Halloween: Hell-icopter Mom

Having never written a triolet, I thought this would be a good time to try. Any person in the field of education will understand the character described in my entry below. Happy Halloween!

photo from Google Images

Hell-icopter Mom

She hovers with her vexing broom

with scary thoughts and grave concerns

while searching for a teacher’s room.

She hovers with her vexing broom,

her presence marked by familiar rheum.

Common sense she always spurns.

She hovers with her vexing broom 

with scary thoughts and grave concerns.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Trains! A Phantasmagorical Journey

Grand Central Station, NYC

Photo from Google Images

One week, my poetry group leader asked us to consider taking the train. Well, my trains of thought below switch tracks now and then: from London's Victoria Station Underground to the New York City's Metro North, which in 2005-06, transported me from Connecticut via Brewster, NY to Grand Central Station, NY City, a phantasmagorical experience, centered with love. 

Phantasmagoria

My train of thought travels

along rickety tracks

holding onto every second

of life, whirling images

in hues of benevolence,

common sense,  and innocence

trying to make sense of it all,

love

Thrilling, drilling,

milling, willing,

this train has made stops:

friendships, family,

laughter, tears

love

Dedication, rumination,

allocation, tribulation,

abandonment, containment

achievement, bereavement

love

Once, I rode the train in London.

It stopped suddenly, and we

were told to evacuate.

The bomb did not detonate!

Divine Love

I stepped through a city of bedlam

eyes of fear, fearless, far from home

found my way to the British Library

back to my daughter’s smiling eyes

alive and satisfied, determined:

Loved

Clickety-click, the clock ticks

in synchronicity with New York City.

Passengers wait, date, relate, abate

whirling past the swans, evergreens,

quaint boutiques of Chappaqua:

country love

to Harlem’s door,

racing past graffiti,

colors smearing, words jeering

interlocking letters on a wall

tcxtual shout outs: anxious, proud

confused, fused, words:

city love

Bridge to tunnel, dark, lights blink

so many tracks, interlace under

this train slowly squeals to a stop,

doors open; we walk through the gates

under a Grand Central firmament

to blend in with the multitude

and I am one...

love.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(You can hear my reading of this by clicking HERE.)

Take Time

Take Time

When the day has flown at rocket speed,

take time.

When the dog is barking in Kitty's face, 

take time.

When daily demands seem to overwhelm,

take time.

Take time to feel each moment's special glory.

Take time to hear the beauty in a sweet bird's voice.

Take time to love each task for its own story, 

and soon, the Infinite Beam

of life's loving Beacon

transforms the ordinary 

into extraordinary, 

creating simplicity

in time. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(You can hear my reading of this poem by clicking HERE.)

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'

bsciencecenter.wordpress.com/.../

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.


***********************************************************************************

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, and 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

(To hear my reading of this poem, click HERE.)

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 )

From my operetta, Luminescence: Honeysuckle (Christine de Pizan)

Honeysuckle and the Bee 

photo from Google Images

From my operetta, Luminescence, below is the recitatives, pre- and post- and the 'voice' of Christine de Pizan, represented by the flower, Honeysuckle: 

The lovely essence of Rose’s beauty entices a hungry bee to fly closer. Her petals form a co-mingled scent with those of Honeysuckle, surrounded by Lilies of the Valley and Forget-me-nots. Honeysuckle, through the mind-set of Christine de Pizan, reflects on true respect between men and women as the ultimate example of true love: 

I am the Honeysuckle.

The name given to me is Christine de Pizan. 

I believe that men and women can and should 

live in harmony with each other,

respecting the intellectual 

as well as the physical attraction 

of man to woman and woman to man. 

The bond of the Holy Spirit in one’s life 

holds this attraction together. 

The tradition of reverent love illustrates 

the necessity of the human race 

to display loyalty, wisdom, and understanding 

in all levels of love relationships. 

Through these elements, 

love becomes a reflection of the truest gift, 

given to us by our Divine Father. 

Thus, physical love must accompany 

emotional love and intellectual respect 

to be complete.

Rose understands this need to combine the elements of intellect and desire in pursuing love. She contemplates her own reaction to the bee’s advances and wonders why this creature hovers intently, yet does not signal to her its true intent.  

Michel de Montaigne

Michel de Montaigne 

photo from Google Images

The quote below has lingered in my thoughts today. So much political rhetoric seems to fill the airwaves, and I grow weary of the interpretations and re-interpretations of those who are currently striving to fulfill their dreams on the political stage. I can only hope that these individuals have the citizens' best interest in their hearts. As human interactions continue to evolve, the words of this 16th century writer have renewed vitality. Enlightenment inspires vision. 

"There never were in the world two opinions alike, no more than two hairs or two grains..."  

~ Michel de Montaigne

God's Peace

God's Peace

On this sea of doubt, 
I long to sail away
with a guiding breeze 
of everlasting peace, 
Peace with God. 
Through the ebb and flow
of fervent prayer,
I find confidence  
as He moves my heart 
in the direction of Infinite Love,
magnifying Joy,
discerning 

His Divine purpose.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Autumnal Quilt Sonnet

I hand-stitched this quilt of 'maple leaf' blocks.

Autumnal Quilt Sonnet 

The warmth of summer comes to an end
and feathered songs move onward.
A gentle breeze causes branches to bend
as the north wind beckons to be honored.

Pieces of cloth arranged with care
come alive in a forgotten room.
They're skillfully pieced with knowing flair
as the mum just waiting to bloom.

The autumnal chill in the air feels grand.
The windows, now closed, reveal hues of gold.
Steaming soup's on the stove, and with needle in hand
a quilter works on her pattern of old.

Now is the time to fill one's heart right
with warmth that will gratify a cold winter's night.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

You can listen to my reading of this poem by clicking HERE.

A Long Sentence, Silence is.

Below is a poem inspired by a number of events involving my family and friends in which the long wait in a hospital sometimes has felt like a sentence. Waiting for word from medical staff on the outcome of a loved one leads to the mixed feelings of worry, loneliness and hope. I wrote this as one very long sentence with the subject Silence and the verb, is because in these moments, we gain strength in the silence. 

 

Coole Park, Ireland

A Long Sentence 

While moist eyes wait

for word of your condition,

inquiring of God 

if I will experience your vibrance again,

though the response is "I don't know,"

though I smile to hide my tears,
though my heart yearns to beat

with the rhythm of your joy,

waiting

for the word that brings hope

for the song of your smiles 

for your breath of “yes”

within is the silence 

of a long sentence

and outside:

the wind,

the rain,

a lone lea,

me,

then the sun.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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