Flow: "It Don't Mean a Thing..."

(Click HERE to hear Ella and Duke Ellington)    

 Click HERE to hear Beethoven's Symphony #9

As I considered the music that this 'flow' poem describes, my first thoughts went to Beethoven's 9th. Then, I thought a little more and considered the jazz musical artists, Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington as they collaborate to perform "It Don't Mean a Thing If it Ain't Got that Swing...."  I chose both. Click above to hear the jazz and/or Beethoven. 

Flow

Waves of sensuous melody

gently stroke the basilar.

The chamber of each hair cell

bursts with the flow

of pulsating charges

stimulating selected neurons

that stir the memory's charm.

Blood flows faster,

determined as voices surge

through the vibrating membrane.

Physical synchronizes

with emotional energy,

aching- soothing,

dissonance resolving

harmonies coalesce

in this resonating

flow. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Upon Viewing the Bog Bodies Exhibit at the National Museum of Ireland

On one of my research trips to Ireland, I visited the National Museum and viewed an exhibit of Bog Bodies. These were individuals who had been discovered buried for centuries within the bogs throughout the country. I was struck by my own emotions as I viewed these remains. At one point, I just wanted to place a warm blanket over their leathered remains and wish them a safe journey to be with our Lord. 

I took this photo of the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin, 

whilst sitting on a bench just outside the National Library.

Upon Viewing the Bog Bodies of Ireland
Inside
the exquisitely sculpted rotunda,
behind exhibits of gold and amber adornments,
exposed in tombs of plexiglass,
lay remains of people
who once held hands,
smiled gently to their loved ones,
kissed softly on moonlit nights.

Centuries pass,

and as her silent witness meets theirs,
she senses a tear's warmth
and whispers a prayer
that their spirits are far away
and at peace.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

One Autumn Morning

I created the following from today's facebook post because it was such a beautiful autumn day in Connecticut. It's extended a bit from pure inspiration. 

One Autumn Morning

On cool, crisp, autumn mornings, 

such as this, 

isn't it grand to sip a cup of coffee, 

set the world's troubles aside for a moment, 

observe the golden leaves falling 

from generous branches, 

knowing full well that eventually, 

those fallen whispers 

of joy and love

dancing through the air

as if they have one more chance,

one more hope 

to share in life's pleasures,

will be swept up 

and added to the compost

where they will begin life anew,

and the circuitous path begins.

©Jeanne I. Lakatos

Upon Reading Philosophy Late at Night

I've been up late at night recently, researching and writing my third book. Below is something to ponder 😏: 

Photo taken from my deck one night

Upon Reading Philosophy Late at Night

He galvanizes her

with cerebral massage.

Inhaling - exhaling,

his ancient, whispering breath

intellectually touches,

gently caresses, stirs.

Opening her mind

with vigorous contemplation,

she welcomes his

point of view.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Aurora Borealis

When the local meteorologist suggested that we, in Connecticut, would be able to see the geomagnetic event, an Aurora Borealis, I thought, "Okay, I'll check it out." Well, I looked out my backdoor window, which faces northward, and there it was: a beautiful, pinkish maroon sky amidst the stars. My camera barely captured the view. This was exactly as I saw the sky in Connecticut:

Aurora in Western Connecticut, Oct. 10, 2024

Auroras in Pleasant Valley, New York, Oct. 10, 2024

Aurora Borealis

I search the evening sky to see

the stars staring back at me 

at their usual positions

in the heavenly firmament.

Then, my eyes, are they deceiving me? 

There it is... softest glow of pink and maroon,

enveloping a fluffy mass of light clouds.

It makes me wonder if another's eyes 

are viewing this heavenly sight,

a shared brilliance from stars and aurora.

I thank God for allowing me 

the glorious view of the rosy hue, 

this geomagnetic event:

Aurora Borealis. 

 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

 

To Grandma

My Grandmother worked in the auto industry in Detroit, but she also had a special talent for baking Hungarian pastries, cakes, and of course, those great Hungarian dinners. She 'tried' to teach me how to create confectioner flowers, such as those she would make for the many wedding and birthday cakes that she created for people in the Detroit metropolitan area. The key words: she tried. I tried, too. Her patience with me was saintly.  

My Grandma, Anna

To Grandma

I feel your loving presence, 

my beautiful angel,

whenever I touch the petals of a rose, 

for your talented hands taught me

how to form each intricate petal

made from your famous sweet recipe.

No matter how many times I failed,

your tender words of comfort 

soothed my sorrow, my pain,

and through your beautiful eyes, 

I could see that sparkle of life

as you taught me what it was 

to love. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Comfort is a Crackling Fire

My Fireplace 

Comfort is a Crackling Fire

Another one of those days!

But now she is home;

it would all be better.

Except it wouldn’t -

cold, ice cold, here, there.

Her thoughts darken:

nothing familiar about

their contrived 'door'

through which she’d never

be granted permission to enter.

So she lay down her head

weary of the insanity

surrounded by frigid cruelty.

Even her warm tears,

now icicles crudely formed,

dangle precariously

from her drifting mind.

The sound of the crackling fire

in the fireplace 

envelops her

as she sleeps to surrender.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

A Humble Creation

 

Photo from Google Images

A Humble Creation

With every minute
the Mighty Sculpture
molds and shapes me 
into that which will
inevitably 
become the fulfillment 
of my dreams ~
His promise,
and I can feel
the special pliancy
of His wondrous hands
as He blends
the Sorrow and the Pain
into the sculpted Reality of 
Love and Joy 
in my life. 
I am a humble creation 
of the Almighty Artist. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Ballerina

This was a prompt, based on a photo by Keith Carter, which you see below. An example of ekphrasis, you will see my poetic interpretation of Carter's work. 

Ballerina

She had dreams

of becoming a ballerina

but God had other plans

even though she maintained

beauty

discipline

kinesthetic poetry 

on stage.

Up in smoke they went...

forming an obscurity

from which her Truth emerged,

clarified, revitalized:

beauty

discipline

kinesthetic poetry 

in stages.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

A Gathering of Souls

A Gathering of Souls

Friendship bound by a common thread

nourished with Eternal Bread

of kindness, love, and stories shared

revealing truth to one who cared.

These are the Blessings we unfold,

as youthful dreams become 'days of old'

and gatherings are more carefully planned,

honoring love as a theme so grand. 

Refrain from giving confusion reign!

A shivering soul has warmth to gain, 

I pick up my needle with colorful thread

  Repair the tattered.  

Share the Bread. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

One Toothy Smile... for a Price

Photo from Google Images: 6thsenselondon.com

One Toothy Smile... for a Price

The last time I was there,

she scrubbed and scraped

poked and prodded

flossed and fussed

asked me questions

and seemed to understand

my mouth-filled speech,

draped an x-ray proof

jacket upon me

left the room

to "take pictures"

stuffed my mouth

with a fluoride tooth tray

again left the room

called in the physician

who poked and prodded

gaped and nodded

examined the pictures

and stated quite satisfied,

“Your teeth are fine!”

Upon checking out,

the receptionist announced,

“That’ll be $400.00, please,

and would you like to make an appointment 

for 6 months from now?”

I’ll return...

when my tooth aches

more than my wallet.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Artistry

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

Your Smile - Votre Sourire

       

                                  This is a little patisserie in Rheims, France, 

                     where I had a lovely cup of coffee and an almond croissant. 

Your Smile                                                            Votre Sourire

I am alone                                                                Je suis seul.

but I am not lonely,                                              mais je n'ai pas de solitude,

for I have your smile                                           parce que j'ai votre sourire

in my heart.                                                            dans mon coeur.

Your love flows through me                             Votre amour, le courant a traversé moi 

with delightful enthusiasm                              avec l'enthusiasme ravissant,

as a cup of warm tea                                           comme une tassede thé chaud

 in a French cafe                                                  dans le restaurant du café en français

on a rainy day                                                      sur un jour de pluvieux

brings solace                                                        effectuer la consolation

and quiet laughter                                             et rire de calme

to my soul.                                                            a mon âme.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos                                           © Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

In English and en Francais aussi!)

Reservoir of Drought

Whilst so many people struggle with the aftermath from the forces of water released during the track of  Hurricane Helene, others in this same country struggle with a lack of precipitation. Contrasts in need for prayer!  

Reservoir of Drought

Reflections manifest colorful leaves

where gentle birdsongs have moved onward.

A forcible gust brings bend to the trees

as the north wind beckons to be honored.

Dried, exposed banks strive to protect 

vegetation that thirsts for relief

as waterfowl glide and easily detect 

abundantly exposed wild reeds.

Gasps of steam reach futilely for 
answers to struggling pleas, 
but the sun suffocates, intensifies more, 
and rain is nowhere to be seen.

Now is the time for prayer to go out
for release from this voracious drought. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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