Poem 20 (National Poetry Month): Soul Snakes

Soul Snakes

By Michelle Garren Flye

There’s a barrel of snakes in the corner.

I’ve given each one a different name.

Take a look but do not get much warmer!

They are poison, this is not a game.

This one for instance, he is black and white.

I call him Prejudice for he can’t believe

Anything a bit different or unlike

Could be okay—he just can’t conceive.

His best bud is Racism, you can guess why.

Look there at the green ones, that’s Envy and Greed.

Wrath is a slippery one, he’s really too sly!

Indifference is this one, he ignores when you plead.

They’re all mixed up in my big melting pot,

Writhing and twisting, living in your heart.

(They usually find they can pick their spot.)

Decaying the human soul is their only art.

But look I have an experiment to show!

If I add this big one to the pot here

The others will ever more poison grow—

And that’s what you can expect from Fear.

Not a poisonous soul snake. Just a pretty little racer I saw this morning. Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 19 (National Poetry Month): Haiku Poem

Haiku Poem

By Michelle Garren Flye

Wildflowers grow fast

Where the lawnmower neglects

To stop their progress

Pink, white, violet

Mix it up on the roadside

Bumblebees’ delight

Forget a bit more

Let nature’s course continue

Color eases thoughts

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 18 (National Poetry Month): Walking Outside on a Windy Day

Walking Outside on a Windy Day

By Michelle Garren Flye

I walk outside to the wind waiting for rain

a fluttering clash quickly dissipates

so when I turn my head

I see only a single feather

twirling down

the only evidence that remains

of the maelstrom

before the storm came.

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 17 (National Poetry Month): COVID-19

I considered titling this poem “Lasting Effects”, but I prefer the blatancy of this title instead.

COVID-19

By Michelle Garren Flye

Don’t do that, it will make you sick.

Don’t go out—don’t even try.

The virus is out there, it’s too quick,

You can’t outrun it, you can’t defy.

But what if it never ends?

What if we’re stuck this way?

There may be no amends

If the virus is here to stay.

Fear has found a place of assembly,

Even in the hearts of the brave.

Soldiers cannot fight this enemy,

And maybe there is nothing to save.

Maybe this is what we’ve earned

Through years of war and strife—

When we’ve never really learned

What’s important in life.

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 16 (National Poetry Month): Lost Days (For the Seniors)

Like many I fell for a Facebook trend recently which consisted of posting your senior photo in support of this year’s graduating class. I don’t actually have my senior photo anymore because it was a few years ago, but I do have my old yearbook, so I pulled it out and took a pic of my old photo. And posted it with some encouraging words for this year’s seniors who are basically missing out on a pretty fun part of their lives while we take our corona break.

But I started thinking. Was that post more about me than it was the seniors? Probably. I mean, I looked good at 18. We all looked better than we do now, let’s be honest. I got a lot of nice comments on the photo, too, and those are always good. But how in the hell was it supposed to make today’s seniors feel better?

So, as an act of contrition, I wrote a poem, and not just any poem, either. An Italian sonnet, which is widely regarded as a difficult form. Here goes:

Lost Days (for the Seniors)

By Michelle Garren Flye

Just a worn out page in an old yearbook,

A memory captured in a photo.

Days gone by in years long past, but lo!

Posted here now for you to take a look—

To show you we know what you forsook.

Has anyone ever been dealt such a blow?

Taking your freedom, knocking you low.

But we’re here with you, do not be mistook.

Wait! Is it possible we are in the wrong?

What is an old photo but a memory kept,

An experience savored in celebration?

This is what you’re denied all along.

These lost days are what you have wept—

While we make posts of self-congratulation.

A more appropriate photo for quarantine. Enjoy the little things. Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 15 (National Poetry Month): Coalescence

Coalescence

By Michelle Garren Flye

My brother had a kaleidoscope

When we were little, and I

loved looking into it

Watching the little

Flowers and

Figures

Join.

I feel like that now, watching as

Tiny beliefs and strategies

Join together into one

Whole at the center.

A tiny pinprick,

With fans of

Color

Expanding

Outward in a

Glorious rainbow

Technicolor colors

Many individuals with

Only one cause at the center.

Coincidentally, I’m revealing my cover for Magic at Sea today on The Next Chapter Books & Art’s Instagram and Facebook. It’s a romance that takes place on a cruise ship. How’s that for good timing?

Poem 13 (National Poetry Month): In the Middle of the Storm

In the Middle of the Storm

By Michelle Garren Flye

In the middle of the storm

There’s no time for wondering

If what we are doing is right

(That’s what preparation is for)

The noise and distraction

Leave no room for discussion

About what we’re supposed to do

(So we just do and hope)

It’s only after that we find out

It’s only when we stand on the edge

And survey what’s left that we know

(If we’re lucky enough anyway)

History watches every decision

Written by victors (or victorias)

A reflection of what we did

In the middle of the storm

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 11 (National Poetry Month): Leakage

Another attempt at rhyming poetry. Some are better than others

Leakage

By Michelle Garren Flye

The pool in the forest looks endless and deep.

But I know a secret that I will always keep.

The stream that away from the pool leads

Now has all the water a little stream needs.

But look closer, look harder, and you will find

That time to the stream will not be kind.

Upstream a dam has been built to cut off

The flow to the pool and the stream’s runoff.

Does the pool know it is leaking away?

Will it attempt to make the water stay?

Or just like us, it may avoid the strife

And allow the leakage to continue for life.

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 10 (National Poetry Month): World of Fire

World of Fire

By Michelle Garren Flye

It’s hard to inspire

In a world of fire.

It’s best to prevent

Such a common event.

If day to day life

Is uncommon strife

The world fails

To hear your wails.

In a world of fire,

Down to the wire,

Very little impresses.

Even your caresses.

Every day a travail

No way to set sail

No way to escape—

This is your fate.

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

Poem 9 (National Poetry Month): Inspiration Comes After the Storm

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

A walk after rain is often enlightening. A walk after rain in the spring never fails to bring to mind e.e. cummings. A walk after rain while thinking of e.e. cummings will either bring inspiration…or make you feel like a dullard. I’ve had it both ways, but I still like to try.

April 9, 2020

Inspiration After the Storm

By Michelle Garren Flye

Shhh.

This is my favorite part.

After the storm,

When the world comes back to life.

Listen.

The birds sing their

Survivor song.

I walk quiet

Through the mud-

Luscious world

Cummings warned me about.

Careful. Feel it?

Desire.

For the words

For the waiting photo

For inspiration—

But all I see is the mess after the storm.

Leaves and branches

Cast aside,

Petals litter

Wet pavement.

My dog stops to watch as a bird bathes in a puddle—

But I didn’t bring the right lens.

We walk on…Oh,

Where is my balloon man?

But wait.

Listen.

Shhh.

I hear him now.

Or maybe it’s a frog.

No, look.

That leaf is new.

That rose.

That puddle with petals

Of the dogwood tree

Drowned inside.

Oh yes.

This is my favorite part.

Inspiration always comes after the storm.

Photo by Michelle Garren Flye