A Pen, So Simple

 

A Pen, So Simple 

A pen, so simple

and fundamental

yet functional

and dependable

somewhat ornamental.

 

A pen, so simple…

of brawny rosewood,

so my fingers could

glide as they write 

to open minds.

 

A pen, so simple,

expresser of mine.

Now, where did I place you?

Oh, Saints Divine,

I implore you,

please help me to find

my much-needed pen

for

without it, 

I feel…………

                                 inert!

 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

 

Alley Adventure

A memory of one of the many adventures my brother and I shared as children has come to mind. Stephen always discovered fascinating places, and I was the only sister who had the guts (or insanity) to go with him. This one was at our grandparents' house in an old section of Detroit, Michigan where each neighborhood had an alley.  Enjoy!

My grandparents' old house in Detroit, remodeled. 
You can see the tree in the background. Beyond that tree is the alley.

Alley Adventure

The Alley behind our grandparents' house

was intriguing to my brother and me.

The grown-ups didn’t want us to go there,

but he knew how to unlatch the back gate,

Sshhh…very quietly, so it wouldn’t squeak.

We tiptoed onto the graveled road.

A sweet yet acrid smell filled the air;

it was a strange, forbidden world.

This day, we discovered a horseshoe print,

embedded in a piece of hidden pavement,

shadowed by the tall grasses growing wild,

fighting for a piece of the dappled sunrays

that played upon the broken cement.

“Only one print,” Stephen whispered,

“Must be from Pegasus.”

Voices formed words in an unknown tongue

and floated from a large window of an old house

behind an unpainted wooden fence,

“Sssshhh!  Ghosts!” he  whispered.

I bent down to pick up a weapon,

a broken shard of brown glass

“This is a piece of magic glass, Jeanne,

from a land faraway… Put it down!

We don’t know what evil powers it might have.”

Reluctantly, I tossed the shard.

No magic today… no spilling of blood.

A quick run to the old wooden gate,

and we were back on Grandma’s garden path,

with freshly cut grass, wildflowers and roses,

our absence unnoticed, our memories enriched.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  

The Annunciation

 The Annunciation is when the Holy Spirit announced to Mary that she would be giving birth to Jesus.

The Annunciation

painted by Leonardo Da Vinci

Dante Alighieri's "Paradiso"

Photo from Google Images

http://kidslink.bo.cnr.it/ic6-bo/scuolainospedale/num6-2/divcom/Image8.jpg

Dante Alighieri’s Paradiso

Today, I’ve placed parallel posts on my blogs with both exploring Dante Alighieri’s final book of The Divine Comedy: Paradiso.

Spheres and circularity dominate the theme of this epic poem. Dante often even imitates the shape of the circle with his words. The Pilgrim and guide enter heaven at the convergence of four circles with three crosses. (This use of seven symbols refers to the seven virtues: 4 cardinal, 3 theological.) The three crosses could also pertain to the three crosses that we saw at Calvary, which would then lend to the idea of the theological. 

The term "cardinal" comes from the Latin cardo or hinge; therefore, the cardinal virtues (Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude) are pivotal to any wise life. In the Old Testament Book of Wisdom, 8:7, we learn that "She [Wisdom] teacheth temperance, and prudence, and justice, and fortitude, which are such things as men can have nothing more profitable in life."
In The Republic, Plato identified these same virtues with societal classes and thus, the very faculties of humanity:

Temperance: produces classes, the farmers and craftsmen, also animal appetites
Fortitude: associated with the warrior class and the spirited element in man
Prudence: associated with rulers and reason
Justice: stands outside the class system and divisions of man, and rules the proper relationship among them.

The theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love (charity), indicate a higher level of consciousness and compassion. Lessons that pertain to each of these virtues repeat throughout the Old and New Testament and within more ancient religious precepts. 

Artistry of a Poet's Hand

An artist is a poet is an artist...Incorporation of art and poetry creates illumination of the human experience.

 

Above left: my own feathered pen and ink bottle

right: an illuminated manuscript of the 13th century narrative poem, Roman de la Rose

Artistry of a Poet's Hand

A fine gold nib gently fits

into a feathered pen.

The well of silver and crystal accepts colorful ink,

carefully poured by the hand of a poet.

This artisan of words dips the golden nib  

into the well, slides it along the neck,

allowing excess fluid to gracefully drip

off its gilded edge.

The poet reflects on placement of each word,

and touching nib to parchment,

propels the filled pen to stroke left, then right,

forming each letter with deliberate flourish.

Ornate illuminations of richly hued imagery

in crimson, amethyst, and beryl green,

penned along the borders of the page,

elegantly coalesce genius with beauty:

the Word, inscribed.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.

Ugly Duckling's Pond

Years ago, Peadar's Poetry Jam prompt asked us to reveal an unknown from a fairy tale or myth. I chose one of my favorites, The Ugly Duckling's pond. 

Swans in East Lake, Danbury, Connecticut, U.S.A. 

Ugly Duckling’s Pond

Reeds sway

along the water’s edge,

 gentle waves

from graceful paddling

of a family of swans

lap up

heartbroken tears

as they embrace

the distorted reflections

of a duckling,

furtive and yearning.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

To hear me recite this, please click HERE. 

Just Before Dawn (The Blue)

Just Before Dawn (The Blue)
Eyes open slowly.
Still, I walk along that lovely beach
and glance up to see a small village.

That same, intriguing dream,
now, it fades away
with the early morning mist.
 I feel a gentle, cool breeze
waft across my face
and turn my head
toward the choir of crickets,
still calling to their mates.

An owl wings its way
midst entangled branches,
eerily hooting through the blue.
My gaze reaches the maple tree
standing tall in this tableau
all blue, shades of blue, no other color
but blue... everywhere!

Leaves, tree trunks, even the lone deer,

all blue.

It's no longer evening, not yet dawn.
Sky and sea are one magic hue.
The song of one bird greets me:
a prayer for the new day
in this tranquil moment of
blue.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos