Poem and illustration by Michelle Garren Flye. Copyright 2021
Haiku 1 (National Poetry Month)
Poem and illustration by Michelle Garren Flye. Copyright 2021
Tag Archives: writing
National Poetry Month Eve
Tomorrow begins one of my personal favorite months of the year. National Poetry Month. This month has been a big part of my life for several years now, since before I even began thinking of myself as a “Poet”. I started out teaching kids about poetry and how to write it, which is so much fun. Now I’m on a different quest. I’m trying to get rid of the stigma poetry has.
Poetry is not scary.
Poetry is not boring.
Poetry is not difficult to understand (okay, some of it might be, but it isn’t necessarily hard to understand).
Reading poetry can be soothing. Listening to someone else read poetry can be very entertaining.
Writing poetry has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever attempted.
So my quest, this month and, really, always, is to convince people that poetry is accessible. It’s really a part of most of our lives, anyway. When you listen to the words of your favorite song, you’re listening to poetry. And yes, I include rap music in this. (Yes, Bob Dylan deserved the Nobel Prize for Literature.)
This month I’m challenging myself in another way, too. I’m planning to write and illustrate a haiku every day. I may throw in some other types of poetry, too, but haiku will be my main focus. I love the form, and I need practice.
At the end of the month, I plan to publish UnSong, my collection of illustrated poetry. It’s pretty much complete now, but I have some fellow poets and writers still looking it over and offering critiques. Thanks to the ones who’ve already offered their feedback, I feel pretty confident in it, but I’m still working on a few changes.
Anyway, watch this space. I’ll be back tomorrow with an illustrated haiku.
Illustration by Michelle Garren Flye
Happy Birthday to Me! (with another teaser for UnSong)
Today is my birthday, and I’m celebrating by writing, but not just writing. I’m writing whatever I want. I’m also going back and reading some of what I’ve written in the past. If that sounds like self-gratification, keep in mind that I write what I want to read. It’s the main reason I enjoy it so much.
But I wanted to share another little bit from UnSong. I’m still working hard on the illustrations, and I’ve done most of the easy ones (and by that, I mean the ones that lend themselves to illustration more easily—they have a definite image. Poetry being poetry, not all of the poems in my volume do…or the image they have is a bit difficult for a novice artist like me to put on the page.
My point is, I’m getting there. The book is taking definite shape now. And I’m using Scrivener to build it, so I’m kind of proud of that, too.
I guess old dogs can learn new tricks.
New Project Preview: UnSong
Do you remember the first book you ever read without pictures in it? It probably happened about fifth grade, at least that’s when I remember it.
It felt like a mistake, right? You were told to use your imagination to picture the characters and scenes, and I know I learned how to do that. It was so much work, though, I only really wanted to read the same books—my favorites—over and over. When I was assigned a book to read in school, it was almost always a chore, though some of those classics did make it into my favorites stack.
I’ve read plenty of books now, using my imagination to fill in the blanks left by the lack of art, but I started wondering. Why omit the art? Why not provide a few illustrations? Maybe that’s why graphic novels are surging in the marketplace. I know I still love a good comic book.
With poetry, in particular, there’s a definite need for art. Poetry is not just words. Poetry grows from feelings, is inspired by sights, might be as amorphous as a scent.
Other poets, of course, have already discovered what I’m just now concluding. I mean, look at Shel Silverstein. Also, I recently picked up Gabbie Hanna’s beautiful book of illustrated poetry dandelion in a bookstore (ahem, not mine), read the very first poem in it and got tears in my eyes.
So, like I always do, I’m throwing all my thoughts and feelings about something (in this case poetry), into a big kettle and seeing what boils out. So far, I’ve got most of the poems I’m planning to use and a few of the illustrations…and a title.
I don’t have a problem with Amazon. Not really.
This weekend a friend tagged me in a post on Facebook. It was an article by Adam Stern in The Chicago Tribune entitled “Independent Bookstores are More Than Stores”.
This article gave me a lot of feels.
First, as a reader, I totally agree with him. I remember as a kid haunting local bookstores. I would sometimes spend hours browsing bookstore shelves. That’s how I discovered Anne McCaffrey, Piers Anthony and even Jane Austen. We had a used bookstore in our town called The Book Nook. I would often trade books in there. I’d bring in a stack of dog-eared novels and leave with another. I believe that’s where I first made the acquaintance of Stephen King. There is absolutely nothing like browsing a bookstore’s shelves and taking home a new book by a new author you might never have tried before.
And yes, this experience is slowly dying off.
Second, as an author, I have a love/hate relationship with Amazon. They make it easy for me to publish my books. It costs me nothing but time to put my book up for sale on Amazon. BUT they make it easy for anyone to publish their books. Forgive me for sounding a little uppity here, but when I decide to publish something, it’s gone through intensive editing. I self-edit, but I am an editor, so I can do it. My books are not the stream-of-consciousness, unedited, full-of-typos books that have given independent/self-publishing a bad name. In fact, I would venture to say that my books are better edited than some bestsellers. But it’s difficult for readers to trust self-published books because anyone can self-publish. Hence, the love/hate relationship.
I cannot hate on Amazon when they provide essential tools for me, though.
Third, as a bookstore owner. Okay, I should hate Amazon, right? Again, there’s mixed feelings here. My store serves a different purpose than Amazon. You will not find the latest Oprah pick (does she still do that?), the newest best seller, the trendiest hot read on my shelves. I have well-loved classics, dog-eared novels, a decent selection of nonfiction, and LOCAL, INDEPENDENTLY-PUBLISHED AUTHORS. So as far as that goes, I don’t have a problem with Amazon. When someone comes in and asks for Nicholas Sparks’s latest or the new book by Barack Obama, I cheerfully refer them to Books-A-Million or Amazon. “But I want to keep my money local and help you,” they say. “So browse the shelves and find something you like from what I have,” I reply.
That’s my problem (and, I guess, Stern’s) with Amazon. But it’s not just Amazon. It’s big publishing in general. And people like Oprah who presume to know what other people should read. They have the influence and resources to push the same authors over and over again. The same ideas get consumed over and over. Just because I can publish my well-edited, pretty damn readable book doesn’t mean it’s going to be discovered by readers who have been conditioned to want to read the latest bestseller, the latest trendy nonfiction, the latest thing Oprah said was good.
So, to those who call me up and ask for the book they heard about on Good Morning America this morning, I say, “If you truly want to help your community and keep your money local, have a look at our local author section. There’s some good stuff in there that you will never know about if you don’t give it a try.”
Poem: I wrote the most perfect sentence
Sadly based on real life events.
I Wrote the Most Perfect Sentence
By Michelle Garren Flye
Right there for a moment
The most perfect sentence
Written in an instant
In a flash of brilliance
Nostalgic but not sappy
Surely worthy of award
I was superbly happy
It struck just the right chord
But I was busy with life
Unable to write it down
Settling scores and strife
Bustling about my town
When at last I sat to write
Nothing was left to recall
Try and try as I might
The words had gone AWOL
Poem: Craving Heart
Sometimes I’m attracted to a particular thing or sound or food/drink for no particular reason that I can name. My craving may attach itself to something I’ve known about and/or liked/loved for years. But all of a sudden, that’s all I want in my life.
What is this? It’s like a pregnancy craving. With my first son, I wanted milk all the time. Great, right? With my second, I wanted sweet tea, which sucked because I was living in Maryland at the time, and the only place to get good sweet tea was Bojangles. Thank God for Bojangles! My daughter was a different matter. I craved protein—in the form of hamburgers and steaks.
While I was pregnant, I figured cravings were trying to tell me something. I figure the same thing about these life cravings. Right now, all I want to listen to is Lifehouse and all I really want to read is manga/comics. I prefer drawing to writing, unless it’s poetry. What is my body trying to tell me?
Maybe it’s my spirit. Maybe it’s a type of spiritual pregnancy craving. I’ve completed my comic book (I’m moving away from calling it a graphic novel on my son’s suggestion), so it’s not that, but I can’t escape the feeling that my cravings relate to what’s happening in my creative life. In some way I can’t honestly name.
Craving Heart
By Michelle Garren Flye
Amorphous at first, like the moon’s touch,
Then filling the mind and life.
What is it you long for, want so much?
Sometimes sharp as a knife
Other times soft…you’d never hurt.
Give it to me, you whisper,
Give, and it’ll quench your thirst.
Resist you? Oh, that, I’d never!
I know how you get, my craving heart,
When I attempt to ignore
The insinuation of your persistent art.
No, I’ll surrender to wanting more
Of whatever you say I require.
I’ll see where this craving leads,
I’ll follow the road of desire—
And allow the nourishment of your needs.
Poem: Fever Phoenix
My apologies for my continued fascination with fire right now…but maybe it’s just because, HEY! THE WORLD IS BURNING! WE MIGHT NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT!
Fever Phoenix
By Michelle Garren Flye
Fever burns within,
But are you
Fire or fuel?
Make the call.
Will you destroy what you touch
Or feed the flames of others?
Spew your own sparks
Or rise from the ashes
Of all you caressed
Of all that you fed
And like a phoenix
With feathers ablaze
Spread your wings
And scorch all in your way
Until even the tiniest flicker
Of a candle is engulfed
In your laughing mouth
As you rise
Above those without escape
From the conflagration
At the end of the world.
Poem: Missing Fire
I’ve been a little at loose ends here recently. I finished a project (well, sort of, it was my fanfiction), and I’m experiencing what a friend calls “post publication blues” (thanks for that, Tracie!). It’s a real thing, I think, when you are writing so hard on a project (I finished 58,000+ words in less than 30 days), and suddenly it’s done. And you want to go on to the next project but suddenly…your creative fire is burning low…
So I’ve turned to poetry until I can get myself geared up for one of my next projects (one of which was actually inspired by my fanfiction journey and is definitely quite different from anything I’ve ever attempted before).
Missing Fire
By Michelle Garren Flye
I miss the fire you woke in me—
The burning desire running through my veins.
Destructive, creative forces warring for victory.
I poured it all out onto the page
Red ink of blood spilled past the margins
Ran rampant over blue lines
Left scorch marks behind—
The ashy smell of lost passion
Haunts me even now.
How do you recover
When you burn from the inside out?
How do you rebuild
On unsteady, overheated foundations
Willed to stand only by yearning?
Maybe you cut your losses
And start over instead.
But do you find a good base or rebuild on ash?
Use brick and mortar or something incendiary?
Depends on your desire:
Gain solid footing? Or invite the flames?
Haiku study continues
Seriously. What does make a haiku good? I know it when I read it. I know it when I write it. I’m still trying to get to the point where I feel I can do it consistently, though. Here’s an idea:
#40 (eh)
Pretty pink roses
What secrets do you keep there
Beneath your petals?
#41 (not bad)
Dragonfly swoops low
Lands on water’s smooth surface
To meet Reflection
#42 (s’okay)
Lie here beside me
Look at the clouds and dream
What do you see there?
#43 (maybe?)
It rustles the brush
Stalking the moonlit midnight
Fearful manifest
#44 (not bad)
Hard to remember
Winter in mid summer heat
Ice when all is fire
#45 (love this one, but I made it a full poem)
why would you think all
the fire in the world is yours
you are left with ash
#46 (eh)
Light shines in the rain
Love awaits us in those walls
Home sweet home again
#47 (not bad)
Smell of fresh death floats
On hot wind with crackly leaves
Fallen trees are mourned
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 