SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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July 17~ LAUNCH OF 'MAPLESS' BY KYLA HOUBOLT

7/17/2026

 
Congratulations to Kyla Houbolt on the launch of Mapless, the winner of SHINE's "Come As You Are" Book Prize! See the description below, and pick up your copy on any Amazon marketplace. 
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Mapless, by American poet Kyla Houbolt, is a collection for both the wanderer and the guide -- with poetry that speaks to the core, and poses questions we need not feel obligated to answer. Houbolt's Mapless is the winner of the 2026 SHINE poetry series "Come As You Are" book prize.
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Advance Praise for Mapless:
"The first sleight-of-hand I ever learned was how to make a toothpick disappear, by way of a little piece of hidden scotch tape and some patter. Kyla Houbolt’s poems in Mapless work a similar magic: woven in & through the ordinary, they are possessed of a guileless voice whose levity and directness of address belie the book’s sly treatment of serious themes, too, from alcoholism and climate change to intractable political gridlock and the “horrible numbers” we live with daily. Houbolt’s poems harness the imagination hopefully, carving out a collectivity however flawed it, or we, might be: “We’re all magical trailer trash / setting the world to rights / or on fire, / whichever comes first.” I love being in the ambit of Houbolt’s “we” — even if the tape unsticks and the trick fails, there’ll always be sunlight." -Tom Snarsky, Author of MOUNTEBANK

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    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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