Ash Wednesday (image from Google Images)


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Current: Danbury, CT, United States
Welcome! A few years ago, I discovered an application that artists employ in their works to bring cultural awareness to their audiences. Having discerned this semiotic theory that applies to literature, music, art, film, and the media, I have devoted the blog, "Theory of Iconic Realism" to explore this theory. The link to the publisher of my book is below. If you or your university would like a copy of this book for your library or if you would like to review it for a scholarly journal, please contact the Edwin Mellen Press at the link listed below. Looking forward to hearing from you!


I will present or have presented research on Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) at the following location(s):

October, 2019: Elms College, Chicopee, Massachusetts: "A Declaration of Independence: Dissolving Sociolinguistic Borders in the Literature of Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)"

27 February, 2018

Enough of an Artist... Thank you, Albert Einstein

When I was participating in the Poetry Bus poetry workshops, one of the members asked us to follow these directives: 
1:  Think of (or find) a sentence. 
2: Delete the second half of it. 
3: Think of as many different ways of finishing it was you can. 
4: Now, delete the first part of the sentence, leaving only a collection of "second halves". 
5: Play with these and concoct a poem out of them. You'll probably want to mess about with   the grammar, leave bits out, put bits in, etc. Feel free. 
6: Post the poem.

I used a quote from Albert Einstein after having returned from Dublin, Ireland and Reims, France. Below is the jet-lagged concoction.

Photo of my window's view in Reims, France

I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. ~ Albert Einstein

I am Enough of an Artist...

To make my way through this airport
and appreciate the artistry
in each human utterance and smile
creative impulses within,
felt without

To hear music
in the laughter of children,
the voice of God
in the knowing timbre
of an elderly sigh

To feel this train race pass French villes,
A phantasmagoria of anxious yearning
in the muted colors of graffiti 
blended with determined drops 
of spring rain

To enter a darkened hallway,
and know that the painful hole
bitten into my lip from fear
will heal, 
bleeding into fortitude

So, I taste the blended harvest
in a bowl of vegetable soup
and ready myself for another day
with cherished goodness
of a night’s rest
upon clean, white sheets.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

14 February, 2018

Decades à Rose

Decades à Rose

Quivering hands release
rose petal beads
from the deepest pocket
of an abandoned purse.

She traces the Sign:
forehead, heart,
left shoulder, right shoulder;
then gently touches the Crucifix
to her trembling lips.

Clutching each bead, lips pursed,
she whispers the prayers.
Words trickling off her tongue
mingle with questions:
Why? How? Where? When?

awakens the rose scent
by fingers slipping their way
around the chain to the final bead.
She recalls most of that prayer.
“Good enough!”

Beads à rose...


© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Insouciance (Entry II)

Feeling soucieux,
for the Bus has left without me,
I delve into the furthermost
reaches of a leather universe,
searching for a tissue to dry my tears,
lacking in certain finesse.

Soon, I touch something
soft, limp, fuzzy with appendages!
Ew, what has crawled into my purse?
Gingerly, I lift out the soft, limp,

fuzzy object by one of its appendages.
It stares at me with beady eyes
still, silent, still smiling at me
insouciant as ever, James Joyce.
I rejoice... a friend at last!

© Jeanne I. Lakatos