SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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JAKE DOYLE

10/29/2024

 
Friends and Poetry Lovers, Please enjoy the latest installment of SHINE Poetry Series, with two poems by Jake Doyle who writes from his home in California. The first of these poems is untitled, but I think it speaks well to the season here in America both environmentally and metaphorically. Jake's second piece, "For S.V.S.," is accompanied by his own artwork. Thank you, Jake, for sharing your words with the world!

Untitled

The leaves change colors
The heart feels for others
That’s just nature doing what it does
But this brown leaf still clings
Onto the branch of what was

Now the sunshine’s gone
The clouds are gray
And I think I’ve spotted
The gust of wind
That might
         blow
                    me
                              away

For S.V.S.

Picture
As my island drifts from the mainland
And this crazy world fills with hate
I’m just glad you’re with me
On the same tectonic plate


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Jake "The Snake" Doyle resides in Fresno, California but was born in Germany. He is a former cannabis cultivator, carpenter, scientist, teacher, and professional cinnamon roll server. He has a love for travelling, having visited 30 different states and 30 different countries. Some of his hobbies are sewing, leatherwork, watching football, listening to and playing music, and running. Jake thinks social media is the downfall of western civilization, but if you want to see him try to promote his little poetry book on Instagram, check him out at @jakehdoyle69.

MOHSEN HOSEINKHANI  محسن حسینخانی

10/2/2024

 
Poetry lovers & Peace lovers, You will not be disappointed in this beautiful poem by widely published Iranian poet, Mohsen Hoseinkhani. In a twist of fate, Mohsen submitted his work to SHINE several weeks ago and I put him on the schedule for today -- what would be one day after another horrific clash of violence in the Middle East. SHINE condemns violence in all forms. Please join me in praying for peace in all areas of conflict, as you take in the moving words of Mohsen Hoseinkhani. Mohsen, thank you for sharing your poetry with SHINE!

Untitled

We are departing
with a compass whose needle is broken

We are departing
Like a horse whose horseman was shot

We are trotting in a gloomy plain
The seasons are repeated

We are repeated
And most lessons have been forgotten

From geography
The cold and dry weather

From history
The fear of Mongolian's attack

The germs have gone
The bodies have remained

We are the pines forgetting the seasons
And the seasons them

Tired, we have been waiting for a hand
rushing to help us by an ax
Picture
Mohsen Hoseinkhani was born in Iran (Kermanshah) in 1988. He began to share poems professionally in cultural institutes in 2007. So far, he has had nine poetry collections published in free verse. They are as follows: Take Back My Childhood (Eghlima, 2010); These Small Romances One Day Grow (Eghlima, 2011); Rain Never Stops After You, (Fahva, 2014); The Earth Eclipse (Nimaj – Maya, 2015); Just Death Lives (Fasal Panjum, 2017); Orange Spring (Eiham, 2021) Trotting In a Gloomy Plain (Morvarid, 2nd Edition, 2021); The Mountain Does Not Take Back My Voice (Morvarid, 2023); and The Fish (Sib Sorkh, 2024). Hoseinkhani’s poetry has been translated into Arabic, Turkish, and Kurdish by distinguished translators and published in fine magazines around the world. He describes his poems as simple but lively, and full of imagery and nostalgia. Follow him on Instagram: @mohsen.hosseinkhani.official


    SHINE - International Poetry Series

    Picture
    From the international poetry community, we have a "luxury of stars," as Sylvia Plath might say, and it is my honor to provide a home for their words through SHINE Poetry Series.
    Picture
    NOW IN PRINT!

    Stars Over the Dordogne
    BY SYLVIA PLATH
    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
  • SHINE Poetry Series
    • SUBMISSIONS
  • PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS
    • CONNECT
  • SHOP
  • POETIC TRINITAS