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 little critter had hitched a ride in my hair because it wanted to hang out in the TRC. 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, 

chatting through a stellar night.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Face of Renaissance

 

This image of Jesus is in a tree in my front garden.

Face of Renaissance

See the insolence gently float away.

Turn and decide on Godly Good.

Replace worldly ambitions

with the guiding hand of Love.

A world changes to see His face

in all the energy and intricacy 

associated with the simplicity

of renaissance. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

An American Civil War Quilt Poem

Below is a narrative poem that I wrote decades ago
in which I used the American Civil War as its theme.

  A nine-patch quilt, hand-quilted by me

Two Tiny, Nine-Patch Doll Quilts

(An American Civil War Tale)

A tiny, nine-patch doll quilt

lay upon a tiny bed

made especially for Maggie Mae

the year her family fled

from all those scornful Yankees,

who were running through their town

setting homes and lives afire

causing Southern hopes to drown.

A tiny, nine-patch doll quilt

lay upon a tiny crib

made especially for Eleanor

the summer when her nib

was loosened from her pen in hand

as the Rebels fired loud

and soon her family huddled in fear

with the other Gettysburg crowd.

Two tiny, nine-patch doll quilts

heard two tiny prayers say,

“Dear Lord, please let our battled lands

be placed within Your peaceful stay,

and help our families change their hate

to Blessings filled with love.

Then, all of us will recognize

Your Blessings from above.”

Two tattered, nine-patch doll quilts

lie in honorable view,

for each is cherished dearly

by descendants of the two

who saw their lives so clearly

pass through war’s destructive side,

for one hundred years of prayer brought

a Rebel son his Yankee bride.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

Poetic Version of my Operetta, Luminescence, Chapter II. 'Morning'

a wooded glen nearby

From my operetta, Luminescence, 
a poetic version of Chapter II (Morning): 

II. Morning

One by one, the refrain of each morning bird 
replaces the subtle evening melodies, 
warbling with delightful purpose for 
the one song that harmonizes with hers. 

Soon, the woody patch of land is alive 
with a symphony of delicate pitches, 
led by the bobolink’s resonating voice. 
Echoing through the woods, their songs augment. 

A gentle zephyr turns this undisturbed plot 
into a pulsating, verdant sanctuary of wooded bliss. 
The breeze gracefully embraces feathered wings 
of russet, crimson and blue, as they touch 
the extended branches of the clustered trees. 

Each bough moves in a synchronized dance 
to the brushed rhythms of the singing birds in flight. 
Desire reigns gloriously in this place 
and passionately awaits another day to display 
her energetic embrace with life.

Soon, an auburn beam of light reaches into the center 
of this flora, gently kisses each stalk, 
wraps around the tender flowers, 
and awakens the new buds
for the coming of the empowering sun. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

The Wild Irish Girl: a national tale, written by Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)

The Wild Irish Girl by Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) and image from book

1888 edition from my collection

In her novel, The Wild Irish Girl, Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) introduces the ‘national tale’ and exquisitely moves the reader through a traditional, romantic legacy in the epistolary genre of literary style. Moreover, she employs the extensive use of explanatory sidebars to enlighten her readers of historical insights, such as the unjust penal codes within the Act of Union 1801. 

In addition, she unifies the reader with her cause, that of representing the Irish 'wild' or natural viewpoint of the English aristocracy with her unique voice, illustrating that similar passions faced by women also reflect the power struggle within the intellectual, Romantic era. Thus, her choice of the term, 'wild,' is deliberately freeing.  

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

'Dog Days' of Summer

Since we are in the midst of the 'Dog Days' of summer, I thought I'd write a quick verse about living through such days.

One summer day at East Lake, Danbury, CT

Dog Days of Summer

They're here: 

The humidity, heat, and oppressive days

that cause me to long for

 a bright, brisk autumnal morn. 

Temperance abbreviates 

as anxiety prevails 

with the ache for 

one cool breeze to refresh my soul. 

Oh, if only that gray cloud above

would just spill a few raindrops

to mingle with the dripping sweat

on my forehead and neck. 

Oh, Canada...

bring on that northern front

and turn this steaming grip

into a restorative, gentle caress.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

The Brook's Treasure

I wrote this poem many years ago from a memory of seeing a brook, bubbling in the middle of the woods. It's a pleasant rhyme that, hopefully, will bring a smile to your face and a 'treasure' to your heart as you move through your own circuitous path. Enjoy! 

 Photo of a neighbor's pond, fed by a little brook

The Brook's Treasure

For purposes I did wander

For answers I did look

until I finally came upon 

a funny, little brook. 

The brook was not a shallow one,

nor was it very deep,

but in this funny, little brook 

a Treasure I did keep.

The Treasure was a happy song

of life, of hopes, of joys,

and in the interlude there was

a melody of Peace. 

 

The song did have its high notes.

'Twas not without the low, 

and yet, I found that as I wade 

the song would fill my soul

with rippling harmonies

of peace, fulfillment, and the best~

a very special kind of Love

which called me to the test. 

 

I knew, as I sat wondering 

upon this brook tableau

that this was what I muddled for

so very long ago~

a song to fill my soul each day

a song so rich, so rare, 

a song composed of harmonies 

expelling through the air

and filling every twist and turn

with one selected Force~ 

a resolute assurance

of a Treasure true to course.

 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read this poem, please click HERE. 

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

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

Mathematical Sets

photo from Google Images

Mathematical Sets

It all figures:

balanced equations

sets of added digits

occasionally subtracted

measured by common factors

multiplied by these too

percentages based on 

the configuration 

of a situated one

in relation 

to the core.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): 19th Century Revolutionary

Sydney Owenson sheds light on the status of the common man and woman in mid-nineteenth century Ireland and incorporates semiotic structures within her works to communicate with her readers the various discrepancies in legislation, particularly the Act of Union 1801, decades after its enactment. Although inequity in governmental legislation exists internationally, by 1825, the imbalance within the legislative structures is unacceptable to intelligent people associated with the British or the Irish aristocracy along with the increasing numbers of female writers and readers.

For example, in the preface of her essay entitled, Absenteeism, she highlights the need for both the English and the Irish to be mindful of their patriotic responsibilities:

Notwithstanding the intense interest which is felt throughout all England concerning Ireland and Irish affairs, notwithstanding the frequent debates in parliament, and more frequent pamphlets and volumes published on points of Irish politics and economy, the prevailing ignorance on these subjects still operates powerfully in maintaining prejudices the most unfounded and the most fatal, and in retarding those measures of wisdom and of justice without which Ireland can never be happy; or the British Empire secure. [1]

In this statement, Owenson demonstrates commonality between the authority, England, and the respective community of Ireland, as she begins with the phrase, ‘notwithstanding the intense interest which is felt…’ Thus, she engages in the use of negative phraseology linked with passive voice to unite the divergent intentions of England and Ireland.

---

[1] Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan), Absenteeism, (London: Henry Colburn, 1825) pp. ix and x. For future reference within this study, the work will be cited as Abs.

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 Norcross, 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 sip a nice, cold sweet tea.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read this, please click HERE.

Declaration of Independence

Click the title below to go to Yale University's Avalon Project site:
Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776

When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident:

That all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.... 

A Yankee Doodle Dandy

A dear friend was like a surrogate Mom to me and just about everyone else in town.  Every 4th of July, she could be seen in the town parade, riding the back of a motorcycle. (See photo below.) She was the mother of several children now living across the U.S., grandma and great-grandma to oodles more, and just a love. If you have the time, click (tick) onto A Patriotic Wave  to visit my other blog and another poem. 

Happy 4th of July from Connecticut, U.S.A! 

A Yankee Doodle Dandy

She's everybody's Mother.

She 'owns' the third pew

 at Mass on Sunday and daily, too,

just to be sure the priests stay true.

 She's an early bird all right

this merry widow dressed in red.

Prayed for the man for whom she wore white

50+ years ago

whispered one last "I love you!"

Sang the blues.

Then...

hopped on the back of this one's bike,

held on tight to save her life. 

Waves, smiles, stories to share,

filling up on love

feathered boa in mid-air

This yankee doodle dandy

in red, white and blue!

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read this, please click HERE.

Thunder and Lightning, Then the Flood

'Tis the season...

I took this photo of lightning in Danbury, Connecticut.

Thunder and Lightning, Then the Flood

Flash!

An enlightened moment

of photon intensity

blinds the eye

and elicits the waiting

for thunderous rumble

that rattles a frame;

its invisible command

churns, collides, crashes.

Disrupting yet healing,
emptied tears

cross a parched terrain:

Flood!

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, just click HERE.