Reach Defined

Years ago, the Poetry Bus had the delightful Ms. Poetikat as its driver. She discovered the photos below on Ms. Bug's blog and has asked us to view them as inspiration for our poetic contributions. This photo narrative reveals so much to us, but what has impressed me is the reaching aspect. I looked up the term, reaching, in the dictionary to see if there might be a definition that would 'reach' my psyche. Amazingly, right before my eyes, every definition seemed to express what I was feeling. And there you have it: Reach Defined.

Reach Defined

Approach the moment

in a state of mind

influence, power

communicate

strive

achieve

acquire success

lend a hand

 sail on a tack

 with the wind blowing

 reach defined,
refined

 for a television viewing audience

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(with help from the

Merriam-Webster online dictionary)

Love through Laughter

Love through Laughter

Love:

open-faced

 to the laughter

that unites 

dares with dreams

acceptance of perfection

accompanied by flaws

we amble

through doubts

and fill up on hope 

united

through the discovery

of Love 

through Laughter.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Troubadours of Truth

A small group of my colleagues and I would meet occasionally to let off a little steam. We called it the Meeting of the Minds, but I also like the term used here: Troubadours of Truth. We haven't met in a while now, but I think of these meetings with fondness. Enjoy!

Cheering with Irish Coffees at a local pub

Troubadours of Truth

We meet in various locales

far enough away from the others

who meet for what they think

are much more crucial causes.

At our 'meetings of the minds'

we pun and chortle, sip our drinks

and cheerfully lighten

our burdens of misanthropy

with stories that feed our souls.

Our meetings begin and end

with hugs and reassurance

that common sense is a reality,

if surveyed through the pane

of the Troubadours of Truth.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon

After the heat of summer,

the sweltering, suffocating heat, 

a welcoming breeze wafts over her skin

as she inhales the cool, crisp breath of autumn. 

  And there is the moon, 

  the Harvest moon, 

the Super moon

 in all its glory. 

Her eyes behold 

the luminescence

reflected from the sun

as she wistfully wonders,

"Is anyone else gazing at this brilliant sight 

with hopeful eyes and heartfelt smile?" 

Soothing wishes warm the night 

a comforting, timeless Salve. 

  

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

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  

We will always remember!

Photo from Google Images

Click onto the candle to hear Sarah McLachlan sing "Angel."

Photo from http://michaeljamescasey.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/natl_memorial.jpg

Photo from Washington Post

Photo from Google Images

 The National 9/11 Memorial, New York City, Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, and Flight 93 Memorial

I wrote this poem the afternoon of September 11, 2001 in Danbury, CT, 65 miles north of the devastating scene unfolding in New York City, yet close enough to know that the same clouds passing right above me just passed over that horror. The wispy clouds almost looked like angels floating above and away from the madness below. No planes crossed the sky above, only silence… except for the industry of nature.

September 11, 2001

Bellowing clouds of madness

devour cavernous streets

filled with masses 

seeking freedom

from a spumous potion of death.

Silent plumes in an azure sky,

Blessed by the whispers
of three thousand Angels,
newly formed and dancing,
mollify this tableau of horror.

As evening approaches, 

silent stars fill the night firmament. 

No airplanes fly in this night sky.

Delicate crickets chirp; katydids begin to sing.

Strong airy wings of a soaring bird reveal 

a Love that can never die...

Freedom prevails.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  2001

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

The Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Click below for more information from the Catholic News Agency: 

 The Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary: 

Saint of the day: Sept. 8: The Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

The Nativity of the Virgin, c. 1400-1405, 

painting by Andrea di Bartolo, 

housed at the National Gallery of Art

Falling Leaves, Prayers Answered

Autumnal View from my Back Door

 Falling Leaves, Prayers Answered

A cycle of renewal

causes leaves to fall,

replenish the soil,

and build a life force

that completes their purpose.

Each tumbling leaf 

makes me think of 

prayers answered, 

Blessed from above. 

As I walk 

through the fallen leaves,

I feel joy 

as a breeze blows one leaf

right into my face.

Then, my smile coalesces

with gentle thoughts

of Gratitude 

for the answered prayer.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

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