SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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Sept.3~ RICHARD McCLELLAN

9/3/2026

 
Poetry lovers, thanks for stopping by SHINE, where today we're putting the spotlight, once again, on two poems by American poet, Richard McClellan. Here are:  "The Sanctuary of Bee Life" and a haiku, "Black Coffee." Richard, thank you for being a part of the SHINE international poetry community!

The Sanctuary of Bee Life

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Black Coffee (haiku)

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Richard McClellan's poetry has been featured in SHINE, A Village With A Poem, Stars In Our Hearts, Famous Poets of the Heartland, The Best Poets and Poems of 2011, and Great Poets Across America. His poem, "Whispers of Fall" was a semi-finalist in Eber & Wein's yearly contest and published in their poetry book Magnets & Ladders 2025 Fall/Winter Edition of the online magazine.

Sept. 1~ LYNN WHITE

9/1/2026

 
Poetry fans, today we're shining the spotlight on Lynn White with two new poems. Lynn, who hails from Wales, is a previous contributor to SHINE and today brings us the very moving, "Colonel America Calling" and "Some of Them are Brave." Thank you, Lynn, for sharing your words with the SHINE international poetry community.

Colonel America Calling

​The dove sat carefully on Liberty

lining her nest with down.

A few feathers fell free

a few loose feathers

fluttering down

to feather

the nests

below.



She cooed sweetly

but her new chick

said ‘coo-ark’

mimicking her,

then ‘quark,

then ’yawp’

as it grew

stronger,

she saw



her cuckooed dove

hatchling

was a mocking bird,

calling

in New-Speak

straining

to be understood,

straining

for more space,

more gas,

more gold,

more



like a colonising colonel,

whose eagle’s eye

preys south

then north.

East then West

are following next

if we don’t clip his wings.

Some of Them are Brave

​Everyone knew it was happening

the unheard story

the tens of thousands dead,

the millions displaced,

the decades of rubble,

the destroyed schools.

hospitals, universities

everyone knew.



Everyone knew it was happening

the unheard story

even though the journalists were dead

or expelled and banned

everyone knew.



Everyone knew it was happening

the unheard story

of the hundreds

or thousands,

or tens of thousands

who had disappeared

uncharged with any crime

or misdemeanour

everyone knew.



Then three Israeli workers

blew their whistles loud

and everyone heard

what everyone knew.
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Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places, and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy, and reality. She has been nominated for Pushcarts, Best of the Net, and a Rhysling Award. Find her online at:  https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

    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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