SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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ELLIE ROSEVEARE

5/24/2023

 
Poetry fans, it's my pleasure to feature the gorgeous lyric poetry of Ellie Roseveare. Ellie writes from Denver, Colorado (USA) and is active in the poetry community online. Please enjoy her two poems, "I am my own growing garden" and "I am still afraid of the dark." Thank you, Ellie, for sharing your words with us!

I am my own growing garden

often I felt
like a wayward hydrangea bush
overgrown and creeping over fences
I wasn’t supposed to climb
I needed a gardener
to keep me kempt and confined
water me when I wilted
and prune away the ugly parts of me

lately I realized
I am my own gardener
and the growing garden too
the stamen and the pistil of every bloom
pollinated, carried away
taking root anew
I grow wherever I please


I am still afraid of the dark

I’d like to walk with the night
like we were lovers
with my hands free to hold
not with my keys clutched
between my fingers
or hypotheticals in my head like
if I am attacked,
would my dog bite to kill?

I’d like to walk wine drunk and wayward
as if being twirled mid dance
with my shoulders and legs bare
not for purchase
like meat at a night market
I’d like to stroll, as if in love, as if safe
slowly through the lamp-lit streets
unafraid of who goes there in the dark


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Ellie Roseveare received her Bachelor's Degree in English Creative Writing at Colorado State University. Her junior and senior year, she won 3rd and 1st place respectively for the Creative and Performing Arts Scholarship in Creative Writing. Now, she works as a project manager in Denver, Colorado, and writes in her free time when not hiking and camping with her partner and two dogs.

Ellie is on Instagram @lilacformylovers


LAWRENCE MOORE

5/17/2023

 
Friends, you're in for a treat this week with featured UK poet, Lawrence Moore! Please enjoy these evocative poems, "Sleeps in Stone," and "The Fever You Wish to Feel" (which is from the chapbook Aerial Sweetshop, and previously published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal). Thank you, Lawrence!

Sleeps in Stone

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The Fever You Wish to Feel

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Lawrence Moore writes poetry from a loft study overlooking Portsmouth where he lives with his husband Matt and nine mostly well behaved cats. His poetry has been published by, among others, Sarasvati, Pink Plastic House, and The Madrigal. His chapbook Aerial Sweetshop was released by Alien Buddha Press in January 2022.

Follow him at:  @LawrenceMooreUK


RHONA GREENE

5/4/2023

 
Friends, what a joy to feature Pushcart-nominated Irish poet, Rhona Greene. Please enjoy her beautiful words in "Shiny Distant Thing," and "The Sky Road Home." Be sure to learn more about Rhona by checking out her full bio below. Thank you, Rhona, for sharing your heart with us!

Shiny Distant Thing

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The Sky Road Home

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Rhona Greene is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer from Dublin, Ireland and an avid poetry fan. She is published in several Black Bough Poetry editions, was shortlisted for the Dai Fry Mystical Award and her poem in Afterfeather, gave the edition its name. She is the featured prose writer in The Storms Journal Issue 2. She appears in Sarah Connor’s Advent poems and has read for Annick Yerem’s annual Advent project and "Eat The Storms" Poetry Podcast.

Follow Rhona on Twitter: @Rhona_Greene


    SHINE - International Poetry Series

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    Click here for submissions and more
    From the international poetry community, we have a "luxury of stars," as Sylvia Plath might say, and it is SHINE's honor to provide a home for their words with the online Spotlight series as well as SHINE Quarterly. Click on the logo above to learn more. And...keep writing, keep shining!
    In poetry,
    Samantha Terrell, EIC
    SYLVIA PLATH
    Stars Over the Dordogne

    Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
    Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
    Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
    The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
    They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible.
    Nor do they send up fires where they fall
    Or any signal of distress or anxiousness.
    They are eaten immediately by the pines.

    Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars
    Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort.
    And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.
    The smaller and more timid never arrive at all
    But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.
    They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.
    But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,
    They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets.

    The Big Dipper is my only familiar.
    I miss Orion and Cassiopeia's Chair. Maybe they are
    Hanging shyly under the studded horizon
    Like a child's too-simple mathematical problem.
    Infinite number seems to be the issue up there.
    Or else they are present, and their disguise so bright
    I am overlooking them by looking too hard.
    Perhaps it is the season that is not right.

    And what if the sky here is no different,
    And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?
    Such a luxury of stars would embarrass me.
    The few I am used to are plain and durable;
    I think they would not wish for this dressy backcloth
    Or much company, or the mildness of the south.
    They are too puritan and solitary for that--
    When one of them falls it leaves a space,

    A sense of absence in its old shining place.
    And where I lie now, back to my own dark star,
    I see those constellations in my head,
    Unwarmed by the sweet air of this peach orchard.
    There is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well.
    On this hill, with its view of lit castles, each swung bell
    Is accounting for its cow. I shut my eyes
    And drink the small night chill like news of home.

    ~~~

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  • ABOUT
  • PUBLICATIONS
  • CONNECT
  • SHOP
  • PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS
  • POETIC TRINITAS
  • SHINE Poetry Series