(un)social
By Michelle Garren Flye
if I waste my time worrying
what others might think
my life may pass in a blink
leaving me sorrowing
(whose fault would that be
where does the blame lie
if common courtesy I defy
and refuse to say I’m sorry)
life goes on with and without
toilet paper on the shelves
and the news overwhelms
the very people it is about
I’ll just drink my corona (beer)
with a little slice of lime
and we’ll talk another time
no matter what you may hear
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.
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 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.
Yesterday was April 1, 2020, the first time I’ve ever wished someone would declare the whole year thus far as an April Fool’s joke.
It didn’t happen.
But while I was waiting for it to happen, I did get something done. A little something, anyway. I took a picture. You can see it to the left.
Yes, I published a book of poetry. A couple of those poems go back several years to the first year I wrote a poem a day for National Poetry Month. That’s when I first realized I liked writing poetry. And that I was pretty good at it.
I’ve come a little ways since then. I’m more confident about what I can do and why I do it. I’m pretty sure I’ll write poetry for the rest of my life. I guess that’s why I decided to go ahead and publish a small collection publicly. If you know there’s more coming, why not, right?
Speaking of which, there’s never been a better time for whiling away the time writing poetry than now. A bookstore, the most essential place of business in the best of times, isn’t, exactly, right now. So, in the interests of the public health, I’m staying home. And since it’s National Poetry Month, I’m writing a poem a day. Since I missed yesterday, you get two today. Let me know what you think!
April 1, 2020 April Fool’s, I cry, wishing it applied. If only the past four years could dissipate And life go on with no reason to hide. But go back inside and shut the gate; No use waiting for a change in the tide. Store’s closed, theater’s shuttered, all gone. No more help from those in charge Than that you give yourself alone. No superheroes will arrive and barge In to help you, so change your tone. Would life be better if other decisions were made? Oh yes, but we can’t live for yesterday when Worries about tomorrow still pervade. Close your eyes and count one to ten. Then go on with life, there are debts to be paid. April 2, 2020 How long until we trust a hug again? How long before we open up to life, And throw our arms around each other? I’d like to buy the world a coke— But that’s tough from six feet away. They say it will happen eventually. Slowly, we’ll see this thing go away. Can a hug happen carefully, Or is it more of a spontaneous thing? Can we learn to embrace that way? I guess it will work out for us, though. When this is over, we’ll be delicate. It’s better to be careful when you’re hurt. And oh, we will be tired and we will ache— When we get there, don’t squeeze too hard.
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.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 