I’ll be honest, when I first heard about it, I thought it was just another one of the insane things that happen in our crazy-ass world. Our government is blowing up fishing boats and kidnapping presidents of other countries, after all. They’re locking up immigrant children in juvenile detention facilities known for child abuse. Americans are being encouraged to eat red meat, drink alcohol, skip immunizations…and don’t worry about not being able to afford health insurance. Our president is barely conscious, and those are his good moments. And there’s the Epstein files, which are undeniably damning to the bastard.

So, what’s one more dead 37-year-old mother of three in Minneapolis?

Except…shit. She was shot by ICE, she was a U.S. Citizen…and she was a poet and writer.

“Don’t kill the poets,” says the old Irish proverb. So writers have enjoyed this “immunity” for centuries, running around battlefields with press passes stuck in fedoras and “REPORTER” emblazoned on bulletproof vests. And yet, this is no proof against a bullet.

Reporters, scholars, historians, writers, poets are the first to be sought out by a would-be suppressive government. But in the end, there is another proverb that has proven truer than the first.

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

The Poet Wins
By Michelle Garren-Flye

This is how it begins:
killing poets in the street.
Let’s see who wins.

Grow some thicker skins,
don’t be indiscreet:
that’s how it begins.

They’re watching your sins:
Big Brother brings the heat…
But wait! Who wins?

No way out of these ins,
just learn to keep the beat
cause this is how it begins.

Shall we all become shut-ins?
Bend the knee, become obsolete
and let Him think He wins?

No, we’ll stand up against the spins.
Face death, oh, it’s bittersweet!
So this is how it begins…
But in the end, the Poet wins.

Where have i been?

Posted on July 18, 2024 by Michelle Garren-Flye

It’s an excellent question. The truth is, I’ve been traveling with family, but I’ve also been lost in other worlds of my own making. I’m working on another poetry book (with my fortune cookie poetry included), and I’ve started a new novel, but don’t hold your breath on that one lol. It’s coming along, but right now I’m really just getting to know the characters. It’s a romantic fantasy adventure. Probably a standalone, but possibly the beginning of a new series.

And to top it off, it’s poetry contest season. Not wanting to pull any of the poems I’d already decided to put into my books, I had to write some fresh poetry. Plus, one of the competitions is an ekphrastic poetry contest I enter every year (never won it though). For those who don’t know, ekphrastic poetry is where you write poetry based on a work of art. I love it.

This year I had a lot of fun with it, too. I chose one painting and wrote three different poems (villanelle, sonnet, and tanka) about it. I loved all of them, so I submitted all of them lol. It might be fun if one of them wins!

In the meantime, though I don’t have a poem to share with you today, I did think I might share some of the artwork I’ve been creating for Unwelcome Souvenirs, my next poetry book.

National Poetry Month: Fortune Cookie Poetry 10, “Laughter shall fuel your spirit’s engine”

Posted on April 10, 2024 by Michelle Garren-Flye

As soon as I read today’s fortune, I remembered one particular night. You see, I love to laugh, but sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how. Then I have a moment when laughter lights up my heart again. I know this fortune is true, but I don’t always know how to make it true for myself.

Maybe that’s how we all are, to a certain extent. Surviving day to day.

I can say that nine times out of ten, when I find myself in that warm light of laughter, it’s with my kids, the human beings I love most in this world. And that’s what this poem is about.

I chose to write it in haibun format, which was invented by Matsuo Basho, the master of the haiku. A haibun is a prose poem and a haiku smashed together. I’ve attempted them before. I think this one works, to a certain extent.

I hope you enjoy it, anyway!

Photo and poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye

laughter shall fuel your spirit’s engine
By Michelle Garren-Flye

They dragged you out, these children who have grown into friends. You’re usually bathed and in bed by now. Tomorrows are always full. You have to be ready. But they want to have fun. They want you to have fun, but fun is not something you practice. There are too many tomorrows ahead, too many yesterdays behind. 

The golf place is full, but you have a reservation. They serve beer, so you have some, hoppy smells tickling your nose hairs. The lights are bright, and there is a heater nearby so even though you’re outside in January and there will be snow tomorrow, you take off your coat. Frustration mounts with every golf swing, until your oldest son misses the ball entirely and yells, “Fun!”

And there it is, bubbling around you, the energy needed to fuel your spirit, as first you and then your children who are now adults and friends—your yesterdays and your tomorrows—shout it together, hurl it into the night air with the white golf balls hailing onto the astroturf:

giggling bubbles
burble in your life spirit
laughter is your peace

National Poetry Month: Fortune Cookie Poetry 4, “Love Makes the World Shine”

Posted on April 4, 2024 by Michelle Garren-Flye

Lol. I’m starting to think these freaking fortune cookies are trying to tell me something. And unfortunately for them, I’m not in the mood to write love poetry.

Still, when I got this one, “Love makes the world shine”, I thought, well hell. Maybe I should try a villanelle. (Yes, I rhyme in my thoughts.)

Villanelles were originally meant to be love songs. The form definitely lends itself to that. So I gave it a try. My original thought was an astronaut floating in space looking down at the bright sparkling lights of the cities and towns with affection. However, my brain immediately asked me why he was out there? And this is what I got.

It’s been a while since I wrote a villanelle, and this one was literally finished about five minutes before I wrote this. Still, it’s not awful.

Enjoy!

Love Lights Up the World
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Floating in space, feeling fine,
beauty below fills you with pride;
what makes the world shine?

Golden lights that’ll make you pine
for all you’ve ever been denied—
but you’re out in space, feeling fine.

Surely such beauty is benign
and should not be denied.
It’s what makes the world shine.

Mysterious glow sends a sign
that will not ever be denied
even out here in space, feeling fine.

The stars themselves must align
to serve as such a bright guide,
and that’s what makes the world shine.

Escape the tendrils meant to entwine—
be careful you do not collide!
Safe now, floating in space, feeling fine.

You just couldn’t be part of that design
no matter how much you have tried.
Love is what makes the world shine,
but you’re floating in space, feeling fine.