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.
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.
April 8, 2020
Spellbound
By Michelle Garren Flye
I stopped for the butterfly,
Spellbound by his splendor,
As if he were dressed in finery
At an event where I wore jeans.
Sunlight sparked jeweled wings,
Black and gold speckled shade.
Magnificence in the midst
Of common beauty.
He took no notice of me
Though I froze in place
To make way for his jaywalking.
He just fluttered by,
Leaving me foolish,
A heart-deep longing
He woke in me.
April 7, 2020
Mother’s Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
The storm hit us finally, with a smack—
A big, backhanded, whack.
We didn’t know quite what to think.
Why would Mother do us this way?
Why cast us into the fray?
Why would she push us to the brink?
And yet rain poured, and the water rose.
We were in it up to our nose.
And the storm, we found, was the link.
We figured out Mother wasn’t just mad,
No, our Mother was downright bad.
She wanted to blind us, wanted us to sink.
That’s not in a mother’s nature, it is true,
But when she’s thrown askew,
Mother Nature will kill without a blink.
April 6, 2020
Mortality
By Michelle Garren Flye
Immortal words are hard to match.
Immortal actions impossible to catch.
Mere humans cannot hope to fight
What Gods defeat with a show of might.
Yet we plod on, we persist in trying.
Some may even come close to flying.
But most of us remain on the ground,
Our wings clipped, our feet earth-bound.
Do the Gods of Olympus laugh at our effort?
Do they snicker as we grovel in the dirt?
Or maybe some of them can’t help but admire
That rain and wind cannot defeat human fire.
Mortal deeds may be undone over time.
Statues fall, paintings fade, words fail to rhyme.
But persistence in spite of defeat impresses,
And that alone accounts for our successes.
Light
By Michelle Garren Flye
I see you.
Falling, gliding, from the sky.
You slide across a spider web,
Amazing feat of parkour.
Skating across the water,
Dancing, dazzling.
You skip nimble from ripple to ripple.
Even when the curtains are shut, you sneak in.
Sometimes you hurt.
Maybe you don’t mean it, but you do.
I turn away, close my eyes against the tears,
But they come anyway.
You never fail me, though, even in the darkest night
And bleakest day, I can find you.
I see you,
And that’s your gift.
An attempt at a sonnet, sort of a sonneninzio, inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 15:
Everything Grows (for the Bard)
By Michelle Garren Flye
Everything grows, according to Shakespeare—
From the smallest microbe to the tallest tree.
Everything rushes to ends we all fear,
Hurrying along to the only way to be free.
What happens to us in the end, do you think?
What happens at last to the things that grow?
When life’s grasp loosens on eternity’s brink,
And we find ourselves caught in the universe’s flow.
What mysteries might we at last resolve?
Some say we fade, less important than we thought.
But maybe we find our way to finally evolve?
Into something better, something we’ve always sought.
Whatever happens, we can’t deny the bard was right.
Everything grows, everything rushes into the night.
Humans, as a whole, have a difficult time seeing clearly beyond their own noses. I’m guilty of it, too. Some have a gift of empathy where they not only see clearly what is happening to others beyond their own experience, they feel it, too. These poor creatures are definitely the exceptions.
Look at what’s going on now. Here in southeastern North Carolina, we’re dealing with the restrictions that COVID-19 has placed on our entire nation, we’re watching the news and seeing the numbers tick steadily up—but the people around us don’t appear to be sick. Maybe some of them are, but their cases must be extremely mild. We know that there are more cases out there and we could be next. We know it, but we don’t, for the most part, actually feel it.
And so we go on about our lives. We’ve taken up new hobbies, returned to old ones. The kids go to “online” school every day. Some of us are chafing a little at the restrictions. My kids can’t see their friends. My oldest is missing the second half of his sophomore year at college. But over it all, right now (and it may be short-lived), I have a feeling of profound peace. I’m not rushing anymore. I’m not feeling guilty for devoting so much time to the theater work I love instead of making dinner for my family. I have time to fold laundry and wash dishes. I’m enjoying this unanticipated vacation.
And I know it shows a lack of empathy that I can feel peaceful right now. Maybe this is the end of everything, maybe it’s the ruination of our country, maybe it’s the apocalypse. Anyway…
Peace and Rubble (is this how we go?)
By Michelle Garren Flye
If this is the way we go, I think it’s the way I choose:
Family all around, safe in our home, with love as real
As the things I care about—the only things I have to lose;
Maybe that’s wrong to say but it’s the way I feel.
It’s an odd war we’re fighting, of that there is no doubt.
The enemy is hidden, you can’t even see the rubble.
There’s nothing to show on the nightly news, no bout
Of bombing or flattened buildings—maybe that’s the trouble.
Instead of fighting, we’re asked to sit still and quiet
Don’t go out, stay home with your loved ones, they say.
There’s a special joy in that if you’ll only find it,
A life you’ve not given yourself time to live—until today.
When this whole coronavirus thing started, I mourned the theaters closing down, the canceled basketball seasons, the silenced concerts. In my mind, art is what makes us all who we are, whether we make it, appreciate it or resist it. That’s why repressive regimes cut art funding. That’s why freedom of expression is the first freedom lost and the last to be regained. Art pushes boundaries governments don’t want to be pushed, and when it’s given up voluntarily as it has been in the Covid-19 crisis, I sometimes worry it won’t return easily.
And yet.
Art is still happening. Theaters are finding ways to stream plays. Musicians are offering live stream concerts. Sports fanatics are getting their fix by watching classic games. And this got me started thinking. Art has always found a way. It always will.
Unstoppable (an ode to art)
By Michelle Garren Flye
It squeezes through the cracks.
Look there, at that wall, solid brick
Built to contain, to hold back, to keep out.
Sturdy and solid, at least eight inches thick…
But don’t lose concentration, don’t turn your backs!
I tell you, if you do, it will creep through the cracks.
It’ll ooze through the tiniest of the littlest of spaces.
And what harm can that do, I can just hear you ask.
What harm can a little bit do, even in the worst cases?
I’m glad you asked, because it’s likes poison in snacks.
It’s the sneakiest of things, when it slides through the cracks.
No one understands just how serious it is.
It will decay all our rules, promote thought and reflection.
That kind of thing will spell the end of all this.
Maybe it’s time we start to make tracks.
You can still stop it! Maybe pile sticks into stacks?
Or chew up some gum to stop the hole fast?
As a last measure, you can hold it back with your hands?
But you’ll feel it squeezing, creeping, oozing past…
There’s no way to keep art from getting through the cracks.
I know how lucky I am. I get to go into a bookstore every single day. In these coronavirus days, that’s something special. Admittedly, I know this time is a setback. I certainly never imagined I would end up closing down for weeks and possibly months this soon after becoming the owner of a bookstore. But life’s lemons make sweet lemonade if you know the recipe, and for me, that recipe includes a lot of books and time.
Today, I will go back to the bookstore. I will sit behind my desk and do paperwork and hope the phone will ring. I will spend some time dusting and rearranging shelves. And I will spend some time just sitting silently. But I won’t be alone.
An Empty Bookstore
By Michelle Garren Flye
An empty bookstore is still quite full.
Just sit silent and listen for a minute.
You’ll find the characters of another soul
Acting stories for your entertainment.
Look there! It’s Hazel from Watership Down!
He’d best watch out, McGregor’s not picky—
Peter Rabbit escaped and ran into town,
And farmers say all pesky rabbits are tricky.
In a quiet corner, the Little Women gather.
Meg, Jo, Amy, Beth dream dreams of future days.
I wonder what they’d think of today, whether
Marmee would approve of our wayward ways?
Curious George flies a kite with Paddington Bear,
Ignoring Jekyll’s Hyde lurking in the shadows.
Scarlett O’Hara ponders which dress to wear
While Atticus Finch seeks to deal legal blows.
Over yonder lies Dracula’s coffin in state
And don’t forget to check in on Miss Havisham.
Now that you’re ready to flee, just wait—
Anne Shirley is here with green egg’s Sam.
The longer you sit quiet in this empty place
The more peopled you’ll find it is in the end.
You know, you can do the same in your own space?
Books are all you need to make a friend.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 