Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 15

11:36 a.m. I’m a little later than usual. I was putting the finishing touches to a talk I’ll be giving later on poet laureates.

Did you know I get stage fright?

And yet, I hunger for attention. I guess that’s the fate of a writer. We work so much in solitude and then we want attention for our work, our thoughts, our selves.

There might be a poem in this.

Spoken word is the format of the day
play with that you poet you
who longs for attention for your words
thirst for love is a crime
time will be your enemy, friend
end this poem before it takes you too far
starlight is bright, but not for poets

can't rhyme that, can you?

11:42 a.m. Haha! I may have accidentally created a new form. I had no idea where it was going until I hit the end. I didn’t look up any rhyming words until then, and I only did that to see if there really weren’t any good ones for “poets”. I kind of like it. It uses rhyme, but not in a traditional way. Let’s add punctuation and maybe a title.

Poet Rap
by Michelle Garren-Flye

spoken word is the format of the day;
play with that, you poet, you
who longs for attention for your words!
thirst for love is a crime—
time will be your enemy; friend,
end this poem before it takes you too far!
starlight is bright, but not for poets.

can't rhyme that, can you?

11:46 a.m. That was fun. Thanks for joining and feel free to let me know what you think.

Poem and photo copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

A Poem for Lamar and Drake

I originally had decided to write a blog post about finally re-watching the entire series of “Lost” because I always felt sure I missed a lot during my first watch of the show during six erratic television seasons. (I really had, too. No doubt, lots of stuff missed during that first viewing.) Then I happened to listen to a podcast about the ongoing war between the two rappers Kendrick Lamar and Drake, found I had an opinion about that, too, and that opinion actually developed into a poem, so, in the realm of Things I Have No Business Commenting On…

Being a fifty-plus-year-old white woman, I don’t really keep up with the hiphop/rap scene much, although I’ve undoubtedly heard some I like. The first I’d heard about the Drake/Lamar feud was a couple weeks ago in a chance remark from a friend. I was interested because Kendrick Lamar had actually achieved something I once wished I could when he won the Pulitzer Prize.

The podcast I listened to was a Washington Post podcast, so fairly unbiased. I’ve read a little more since and talked to a few people. Everyone’s got an opinion, and some people have a less than complimentary view of Drake, influenced, no doubt, by salacious (the news loves that word) rumors and claims about his relationships. As one person said to me with great disdain, “Who’s on team Drake?”

And yet, both rappers have been acting out, putting out music practically in real time over streaming services. It reminds me of old battles that happened in newspapers between politicians or poets like Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg (that’s one of my favorites). Except these “songs” are more than inflammatory disses, they’re downright mean and often libelous, and more than one has been taken down almost as soon as it was put up. Maybe by a manager or someone with some creative control and more common sense?

So, even though I probably don’t have any right to have a real opinion about this rap battle, I was nonetheless moved to write the following poem. As for if I’m on team Lamar or team Drake, I’d just like to say I hate to see anybody wasting their talents dragging apart an art form they both excel at and should spend their time promoting. What good will it do the music world if two bright stars develop a black hole between them?

Beef
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Send out your diss
over the interweb.
Its mark won’t miss
your intended jab.

Insulting pushback,
wasting your time.
Get in the next crack—
make sure to rhyme!

Talent you got in spades
but gotta be sure to rile
when you throw shades!
(What rhymes with pedophile?)

Take it from this old white chick:
you could do so much more.
You could make each word stick,
bring the world to the floor.

But go ahead, send out a slur,
defend what’s left of pride.
Growl and bark like a mad cur,
and we’ll watch from ringside.
This tree has a death sentence. The town has decided it doesn’t look good enough to not be cut down. So it will soon be gone. I’m a little sad. Photo by Michelle Garren-Flye