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

MICHAEL WATERSON

11/29/2024

 
Another year of SHINE Poetry Series is coming to a close, and I am proud to present one last feature of the year...Michael Waterson. Michael is a retired journalist who obviously still has his finger on the pulse! Enjoy his poem "Breaking News," among others, and be sure to check out his Bio which follows. Thank you, Michael, for sharing your words with SHINE!

Breaking News

Picture

December Romance

Who would have thought becoming
a septuagenarian would be
so becoming to me
that beauty-pageant-grade young women
now hanker for my friendship on social media?
That’s a new wrinkle
to add to my collection.
My scam antennae tingle:
Don’t fool yourself, old fool!
You walk through a dark forest.
But let me entertain the fantasy,
at least until the next time
I look in the mirror and see
my rheumy-eyed, gray grandfather
looking askance at me.

Excusez-moi, Where am I?

I am so impressed by the cleanliness
of the Paris metro, the absence of graffiti,
unlike the New York City subway.
And the suicide barriers display
what I can only dub avant garde
regard for life that’s foreign
to my wild west sensibility
and far ahead of La Grosse Pomme.

And though I scan the color-coded routes
for the location of my station for ten minutes,
my finger pecking at the map
like a barnyard chicken, I get on
the wrong train and have to get off,
double back and try again,
another lost American, but smiling,
enjoying the pristine ride.
Picture
Michael Waterson is a retired journalist with stints as a seasonal firefighter, San Francisco taxi driver, and wine educator. He holds an MFA from Mills College. His work has appeared in numerous online and print journals, including California Quarterly, Home Planet News, and The Bookends Review. Michael's collection Cosmology of Heaven and Hell was published by The Poetry Box in 2022. He is Poet Laureate Emeritus of the Napa Valley. His information may be found at: michaelwatersonpoetry.com.  

SANDRA REDMOND (SANDY PETERS)

11/7/2024

 
Today, SHINE features two poems by the talented Sandra Redmond (Sandy Peters), who I also happen to call my mom, and whose birthday is today -- happy birthday!! Poetry lovers, please enjoy these two fantastic poems, "The Price of Progress" and "Galaxy, which seems particularly fitting for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday here in America. Wishing all of my fellow Americans a happy Thanksgiving and safe travels. We'll see you back here next month with a special excerpt from the forthcoming inaugural print issue of SHINE!

The Price of Progress

All the places we used to walk and talk:  
In Dockum’s Drugstore, or a quick bowl
Of soup at Red’s Chili Parlor Shop,

Not far from a sale at Buck’s Department Store,
Or, in Innes Tea Room, to relax, drink, and talk;
Woolworth’s for Kleenex, Mars Bars, or –

To replace ripped hose – checking out clothes
   racks in Thurston’s front door,
Browsing in Goldblatt’s Book and Stationary Store,
Hoping for rings at Helzberg Diamonds, or borrowing cash
   from Metro Loan’s second floor.

Douglas’ marble, iron, and stone, now replaced or insured
   by a steel-girder’s hold
Looms down with shadows on what didn’t last,
To find cracked sidewalks, empty of then

When front doors once opened to welcome the crowd,
   where the daytime shopped;
Now lies desolate from its once harried flock, those deliberate
   shoppers who checked the new styles
During their noontime breaks from the clock.

Downtown iron, now steel and granite high-rises,
Shadow the vacant sidewalk.
Brick and mortar, soon to be rubble, are loaded by shovel,
   trucked off to a dump.

Bullet-proof windows, doors coded by lock,
LED flex shines with fiber hue.
No problem, no worries, no fear for the few,

With security designs which protect its own flock.

Galaxy

Soon the leaves will fall, and I will too;
When motion in the wind grows still,

Swirling from the ground reveals
What’s real, and I will too.

For there are never secrets in the air.
They show up on the beach and in the sea,

A recompense for living on this global sphere.
When seasons change, birds re-appear.

There is no separate place to view
What we can see among the stars

With every telescope that’s yet to be.
This cosmos holds the I and we.

So live and praise this galaxy,
Give thanks for mammal, fish, and tree,


As I will also give my thanks, as long as I am me.

Picture
Sandra Redmond (Sandy Peters) is a retired teacher and homemaker, who writes from her home in Devon, PA. She earned her M.A. in Creative Writing from Wichita State University (KS) and an M.A. in History from Missouri State University. She is also an award-winning visual artist who regularly exhibits in and around Chester County (PA). Sandy is a lifelong poet, playwright, short-story writer, and musician who enjoys her local theare and spending time with loved ones.


    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.

    ~~~

    Previous Features

    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
  • SHINE Poetry Series
    • SUBMISSIONS
  • PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS
    • CONNECT
  • SHOP
  • POETIC TRINITAS