1872: Victoria Woodhull, the FIRST female candidate for the United States presidency

Sorry Kamala fans....you're LATE!

A Flash Fiction Tale of 'Stella, the Ceili-Dancing Squash (Stink) Bug'

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For one Monday Poetry Bus, a few years ago, TFE had requested that we board the streetcar named desire and finish a poem that he had begun a while ago, which happens to mention the name Stella (the beer and Paul McCartney's daughter's clothing line.) 

Well, I had an incident with a precocious bug in the Tutoring Resource Center which I coordinated at the local university. After learning that there was an infestation of these 'squash bugs' (or 'stink bugs') in another building where I had just visited, it dawned on me that perhaps, this critter had hitched a ride in my hair because it wanted to hang out in the TRC. Eeeeewww! All this inspired a little flash fiction tale with the main character, unbelievably....Stella! So here 'tis: 

Stella, the Ceili-Dancing Squash (Stink) Bug

by Jeanne Iris Lakatos

A March sun warmed the oak tree, standing at the entrance of the Old Main Building. Melting snow formed puddles in which blue birds and sparrows graciously bathed.

"Oh my," yawned Stella the squash bug. "It's already March! St. Padhraig's Day will soon be here, and I must stretch me dancing legs. What's that I hear? A lovely professor humming a ceili dance?! Why, I'll just leap into those long brunette locks and see where she takes me."

Stella waited until Jeanne passed right under her branch, took a deep breath and JUMPED!

"Ah! There we go!" she smiled.

Jeanne never saw the squash bug, clinging to the top of her head. She moved quickly across the campus, still humming the merry tune while Stella bounced to the rhythm of Jeanne’s Stella McCartney heels clicking along the brick sidewalk.

The professor opened the entrance door to Berkshire Hall and stepped down the hall to the Tutoring Resource Center where she headed straight to her CD player to raise the volume of her Celtic music album. Ah, Stella loved that melody and decided to move a bit closer, so she leaped off Jeanne’s hair, and oh no! She fell right into the blinds against the window...flat on her back!

"Please, PLEASE help me, Professor!" she cried, flailing her dancing legs. "See? I'm doing a ceili dance! The Connemara!"

Jeanne heard the THUNK of Stella’s fall, and peeked behind the blinds to see the squash bug’s wiggling legs. 

"Ahhhh!" screamed Jeanne, "A huge bug just fell from somewhere into the window!" Eeeeewwwww! Someone, please…. Help me get rid of this thing!"

“Thing?!” I’m of a proud line of perfectly fine squash bugs, I’ll have you know,” retorted the indignant Stella.

A brave Biology student calmly held out her hand to the bug. Stella elegantly crawled into her fingers.

"Go raibh maith agat!" she smiled to the student.

The girl gently placed her on a twig outside the door. Stella sighed, "I'll just wait here on this maple tree branch until the Professor returns. I'll jump onto her hair again, and when she brings me back into that joyful room, I'll show her a few ceili steps."

Jeanne thanked the student, thought to herself, “I could use a Stella right about now! Too bad they don’t allow beer on campus.”

Instead, she searched through her Stella McCartney catalog and made plans to buy a new hat.


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Extra Credit Haiku: 

I, dressed in Stella,

he, with Stella beer, 

flirting through a stellar night.

A Doe's Vision

 

A resting buck, photo from Google Images

I wrote this poem directly after viewing a young buck with antlers just emerging, find a shaded spot in the wooded glen right outside my window. He didn't know I was observing him, an he looked so peaceful, just resting there among the trees on the softened earth. He reminded me of my own 'buck,' my son, who at the time was a pre-teen...thus, the poem: 

A Doe's Vision

Rest, young buck, now rest.

Do not fear that I am watching you.

Your life is safe within my eyes.

Yes, be careful and aware

of all the new and strange annoyances

surrounding you.

Now search for that tranquility.

Nourish your body and soul.

Relax, for soon the changes come, 

and your precious, budding years

will all be gone.

Rest, my young and precious buck.

My loving eyes adore you.

Worry not.

You have found safe harbor 

in my eyes. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

A Sonnet: Four Soles, Soulful Foursome

The photo below is one on which I've based my sonnet, written in a Spenserian Sonnet format.

For fun, click onto: Billy Collins former United States Poet Laureate, to read his satirical view of sonnets, cleverly entitled, "Sonnet."

Four Soles,  Soulful Foursome

Idyllically, they travel with an aim

and quickly learn that truth rests in a friend, 

for surely, they’ll discover life’s no game. 

A splendid road will definitely bend. 

These traveling souls of four know not of end, 

for they rely on trusting gifts of love: 

one pulls with strength, one’s job is to attend 

two brothers with one mind, blessed from above 

with dreams conjoined like wings that lift the dove. 

Four souls of spirit and vitality

advance with might and shared awareness of

their vision for determined liberty.

A humble vessel pulled by four strong soles,

transporting dreams, fulfilling simple goals.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

Last Yellow Leaf

A last yellow leaf from one of my trees

I posted this poem about a month ago. However, the leaves are really being blown by the usual northwest winds around here now. One maple tree in my yard has lost all of its leaves. Even the beautiful Catalpa tree is letting go of its large, heart-shaped leaves. That means it's time to take out that annual aerobic leaf remover: the rake, and I love it! 

Autumnal leaves release themselves from the summer branches and delicately float toward the fertile ground, continuing their labor of renewal and fulfilling their simple task of breathing truth into a complicated world. This poem is one inspired by the last yellow leaf to fall.

Last Yellow Leaf

Clinging to the dormant branch, 

she glows, knowing 

that His Love envelops 

with strength and purpose,

the brilliance beaming through. 
A gust of the north wind

sends this last yellow leaf

on its way to life’s 

glorious fulfillment. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic, Click HERE.)

The Revolutionary Rhetoric of Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)

My collection of books written by Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)

From page 17 of my book: 

Revolutionary philosophy of the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries provides momentum for the transformation of consciousness, circuitous pathways of innovation and circularity within societal parameters, creating awareness of cultural change, often through literary articulation. During the long eighteenth century, Sydney Owenson constructs her national tales by configuring lexical combinations of Irish, English and European colloquialisms, drawing upon the historical and philosophical perceptions of René Descartes, John Locke, and Immanuel Kant to transform her romantic tales into narratives of political inquiry. She incorporates the German philosophical influences of Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Georg Wilhelm Friedriech Hegel, and Arthur Schopenhauer, initiating innovation in forms of cultural awareness. 

As her writing matures, her nineteenth century contemporary scientific approach to human dignity resonates with Auguste Comte’s philosophy, revealing her personal experience with societal expectations. Her voice maintains a necessary fortitude in terms of her feminine perspective, placing Irish ideology into the center of English culture at the onset of the Ascendancy, while she illustrates foresight in challenging the political stance of the United Kingdom in the early decades of the nineteenth century. 

One October Day

 

One October Day

Today, I took my usual walk 
and what did I hear? 
Golden leaves tumbling through the branches
spinning, dancing, composing 
the joyful sonance
of a thousand hands clapping. 
A few leaves tumbled onto my head. 
(Does this mean my prayers have been answered?)
Trees with variegated shades of russet, gold, red, and green, 
like giant bouquets presented from the azure sky.
Old rock walls display their historical wisdom 
as they uphold the dried, withered vines 
from Summer's sun. 
People walking, riding bikes, 
chatting with friends on their phones
 pass me by, 
each one smiling, nodding 'hello,' 
for this lovely day brings with it
a heavenly Spirit
through sighs of a gentle breeze, 
the chirping of sweet birds, 
Solace 
in the heart of each passer-by,
in my heart, too,
and I am grateful for it. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To listen to My reading of this poem on Pod-omatic. Click HERE )