SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
  • ABOUT
  • PUBLICATIONS
  • CONNECT
  • SHOP
  • PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS
  • POETIC TRINITAS
  • SHINE Poetry Series

PATRICIA M. OSBORNE

6/26/2023

 
Friends and poetry lovers, It's great to be back, following an early summer break, with several new features lined up for the coming months. Today, have a look at the beautiful imagery in "Amaryllis" and "Lucerna," by Patricia M. Osborne. Both poems were published in her poetry collection Spirit Mother: Experience the Myth (The Hedgehog Poetry Press: 2022). Be sure to check out her Bio, below. Thanks, Tricia, for allowing me to share your words!

Amaryllis

To win the shepherd
you must pierce your heart
with a golden arrow
and make the journey
to his home each day until
you claim his love


Blood dripped as she journeyed the path
day on day to the shepherd’s home,

shedding more and more from her open wound,
darkened stains seeding the fertile earth.

On the thirtieth day, blood-red blooms brushed
her ankles.

Astounded by their beauty,

Amaryllis
gathered an armful

of these new scarlet flowers.

Standing in his doorway, transfixed,
Alteo’s dark brown eyes glistened.
Beguiled,
he inhaled
the precious gift,
pulled Amaryllis close
and tasted her lips.

She touched her chest,
pain free
since he’d kissed her wound,
the arrow’s fissure
healed.

Alteo named
the posy–
blood from her heart


Lucerna

Feathered creatures nudge
and prod to be first in the queue
as God opens his paintbox.

He brushes the birds,
one by one,
in vibrant colours.

Transformed, they take flight,
boasting violet blues,
golden yellows
and burnished reds.

Hanging back, a small bird,
too shy to move forward,
stands alone in front of God

who shakes his head as he points
to the empty paint pots.

Lucerna lowers her beak
but God tilts the bird’s chin –

Fear not, little one,
I gift you a perfect voice.

Orange haze descends the sky
as moonlight climbs.

God prompts the small creature to sing.

The nightingale opens her bill–
whistles a magical crescendo.

Picture
Patricia M. Osborne is married with grown-up children and grandchildren. In 2019, she graduated with an MA in Creative Writing. She is a published novelist, poet and short fiction writer with five poetry pamphlets published by The Hedgehog Poetry Press, and numerous poems and short stories appearing in various literary magazines and anthologies. Her debut pamphlet, Taxus Baccata, was nominated for the Michael Marks Pamphlet Award. When Patricia isn’t working on her own writing, she enjoys sharing her knowledge, acting as a mentor to fellow writers, and featuring other writers on her blog:
Whitewingsbooks.com .




    SHINE - International Poetry Series

    Picture
    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.

    ~~~

    Previous Features

    February 2026
    January 2026
    December 2025
    November 2025
    October 2025
    September 2025
    August 2025
    July 2025
    June 2025
    May 2025
    April 2025
    March 2025
    February 2025
    January 2025
    November 2024
    October 2024
    September 2024
    August 2024
    July 2024
    June 2024
    May 2024
    April 2024
    March 2024
    February 2024
    January 2024
    December 2023
    November 2023
    October 2023
    September 2023
    August 2023
    July 2023
    June 2023
    May 2023
    April 2023
    March 2023
    February 2023
    January 2023

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
  • ABOUT
  • PUBLICATIONS
  • CONNECT
  • SHOP
  • PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS
  • POETIC TRINITAS
  • SHINE Poetry Series