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

June 4~ MARC OLMSTED

6/4/2025

 
Welcome back, poetry lovers,
It's a record-breakingly warm day here in Upstate New York, making it a fitting one to shine the spotlight on Marc Olmsted's social issues-oriented poetry "Hot Planet," and "Pledge" (from a poetry prompt by Richard Loranger). Be sure to check out Marc's Bio below, and his connection to Allen Ginsberg! Thank you, Marc, for bringing your work to the SHINE international poetry community.

Hot Planet

Autumn is a hot planet
& the sex workers fly East
Autumn turns some leaves orange
but not others
I had an autumn flu shot,
an autumn COVID booster
Now I feel horrible
- memories of
The Autumn People comics
Cheyenne Autumn movie
Autumn is a harsh planet
because its breath is labored,
it has trouble with the stairs
Autumn soon just a memory too
on this hot slag rock

Pledge

I pledge allegiance to
flapping prayer flags across the planet
and through my mind
All sentient beings have been my kitten
Her head on my thigh
as I stare at the blank wall
I pledge to a dream that wakes on a non-existent couch
& laughs
The end of America has been voted in
Head touching floor in a bow to a statue
that is my secret heart
Tea offering to the Protectors
in the crisp December night
Picture
Marc Olmsted has appeared in City Lights Journal, New Directions in Prose & Poetry, New York Quarterly, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, and a variety of small presses.    He is the author of six collections of poetry, including What Use Am I a Hungry Ghost?, which has an introduction by Allen Ginsberg. Online at:  https://www.marcolmsted.com/


Comments are closed.

    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

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