SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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CAROL MIKODA

2/14/2024

 
Poetry Lovers, When I heard Carol Mikoda do a reading a few months ago, I felt an immediate connection, so I'm very excited to feature her poetry this month on SHINE! She has a fun and thought-provoking series of prose poems she refers to as her "Jesus poems," which just as a caviat, will appeal to Christians and non-Christians alike. She was kind enough to share one of them here, along with a beautiful pastoral poem from her most recent book, Wind and Water, Leaf and Lake (Finishing Line Press, 2023). Thank you, Carol, for sharing your words!

Jesus at the Pub

I’m digging into my fish and chips at Winfield’s Pub one Friday night, when I notice Jesus at a table in the corner, sitting across from a woman with dark hair who is speaking to him with some vehemence. I don’t want to interrupt them, so I wait until the next day, when Jesus meets me for coffee at the little diner just off the interstate.

I dispense with our usual small talk and ask him right off, “Who was that lady I saw you with last night?”

Jesus doesn’t miss a beat. “That was no lady,” he deadpans. “That was …” Before he can finish, he starts coughing and turns red. He points to his back, so I pound on him until he recovers and sits up straight. “That was no lady. That was my wife.” He grins and we both start laughing at Jesus, the stand-up comedian.

“No really, who was that?”

“It was a writer who is making up the funniest stories about me! I wanted to talk to her about where she gets her ideas.”

“From me, Jesus! She gets them from me!” I pretend to pout into my coffee mug.

Then we laugh some more, because we know there are no funny stories about Jesus.

With a Rocking Motion

Sometimes my heart
needs grace: the grace
of water flowing
from here to there,
of leaves dancing
from side to side
as they fall, the grace
of geese, flying
in formation from here
to places they can’t
name but only
feel, the ease
of clouds moving
across the sky,
blocking sunlight,
then freeing it, over
and over again;
sometimes my heart
needs the grace
of breathing in
and breathing out,
saying yes, universe,
yes, and thank you.
PicturePhoto courtesy Finishing Line Press
Retired after a long career in public education and teacher preparation, Carol Mikoda lives on the eastern shore of Seneca Lake, the original home of the living Haudenosaunee Confederacy. She has strong attachments to clouds, trees, water, and music. Her lyric poems process life's experiences through the lens of natural imagery; her other imaginative work creates worlds where she can express beliefs and suggest solutions to our world’s spiritual problems. She has published poems in a variety of literary journals. She published her first chapbook, While You Wait, with Scars Publications late in 2021. Her more recent chapbook, Wind and Water, Leaf and Lake, was released in November 2023 by Finishing Line Press.

    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.
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    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