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A new week, and new poetry to spotlight on SHINE! Please enjoy two poems by Colorado-based poet/writer, Mark Gaebler. As promised last week, you'll be able to note a deliberate use of rhyme again today, in these poems which feature socio-political themes. And if political poetry's not your thing, come back tomorrow for something fresh; SHINE welcomes poetry on all (non-violent, non-discriminatory) topics from poets around the world! Thanks, Mark, for sharing your words. As the Trump-ets Sound Lo, the Rider of Gilded Garb, astride the pale horse he rides. His shimmering frock and fluted speech glisten in the listener’s eyes. As the trailer’s trump-et bellows sounds of hate, greed, and divide, the rider’s words of black and green, spell-binding in their guise, enthrall the throngs with the trailer’s bloated hollow pomp and trump-et’s sound of promises, never to be realized. The rider’s shadow flows in stench of black and green, while the aged and bloated trailer, addled by his selfish greed, plods aimless and blinded, tied to the rider’s wasted steed, spouting echoes of venom to the throngs, to the rider’s glee. The throngs – they follow the trump-et’s song, betrayed and blind as he; ever-blinded by false beckonings of shadows, black and green. Over and again, the trailer’s song blind the throngs with hollow writhes. “Truth be gone,” the throngs, they shout, as the rider takes it all in stride. Shadow slithers among the blinded, its intent in venomous guise, echoes of the trailer’s words. The throngs they spout, and rider doth abide the black and green, who holds false temptation for the trailer’s eye. The venomed throng, they sound, the future taken by imagined pride. As the trump-ets sound, the future falls under his bloated stride. The throngs still follow, blinded to the rider’s gilded guise. The rider sings, the trump-ets sound, as the aged trailer bows, groveling in his stupor, while Rider steals a nation’s pride. Ship of Oars Through the shroud of time, pours Pandora’s tears. Greed and lies crack as thunder on the ocean of fears. Upon the storm of sins it flows, tattered mast and sails; The helmsman’s gleeful glare aimed at the shore of veils. Those who have spent their moment, void of masks of their days, Waiting with coin in hand from blood-soaked fortune gains, Stand with chains forged of misdeeds upon the ravaged world. They spit the blood of prey, but the helmsman hears them not; Beckoned to seat, chains binding to ore they have wrought. So those who are poison to humanity Must sit upon the ship of oars and row it for eternity.  Mark Gaebler is a self-published novelist who has served in the US Army and has had a varied and lengthy career as a script-writer, medical lab worker, certified cable TV webmaster, and teacher. Gaebler holds degrees in Film/TV Production, Journalism, English, Social Studies and History, and Teacher Certification. He and his wife, Susan Lynn, have two grown children.
Today I welcome, Adejoke (JoJo) Adekunle Alagba, to the SHINE poetry spotlight! JoJo is a Nigerian poet who is an active part of her local and online poetry communities. Today she is sharing "Never Mine" and "My Biggest Fear." In the latter poem, note JoJo's polished use of rhyme and meter. (Next week, SHINE will be featuring more rhymed poetry...keep an eye out!) Thank you, JoJo, for entrusting your words to SHINE! Never Mine The world was never mine to hold, A fragile thing, a house of cards, Spun in the breath of a hurricane. The universe lent me its pieces, Let me touch its light for a moment, Only to remind me—they were never mine. He appeared-- Not as a gift, but a fleeting glimpse, A fragment of joy on loan. The universe whispered, “Here, take this, feel this.” And I clung to him like a drowning soul, Grasping for something I could not keep. He was like water in my desert, Cool relief against my burning chest, A lighthouse I thought would guide me home. But even lighthouses belong to the sea, Anchored by tides I cannot command. He was not mine—how could he be? When even my breath is borrowed from the stars? I gave him all of me, My scars, my secrets, The armour I thought I could shed for good. But the universe smiled, Cruel and knowing, As it gently took him back, Leaving only the echo of his presence. What was I to expect? The universe owns everything, Every joy, every sorrow, Every fleeting touch of eternity. We are only tenants of its grace, Borrowing moments we mistake for ours. Now I stand in the wreckage, Pretending I had ever been whole. Pretending I could claim him, That the universe would let me keep A piece of forever in my hands. But it only lends—it never gives. How do I breathe When the air is not my own? How do I walk When the ground beneath me shifts? The happiness I held was never mine, Only a borrowed light, A spark returned to the vast, indifferent sky. And so I beg the stars, Though they do not hear, To grant me just one more moment. But I know now What the universe gives, it takes, And I am left with nothing but the ache Of happiness that was never truly mine. My Biggest Fear My biggest fear is waking up alone, With dreams that were bright now turned grey. A world where every chance I've ever known Slips through my hands, like sand that blows away. I fear the silence of an empty heart, A hollow beat that echoes in my chest. The gnawing doubt that tears my soul apart, Reminding me of how I've failed the test. Inadequacy, a shadow by my side, It whispers softly, "You're not good enough." Its voice, a venom, poisoning my pride, And turning hope to something harsh and rough. I fear the eyes that see through my disguise, The ones that know the weakness I conceal. Their judgement burns like fire in my eyes, A searing truth that I can’t help but feel. What if I try, and still I fall below? What if my best is never close to right? These questions plague me, never letting go, And rob my days of peace, my nights of light. I fear the path that leads to dreams undone, Where every effort ends in bitter pain. A race I run, but cannot ever be won, With every step, more loss, more fear, more strain. Yet through these tears, a flicker of resolve, A fragile hope that just maybe I can rise. For even in the places where fears revolve, There lies the strength to reach beyond the lies. So though my fears may tear my heart in two, I'll face them with a courage born of fire. For in this struggle, something bright and true, A spark of hope, a glimpse of my desire. Even in these fears, my strength evolves, Yet still I wonder—will it be in vain?  Adejoke Adekunle Alagba is a writer whose work mainly explores themes of identity and human connection. With an introspective and evocative style, she crafts poetry and narratives that bridge emotion and thought. When she is not writing, she enjoys collecting books, exploring the world of wine tasting, and being immersed in stories that spark curiosity and inspiration.
Today, it's a delight to share two narrative poems by LA-based filmmaker and writer, Sam Hendrian. Sam's mission and values in writing are reflective of just the work I aim to shine a spotlight on -- as he describes it, he's "striving to foster empathy through art." Isn't that beautiful? Be sure to check out his Bio below to learn more. Thank you, Sam, for sharing your poetry with SHINE! The Art of Science Said hello as little as possible Because whenever I did It became nearly impossible To say goodbye. Only embraced on special occasions Becase each time we locked shoulders I almost dropped the key Into the midnight river. She felt the same but the opposite, Played the game before pausing it So she could whisper “Slow down,” “I can’t be the cure for your perpetual frown.” A scientific realist is seldom a good match For an artful romantic; One will always see what’s there, The other what they want to be there. But if both admit to being wrong Or at least partially right, The chemistry lab may merge With a pending poem. Said hello once more than I did before, Heard goodbye later than usual, Then locked shoulders on the hunch Keys would soon be irrelevant. After the Final Chord Watched the clock turn to midnight While putting the 16th candle on the cake, Then glanced over at the funhouse mirror And saw a flicker of what she wanted to see. Was accustomed to her outfits being praised Plus the backhanded compliment of “You look good” But only ever heard the words she craved From long-dead radio superstars. They told her she was beautiful, That they needed her so badly In between extended guitar breaks To prove they were at a loss for verbal expression. Of course, after the final chord She was back in an empty kitchen Reading a stack of birthday cards From Grandma and Grandma’s closest church friends, Which was why candles were invented, Safe spaces for wandering wishes Desperate to find a home Where being nice meant more than being nice enough.
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SHINE - International Poetry Series
Curated by Samantha Terrell
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.
NOW IN PRINT!
Stars Over the Dordogne
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