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. 

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.