A Humble Creation

I am posting this poem in honor of my daughter's Birthday. She is indeed a 'humble creation of the Almighty Artist.'  

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

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

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

 

Sydney Owenson's 'The Wild Irish Girl' and Revolutionary Thought

Sydney Owenson’s national tales and narrative poetry echo those of the American colonists in regard to humanity’s birth right of freedom, particularly in the way her British characters interact with Irish characters. Owenson sees the Irish used as scapegoats for England’s perceived imperial failure and, through her writing, takes a stand against the British. While she leads her fellow country men and women to awareness of individual and national pride, she also sheds light upon the conditions of the nineteenth century female, that of subjugation to male dominance. 

Particularly in The Wild Irish Girl, Owenson reveals eighteenth century societal dictates present within the Irish culture. Her inclusion of Irish speech involves the ‘wild’ Irish instructing the British aristocracy on truths evident to the Irish but virtually unknown by the intruding British. For example, the main female character’s name is Glorvina, the word glor in Irish, meaning voice. In one of her initial conversations with the British character, Horatio, she explains the significance of Irish music: 

This susceptibility to the influence of my country’s music, discovered itself in a period of existence, when no associating sentiment of the heart could have called it into being; for I have often wept in convulsive emotion at an air before the sad story it accompanied was understood: but now- now- that feeling is matured, and understanding awakened. Oh! You cannot judge-cannot feel- for you have no national music; and your country is the happiest under heaven! [1]

Audaciously, Owenson configures historical and linguistic elements of Ireland within this foundational national tale and juxtaposes these elements with those of Great Britain through her two main characters, illustrating a cultural fantasy of an Anglo-Irish coalition. 

_____________________________________________________

[1] Sydney Owenson, The Wild Irish Girl, Boston: Joseph Greenleaf, 1808, p. 92.

Odes to Pancakes

Photo from 'Duck Duck Go' images

Below is a duet of poetry focusing on the pancake theme in the rondeau form and then a parody of e.e. cummings' poem, "O Sweet Spontaneous."

Ode to Pancake Temptation

There, on my fine bone china plate

Five pancakes can't be a mistake

and neighboring maple trees in a row

provide home grown syrup to amply flow,

as fresh, sweet butter on top does skate.

To eat this meal at such a rate

won’t help in my quest of losing weight

yet hunger’s there; it won’t let go

there, on my fine bone.

This morning sure has sealed my fate

through personal, philosophical debate

but now, determined to my pinky toe,

it's wisdom’s garden I must hoe,

and make these feet accelerate 

there, on my fine bone.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

O Sweet Pancake Temptation

(a parody of e.e. cummings' "O Sweet Spontaneous")

O golden pancakes

drip

               ping

with sweet syrup

extracted

from maple’s vein

and butter 

squeezed

from bovine's 

p

u

r

i

t

y.

Does humanity

know the 

sacrifice

from earth’s offerings

for gluttony’s

bliss?

My delight 

pours forth

dripping

                       sweet 

with

appreciation 

and a little

blueberry pancake guilt.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE. 

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

(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic in English and en Francais, click HERE.) 

Autumnal Morning

I created this because it was such a beautiful, breezy autumn day in Connecticut. 

Autumnal Morning

On cool, crisp, autumn mornings, 
such as this, 
isn't it grand to sip a cup of coffee or tea, 
set the world's troubles aside for one 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

All Saints Day: Jeanne d'Arc

For All Saint's Day (Nov. 1), 

I've chosen to write of my patron saint, Jeanne d'Arc, 

whose spirit I've admired for her strength and perseverance. 

Jeanne d'Arc in Battle by Hermann Stilke (1803-1860)

Jeanne d'Arc's Death at the Stake  by Hermann Stilke (1803–1860)    

Jeanne d’Arc

Stalwart, spiritual,

she engages

an army

of anxious souls.

Her fate: rejection

inflamed 
by the ignorant

transporting her

to glorious praise

from Love’s Source.

Courage endures

through

fervent benevolence 

and truest devotion to God. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  

To view a website devoted to Jeanne d’Arc:

 https://www.jeanne-darc.info/

Reservoir of Drought

Whilst so many people of Jamaica and the Caribbean struggle with the aftermath from the forces of water released during the track of Hurricane Melissa, others in this 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.)

October 30th Connecticut Snow Storm

 

My driveway, 30 October 2011

Connecticut October Snow Storm

Beneath an azure sky,

the north wind

whispers

an apology

as it shakes the snow

from bended branches.

Trees accept its apology

and benevolently reveal 

their autumnal gold.

Powerless

I look out my window

to receive

this visage

of inner strength:

empowerment.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

Last Yellow Leaf

A last yellow leaf from one of my trees

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.)

In God's Time

Photo taken in Danbury, Connecticut

In God's Time

Taking my time, 
moving through a daily routine, 
I've come to that moment 
when I become anxious 
for answers to questions unresolved. 

Then, a thought enters my mind, 

moves through me, and reaches my soul. 

It becomes a prayer, guiding me 

to these feelings of love, peace, joy

that encompass me. 

No longer am I filled with doubt, 

for purpose supplants ache, and now, 

I feel Divine Love open my heart with His aim 

on a path, carefully tread 

in God's Time.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

You can listen to me recite this verse in my 'froggy' January voice by clicking HERE.

When in France...

                                         The view from a hotel room in Reims, France, taken some years ago.

A few years ago, I presented a paper at the annual Association of Franco-Irish Studies conference in Reims, France. Ever since I spoke that first French word in my ninth grade French class, I've longed to go to that country. Finally, decades later, my dreams came true but not without the unfortunate realization that there were no washcloths at my hotel. So.....

When in France

In a French hotel in la cité de Reims,

an American searches for a washcloth. 

Alas, she finds none in this room,

so she must make do. 

This is France after all.

Sparkling white tub beckons her.

“Okay, Okay!”

She turns the water handle to HOT

and gently pours shampoo into the steady stream,

splashing the rising water to create more bubbles.

Then, smiling, she steps into the steaming water,

now filled with mounds of fluffy, fragrant bubbles,

closes her eyes and whispers to the 13-year-old girl

sitting in a French class, south of Detroit, decades ago.

“Oui, Jeanne ... tu seras en France un jour.”

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read this verse, please click HERE.

From my operetta, Luminescence, Advice from Anne Bradstreet (Represented as the Passion Flower)

Passion Flower from Google Images

In my operetta, Luminescence, a re-write of the 13th century French narrative poem, Roman de la Rose, the spirit of the poet, Anne Bradstreet, as represented by the passionflower, gives the following advice to Rose. I wrote this with Bradstreet's poetic style in mind:

My name was Anne Bradstreet,

and I have a story of devotion to tell. 

My life was dedicated to the sacrifice 

of one who gave His life, that I might have mine. 

I saw the need for all people, men and women, 

to be mindful of the importance of their individual spirits. 

My passion for the love of my life 

is ever-growing even as I speak from the spirit. 

The seeds one plants in life 

are carried forth to benefit future generations, 

bringing into view the truth of love and devotion 

in a physical manifestation of Divine Ordinance. 

One needs to remember always 

that humility of thought begins 

with the acceptance of the challenge 

within one’s heart. 

Each individual must fulfill that desire 

in order to fulfill the Will of the Almighty. 

Attention to this desire will bring 

happiness and contentment 

as a central focus of one’s life, 

and there will be calm 

in the heart 

of any troubled soul. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Anne Bradstreet

Note: 

Anne Bradstreet was an English-American poet who was born in Northampton, England in 1612 and died in North Andover, Massachusetts in 1672. 

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

Far from Death

Years ago, the 'Poetry Bus' challenge asked us to ponder the question of eternity. I had a near death experience many years ago, but the memory of it remains with me as vividly as if it occurred yesterday. Yes, that wondrous light! And from my experience, I know that we are all spirits of light. A truly enlightened life consists of opening one's mind, soul, and perceptions to this concept that time and space interlace in a seamless refraction.

Photo taken by me in Roscommon, Ireland

Far from Death

Illumination

pervades my senses:

intermittent iridescence

Refines 

with intensity of adversity

Defines 

my deepest core

a profusion of circumstance

Refracts

breath and breadth

into perfect harmony 

Manifestation: 

divine inspiration, 

my sphere

should I choose to embrace. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

To hear me recite this verse, just click HERE. 

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.)

Empty Nest

 

Empty Nest

Nest of winter

left over from the hot, summer months,

carefully interlaced grasses

rest peacefully against a raftered wall.

This nest that once was the home, 

center of life for the young feathered ones

whose songs welcomed sleepy ears each morning

and sang 'good night' echoes to begin each evening. 

Now, the silence reigns,

bringing with it the howling, wintry winds, 

as the strength of woven grasses awaits

another answered prayer for the warmth and hope 

of Spring.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

The Mill

Long ago, a friend told me about this beautiful mill, located in Floyd County, Virginia. I found a picture of it in a history book and saw the serene beauty of this sight, so I took out my oil paints and painted my own version of the mill: Mabry Mill is its name. Below are two photos. One is a photo from Google Images. The other is my painting of the lovely Mabry Mill in Floyd County, Virginia. The poem revolves around this stalwart mill.

The 'melodious Lark' in the poem refers to Ralph Vaughn Williams' masterpiece, The Lark Ascending. You can hear the lovely melody if you click HERE. 

Photo of Mabry Mill, Virginia

 from Google Images

 

My painting of Mabry Mill, Virginia

                                             

The Mill

Quietly and peaceful

 The Mill does stand

In harmony with God's land,

and in its tranquil solitude

the melodious Lark 

sings its sweet etude. 

All the while, 

the Mill in steady repose sings: 

"I'll be here

as long as the wind does carry

His song through the realms of time. 

I'll be here for you ~ 

My love will ne'er weary

for your spirit 

inspires

my Joy. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

One Waft

A waft of air, lifting leaves from a tree in my backyard.

One Waft

One waft of autumnal air: 

tumbles the gold leaf 

and lifts the hawk's wing; 

each with its own resolve.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Goal: Inspiration

Me, on my side deck, years ago,

reading Sydney Owenson's (Lady Morgan's) Book of Memoirs

Goal: Inspiration

With each cleansing breath 

she inhales 

the aroma of the glow, 

releases 

toxic confusion,

breathes 

purity of heart and mind,

feels

the respiration 

moving through her body.

Through her brain,

each thought

dances

to effervescent stirrings 

as her dream

evolves

from ache to inspiration.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear my reading of this poem, please click HERE .

"Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, A Deleted Segment of Walt Disney's 1940 film, "Fantasia"

Click below to view the film clip: 

"Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, A Deleted Segment of Walt Disney's 1940 film, "Fantasia"

I came upon this beautiful interpretation of "Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, deleted from the final version of the Disney classic film, Fantasia. A visual and aural illustration of life's circularity, this film depicts innovation in the art of filmmaking for the time in which the artists and musicians collaborated to create this film. The love expressed in this one scene makes my heart sing. Moreover, I really love the blue tones in the scene above, for they remind me of the very early morning, right before sunrise, when the flora and fauna all contain shades of blue.  

Below is the opening recitative from my operetta, Luminescence, an interpretation of the 13th century poem, Roman de la Rose. It also focuses on the moon as it relinquishes its light to the sun:

The moon, known as Lunula, emits a soft, silver glow onto the indigo and deep green foliage where life renews in the created shadows of the garden’s crevices. Then, she silently dismisses darkness from the fertile land. As daybreak slowly creates an elusive blush, Lunula moves aside to allow her eminence, the sun, its splendid glow in the dawning light. Knowing that her radiance is dependent on the reflection of the sun, Lunula illuminates this shaded, overgrown venue with dignity and grace, providing inspiration for the precious life over which her luminescence humbly drifts. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

To hear me read this, please click HERE.