National Poetry Month, Day 14: Poem 14 Sonnet 7

I’ve been writing a haiku and a sonnet, technically taking the inspiration for the haiku from something I see that day that I take a photo of, then expanding the thought in the sonnet the next day. Today, however, I was privileged to see a Polyphemus moth (I think) spreading her wings for the first time, and of course I was inspired to write about it. I thought about holding this for the next sonnet, but I decided yesterday’s theme of hidden beauty could carry on to this one. It’s as little stretch, but I think you’ll understand why I went ahead with it.

Sonnet 7

She Flies

Hidden beauty in springtime glade
fearing the spotlight of the sun;
new life can never persuade
and it has no strength to run.

But watch as wings unfurl and warm,
as moth leaves her cocoon behind—
exquisite as she takes on her new form;
as life opens up, she’s no longer blind.

Watch spellbound as she spreads divine wings
and aims for the treetops, the clouds, the sky—
like Icarus she would cast off earth’s strings
now that she knows she knows how to fly!

Envy her freedom if you must
but never try to tie her to the dust.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

National Poetry Month, Day 12: Poem 12 Sonnet 6

Sonnet 6

Passing Fancy

Narcissus, aren’t you running a bit late?
I feel your season is quite nearly past.
The hour’s long gone for when we set our date.
Take this reminder: spring doesn’t last.

The azaleas are all but faded;
the dogwoods, too, have lost their bloom.
I know my words sound a bit jaded,
but you can’t expect our joy to resume.

The grass has grown a bit too long;
you coyly wink at me from its depths.
You’re coming on a little strong—
our love has taken its last breaths!

And still your loving charms do entice…
though your concept of time isn’t precise.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

National Poetry Month, Day 10: Poem 10 Sonnet 5

Sonnet 5

Spring Peace

In spring, find peace in forgetting it all
while you gaze up into the greening trees;
ignore it when the cares of the world call—
just replace your worries with dreams.

Surely this is what life is supposed to be:
comfort, ease, sun, blue sky and soft grass.
Tell me, were we not made to be free
to enjoy this life and sit on our ass?

But no, the stock market is in free fall
and the world never seems to be at peace.
We’re held, it seems, in misfortune’s thrall—
we seek death until it grants us release.

If only the rest of the world could see what I see
when I lay on my back and look up at a tree.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

National Poetry Month, Day 8: Poem 8 Sonnet 4

Sonnet 4

In the Field

Look at my yard, see all the weeds;
it takes no time at all for them to grow.
Surprising because I sowed no seeds—
’tis aggravating! I don’t want to mow!

But look, sprinkled in, the yellow and pink
blooms well loved by butterfly and bee.
They stop awhile to get a quick drink;
it’d be a shame to deny them their glee.

I’ll put off the chore until tomorrow,
and instead join the insects in the field.
Forget the weeds, the troubles and sorrow;
when I look at the flowers my soul is healed.

Seldom ever is there a field of waste—
Beauty will grow in the same place.

National Poetry Month, Day 6: Poem 6, Sonnet 3

Sonnet 3

Healing Night

Night falls over my little home
and stars poke out from the sky.
Clouds cover moon with gentle foam;
traffic silenced, I hear the treefrog cry.

Peace is what I seek this night—
I want quiet, just a little break.
Warm velvet replaces spotlight:
comforts, soothes, relieves the ache.

In spring it is easy to find peace
in the warm, calm hours of eventide.
Look beyond the flowers and trees
to the stars and moon in the sky outside.

Let go of the fears and unease you feel;
allow your heart-deep cracks to heal.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

National Poetry Month Day 2: Poem 2, Sonnet 1

Sonnet 1

Spring Power
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Spring has its own kind of power,
it gets straight from Apollo.
April’s blessings blossom and shower
along the flower path you follow.

How long has it been since you felt the sun
shine on your shoulders, making you happy
(like John used to say, in the yarn he spun)?
Winter was so long and the weather, crappy.

In the evening, sit down to watch the star shine
as the sky goes from blue to orange to black.
No velvet cloth has ever been so fine
as this background is for the zodiac.

Be still as the clouds gather for rain…
With luck, it will only bring passing pain.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: Can’t Touch

Happy Valentine’s Day! (with respect to M.C. Hammer)

Can’t Touch
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Nothing ever really touches
so you can’t touch my heart.
No matter how the blood rushes,
I’m untouchable from the start.

Tis just the repulsion of electrons
that you feel upon your hand.
That’s what fires up your neurons;
it’s nothing like love so grand.

No atom will share its ground
no matter how you may sigh.
To laws of physics we are bound;
can’t escape! Give up, don’t try.

Nothing ever really touches
no matter how the blood rushes.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: Spring Scheming

I have been experimenting with haiku and sonnets. I have written sonnets based on haiku and haiku based on sonnets. I should probably make a note about which is which. I will eventually publish all of them (or all that are worthwhile, anyway), but of course, I can’t wait for that. Here’s my most recent attempt.

winter’s mossy wrap
cannot hold back spring blossoms
riotous reform

Spring Scheming

Winter’s moss won’t hold me back!
No, in spring I’ll bloom anyway.
When the night is less black
and winds make new leaves sway.

Patchy growths won’t take me over.
When the sun shines yellow and warm
and bees buzz among the clover,
our schemes begin to take form.

You see my buds emerge today
and tomorrow they’ll only grow.
Moss can’t hurt me; I won’t decay.
Beauty is my power to bestow.

The world will soon be full of color;
just wait, we’re staging a takeover.

Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem: It Is Okay to Hope

In case you need to hear this right now. Please don’t give up. Hope.

It Is Okay to Hope
By Michelle Garren-Flye

It is okay to hope in the middle of the night;
to whisper a prayer to the gods that be,
and believe they can make everything right.
You want to? That’s all right with me.

It is okay to try to find joy in your life,
to look for the positive, to feel happy.
Enjoy a sunset, forget all the strife.
Watch the moonrise and get a little sappy.

Refuse to live your life in fear!
Banish dismay, doubt, and despair!
Hope will help keep your eyes clear
even when all the world seems unfair.

Do what you need to find your own way;
just remember hope is always okay.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem for the New Year: Stranger

My resolution for 2025: I’m going to figure out who I am and why I was given the gifts I was given. I’m going to finish the novel I’ve stopped and restarted multiple times. Maybe I’ll figure out why I am not as kind or giving as I want to be. Maybe I’ll figure out what it is I actually want.

Why is my hair pink, anyway? Obviously because I dye it pink, it doesn’t grow that way. But why? I feel like it’s always been pink, whether that was my doing or not. At one point, I thought dramatically that it turned pink from my broken heart, but now I think, just as dramatically, that my heart never really broke.

It’s probably somewhere in the middle. That’s usually where you find truth.

Anyway, Happy 2025, everyone! May we all find something new and shiny this year.

Stranger
By Michelle Garren-Flye

I want to know you better, stranger.
Why do you tick on even when beat?
I know you quicken when in danger
that so far you’ve managed to cheat.

Breaking you once was a simple chore
but now you’re smart and made of stone.
Like the pig’s house, you’re something more
than straw, but you survive there alone.

I dread with anticipation the day we meet,
come face-to-face and I can no longer pretend.
If only we could shake hands on the street,
perfect strangers right up ‘til the end.

It’s no use, it must be confessed:
I feel you beating away in my chest.