As it is tax day here in the States, I’m betting many of us have done a lot of searching for the insignificant…but that’s not what the poem is about. 😉
Halfway point makes me wonder. What will I do when this is done?
I’m starting to think I’m not really breaking the renga rules by writing it all myself when you’re supposed to have at least two poets interchanging verses. It’s like a duality within me is emerging. On the one hand, I love all the beauty and innocence. On the other, I see it rushing headlong into the night…
Spring, man. It gets into your blood, makes you want things. Beware.
I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to see this little conglomeration of some of my favorite wildflowers on my walk the other day. I actually almost walked past it, but I stopped and went back to snap a picture. I had the haiku pretty much written by the time I got home. I love it when it happens like that. Matsuo Basho said something about writing poetry which unfortunately has not stuck with me, but it was something about not allowing space between inspiration and writing. To just write the thing. (Can’t you just imagine Master Basho standing over you with his cane and yelling, “JUST WRITE THE THING!” lol)
So that’s what I did.
I got up this morning and looked at the illustration I was working on last night (a bit late) and it wasn’t finished and I panicked…until I remembered that I started that one for tomorrow because today’s was already finished! This is what happens when you stay up too late being creative. Especially at my age!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I had fun playing with it since I did have some extra time. It’s a bit different for me. I used some different iPad “brushes”.
The spring equinox actually slipped past me yesterday. I spent a lot of time outside, though, so I guess I celebrated by soaking up some of that spring sunshine.
I’ve felt spring coming for sometime for me. I’m thawing in many different ways. In the process, I wrote a poem that’s sort of a love poem, though it’s written to multiple different people. So not the steamy kind of love poetry. (Sorry, but maybe I’ll write some of that at some point, too.)
Anyway, I wanted to share it here. It’ll probably become part of my next book of illustrated poetry.
Poem and illustration by Michelle Garren Flye. Copyright 2021
What if Valentine’s Day was a way to renew what you feel instead of declare it?
Daring
By Michelle Garren Flye
Fold up your petals
Don’t dare to emerge
On this not-even-just-spring-day
You’ll win no medals
In the pre-spring surge
Sp don’t dare rush along the way
But maybe the one who meddles
And pushes life to the verge
Daring to jump ahead of the fray
Will be the one who gentles
That which would otherwise scourge
Maybe Love’s daring will keep us safe.
I’ve been entering contests, so I haven’t had much to put up here recently since most contests won’t accept previously published poetry. I wrote this one this morning, though. because my daffodils are already starting to bloom, and I decided I should share it here instead of trying for fame.
Taking the Lead
By Michelle Garren Flye
There’s always one to emerge before winter’s done.
Poking bright petals out to the sun, as if no one will care.
It seems as if the cold air should bring on despair
But you must lead the way, the charge before spring
When there’s still too much bite for the robin’s wing.
Why come out now, oh, little yellow flower?
Why stick your neck out before the seasons change?
Don’t you know you have no real power
And your appearance now is nothing but strange?
The frost will still nip you back when you bud.
But maybe you’re here to bring hope to us all.
Maybe your courage will stir all our blood!
Why wait for the rest of the world to stand tall?
There must be one to lead the way
To hold up the standard and show that we care.
That first soldier marches so we have one to follow
Like the little yellow flower that doesn’t mind cold air
And risks a frosty death in a show of bravado.
Happy Earth Day!
The Last Daffodil
By Michelle Garren Flye
The day the last daffodil fell
Was truly a sad day indeed.
Leaves and heart turned to seed—
But I’m proud I knew him well.
Was he a politician with brittle skin?
A general whose advice was ignored?
A scientist with findings scorned?
A doctor whose patience wears thin?
No, he was just a simple flower
Whose beauty and life
And survival of strife
Was his only real power.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 