Sweet Dreams (Codladh sámh)

Sweet Dreams (Codladh sámh)

Softly the trees sway
breezes steadily pulsating
plummeting my senses 
DEEP DEEp DEep Deep deep
into a serene, sensory 
serenade of sleep
slowly sifting
through sands of 
discernment
into a sea of dreams
where fantasy releases
the genesis 
of truth

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(My reading of this poem is on Pod-omatic at the bottom of this page.)

Bluebell: National Bluebell Day, August 31

Bluebell

The Bluebell is a flower,

symbolizing Constancy and Helpfulness.

And I see bluebells lining the path

of a kind spirit traveling through this life

in the body of a noble person.

To this spirited traveler, 

a dynamic coalescence of meditation and action

form the foundation of relevance.

Steadiness, calm, and a quick smile

follow echoes of hearty laughs and wit.

Bluebells dance at the feet 

of this gentle, jovial spirit.

A vibrant energy and fragrance,

ever present in the serenity,

timeless and enchanting.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Another Day

Even though we are in the end of summer, I can still see new growth and birth throughout my surroundings. Isn't that usually the case? No matter what time or era, possibilities exist for positive courses to prevail, especially if one has faith. I wrote this poem for my Mother as a Mother's Day gift many years ago. Her first name was Pearl. May she rest in Eternal Peace. Enjoy!

Another Day

The sun bestows 

a benevolent glow.

Sweet harmonies 

fill feathered hearts

while a glistening Pearl drop of dew

moistens the rose's brow.

A wind blows softly through the trees,

gathering wisps of life,

and soon the world is awake and moist

with the birth of another day. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)

Decades ago, I lived in Atlanta and received a letter from a friend who lived in my hometown in Michigan. She wrote to tell me that our mutual friend in Junior High School had committed suicide. We were all cheerleaders, and it was so sad to learn that this young girl came to such a sad ending. After praying, I wrote this poem, "Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)." Unfortunately, our friend ended up as a drifting river. 

Photo of a stream near my home with a small, gentle waterfall and many rocks

Faith like a Rock

(or Ode to a Friend)

So this is life ~

engulfing 

the sorrows and heartaches

of human weakness.

There are no tides without the ocean depths.

A tear can stroke my cheek,

but where is Faith?

The heart can contain emotions.

The soul can contain feelings.

A waterfall may flow forever, 

but without the steadfast Rock,

it is only a drifting river.

Each of us has a Rock

which harbors our heart. 

The stronger the Rock, 

the more tender the soul. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Memories of My Dad

August 20 would be my Dad's 99th birthday. May he rest in Eternal Peace. A few years ago, I participated in a literary challenge to write about our fathers. This is not a poem; it's a reflection of the time that my father brought me some Siberian iris tubers, and each year, I feel his presence as the irises propagate annually. The ones in the photo are from this year's blooms. 

Blue Iris:

A Reflection of my Dad

I didn’t realize it would be the final kiss on his dimpled cheek, that the irises he brought would be his last gift to me. “They’re blue, like your eyes, and they have your name,” he winks as he carefully unwraps the newspaper and inspects each delicate tuber. 

Thinking back as if it were just yesterday…

* I was picking green apples in our backyard on a hot August afternoon. I glanced down to see my T-shirt covered with ants; I ran, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!" Calmly, he brushed the ants off my shivering 4-year old self. “There, there, it’s nothing. See? All gone.”

* Glancing down at my hands now, I remember my little fingers clinging tightly to the rim of the old green wheelbarrow, as I sit atop a pile of fresh grass clippings, inhaling the sweetness. My own dimpled smile reflects his as he merrily sings or whistles a variety of tunes.

* His lap is the best seat in the house while we watch the Tigers defeat any other team on T.V.

* As a sophomore in high school, I can still hear his lighter click as he inhales yet another Lucky Strike and sketches lines and digits. Then, my Dad, the chemist, patiently explains one more geometry theorem to me for the night.

* Purple heart, bronze star, and a battle wound scar in his leg from the Battle of the Bulge that never kept him from running with the ball during many a neighborhood baseball game or a quick game of handball with my Mom.

Once, he brought a spray of blue Siberian irises for me to plant in my garden. There, outside my window grows a sea of blue, each year more irises than the year before, winking at me. 

                                                                Thanks, Dad. I love you. 

My Dad as a young boy with his dog, Snowball.

Be sure to save and label old photos. 

                                                                   © Jeanne I. Lakatos

Spin Cycle

With the topic of Confusion, I've chosen the metaphor of a washer because nothing creates a turn like a good spin cycle.  The reading of this poem has been posted on Podomatic. 

from Google images

Spin Cycle

Confusion

agitates in a murky froth

volleying my thoughts

back and forth, back and forth,

do or don't, can or can't, will or won't,

until remnants of every smear

swirl into a watery, soapy tuft.

Blended tones collide

to form mottled suds.

Cascading pools jostle

my consciousness;

a circular spin

wrings out the truth.

From this cycle

my mind turns, and 

I am cleansed.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

Crickets in Love

Cherishing the final weeks of summer, below, is a little poem I wrote on the soothing sound of crickets in love under the moon's light. Enjoy! 

Crickets in Love

Suspended 

sound waves

fill the senses

echoing harmonics

soothe 

reverberate

through chambers

of hearts

pulsating rhythms

an intricate loving 

coalescence 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

from lifeandberyl.blogspot.com

Back to School (or) A New Box of Crayons

Many thoughts race through my head at this time of the year. One, in particular, is a memory of that brand new box of crayons (usually only the 24-crayon box) I would look forward to seeing in my clean book bag, so lovely and organized, ready for the new school year. One year, it was the 64-crayon box!  Hmmm... a childhood dilemma, which crayon shall I choose first? 

Back to School 

(or) 

A New Box of Crayons

There is nothing as sweet as the waxy aroma

of a brand new 64-count box of Crayola crayons

bought especially for that first day of school.

It has the crayon sharpener right on the box!

And oh, the most marvelous feeling:

sliding the very first crayon out of its sleeve.

Periwinkle Blue! Carnation Pink! Burnt Siena!

What does it mean, this lovely box of crayons?

Summer is over! Those lazy, creative days sitting

under the maple tree, dreaming of 'next school year'

are etched forever as summer childhood memories.

Those encouraging words from last June come alive. 

New: books, shoes, clothes, hope, friends! 

Old ones, too, but now with new stories to share. 

Early autumn, with its cool breezes, 

whisks colorful leaves that dance among fallen apples: 

Nature's own fresh box of crayons. 

Tossed with a sanguine force that energizes 

each step toward the school's front door,

kind smiles herald enlightenment 

radiating from a Teacher's welcoming heart.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

August 15: The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

 The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Painting by Sir Peter Paul Rubens

1626

housed in the Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp

Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. 

Blessed art thou among women, 

and Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

Pray for us sinners, 

now and at the hour of our death. 

Amen.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, 

benedicta tu in mulieribus, 

et benedictus fructus ventris tui, lesus. 

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, 

nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. 

Amen

Attack of the Georgia June Bugs

I had to remove the photo of the June Bug. 

It just gave me the creeps.

With warm days behind and ahead of us, my mind immediately traveled to a memory of one laundry night, many years ago, when I lived in Atlanta, Georgia. If you have never encountered a Georgia June bug, well, let me tell you... you are fortunate indeed. The darn things are about two inches long and click and sputter around lights at night, all summer long. ugh! ugh! (worth 2 ughs!) Anyway, here's the poem:

Attack of the Georgia June Bugs

Snugly against my right hip,

I carry laundry, clean and folded,

in a wicker basket on a hot, southern night.

Georgia June bugs encircle my head.

Zipping to and fro, their wings roar

like ghosts of B-52 bombers.

I run to escape 

their clicking laughs;

laundry jostles over the edges of the basket.

Quickly. I swoop 

to retrieve escaping undergarments

before anyone sees me or those bugs get nearer.

“Don’t you dare fly into my hair!”

Ah, at last! 

I’m inside my apartment.

Only one goal: to chug a cold beer.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Innovation: A Call to Action

An innovative idea is a call to action to make a difference in this world. A brilliant person once shared with me the significance of a single leaf used as a metaphor for the human condition. Since transformation originates from a single notion, I thought this little poem may contribute a genesis of consciousness.  

I took this photo in St. Stephen's Green, Dublin, Ireland.

One maple tree leaf in my garden

 

Be Leaf 

Here

remains the leaf

not insignificant

silent, 

well formed

turned over and over.

Suspended,

it resides 

in belief

sublime.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  

Transfiguration and Overflowing

A number of years ago, I wrote this brief poem about consciousness, using this fascinating painting by Alex Grey to illustrate. I think it is fitting, for on August 6, we celebrate the Transfiguration of Our Lord (and...my birthday):

http://www.artofimagination.org/Images/MemberImages/Grey/Transfigurations.jpg

The Transfiguration by Raphael (1516-1520)

Overflowing 

Between lyrics and dynamics

a dimension unfolds 

wherein my consciousness 

dwells - interprets 

language and intonation

of body and soul

one overflowing into the other:

catenate - confide - coalesce

Glorious 

in conscious renewal,

Heavenly

through the Power of theWord

made flesh.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos