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.)

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

Sydney Owenson: Weaving Threads of Culture Together

From my book: 

In Sydney Owenson’s national tales, she weaves together threads of disenfranchisement and enchantment, capturing the essence of the politically inspired Romantic era, in which the grand is intentionally written to be grander, where literary characterizations entwine with political forces within a civil society. 

The English aristocracy and the publishing community accept Owenson as a significant member of their elite societies through her writing and marriage to Sir Charles Morgan. Even though she takes the name, ‘Lady Morgan,’ she remains loyal to her Irish roots as Sydney Owenson. Her loyalty to both identities serves her expressive purposes well, for she carefully coordinates these unique influences into her text by merging the English tale of aristocratic inheritance with Irish ideology. 

Not only did Sydney Owenson bring innovation to Irish literature in the form of national tales written from a woman’s perspective, but also she included illuminating research in each of her works on the historical significance of her characters, their personal and political milieux, and their sociolinguistic backgrounds. She includes a wide range of socioeconomic and ethnic variables within the linguistic components of her characters’ discourse. 

For these reasons, she has been an excellent choice in researching the relevance of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries’ revolutionary period in Europe and America. Her interest in uniting political factions and social classes as a way to open communication for the cause of justice in Ireland during this era is clearly evident in her thematic structures and characterizations. 

The Slug: "Fortune Favors the Brave"

"Fortes fortuna iuvat!" 
(Fortune favors the brave!) 

~ Latin Proverb

Sometimes, with certain 'green-eyed' slugs, we have to take defensive action; other times, it pays simply to observe the power of Light. 

www.thisgardenisillegal.com/ 2006/07/how-to-ki..

The Slug

Hypocritical green-eyed slug

compulsively feeds upon

the entrails of authenticity.

Vomiting truth along its way,

its impish, soul-less self

solely thrives on

cunning insults and ineptness.

It binges on fictional fervor

slinking in slimy skin,

 blinded by its own limitations.

It lurks about for its next victim

to entice with fabricated promises,

while other small, spineless creatures

easily fall prey to its ‘virtue.’

However...

 the Truth that this slug rejects

soon takes on a life of its own,

swirling through the air with sweet fragrance,

fusing with fortitude.

Yet still, slinking along, the slug

slowly attempts to cross my path…

I lift my elegant boot

to squish it! Squish it good!

Ah, but there's no need to squish,
for below me, I witness:

evaporating in the powerful Light,
slimy innards,
consumed
from their lack of substance. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

The Holy Rosary

 October 7th was the Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary. Let's use this tactile praying device to bring the power of our Lord, Jesus Christ into our midst. Reciting the prayers of the Rosary is a powerful, meditative communication in which many have engaged through the centuries. 

Here is a link to a broadcast from Dr. Taylor Marshall on 19 quotes regarding the praying of the Holy Rosary: https://youtu.be/TICywhRRLk8

Below are brief step-by-step instructions for praying the Rosary: 

https://youtu.be/VgsadNfbMYA

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 )

Autumnal Still: Life

Photo taken on my side deck

Autumnal Still: Life

The pine cones, ripped away from their branches
by a chilly northwest wind, 
the wax candle, ready to be lit, 
and the sugar pumpkin, tempting small animals 
with its sweet nutrition
all rest in silent beauty
as the north wind 
continues to release its fury 
upon their stoic forms. 
Do they each have a purpose?
They seem quite confident
in their positions placed;
so they sit, unknowing
of the possibilities, ready to burst
from the hardened structures that protect 
their gentle, Divine essence within
 the Autumnal still: life.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon

After the heat of summer,

the sweltering, suffocating heat, 

a welcoming breeze wafts over her skin

as she inhales the cool, crisp breath of autumn. 

  And there is the moon, 

  the Harvest moon, 

the Super moon

 in all its glory. 

Her eyes behold 

the luminescence

reflected from the sun

as she wistfully wonders,

"Is anyone else gazing at this brilliant sight 

with hopeful eyes and heartfelt smile?" 

Soothing wishes warm the night 

a comforting, timeless Salve. 

  

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Memory Sustained

I took the photograph whilst driving south of Dublin, lost and 'blind' to the correct pathway to a professional conference at I.A.D.T. in Dun Laoghaire, Ireland. Thanks to a few kind gentlemen at Dunphey's Pub and their fine directions with a hand-drawn map, I was able to make it to the afternoon panel presentations. Having learned my lesson, the following day, I took the bus and presented my own paper on time. 

(I captured this church in the sunlight near Dun Laoghaire, Ireland.)

Memory Sustained 

A blinding moves her

to close the blind,

now shielded

from the brilliance

Outside-

The hour of dusk

palpitates

with a creative verve

releasing the gold

Within-

Shards of light

simply cannot blind,

for Memory sustains 

the weakest eye.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this vers, please click HERE.

To Flâneur

A group of trees with fallen leaves of various Autumnal hues

To Flâneur

Today, I longed to flâneur

through the fallen leaves, 

wandering, 

wondering 

about the way each leaf sprouted

from the great tree branches

just months ago,

small, green buds, 

excited

to live their lives along

the trees' limbs, 

providing 

shade on a hot summer day, 

food for the ravenous caterpillars,

waving in soft breezes

that brought peace of mind

to this worried soul.

Now, these same leaves

contain the vivid colors of gold, russet and red,

some, newly fallen, 

gently kiss the top of my head,

while others crunch 

beneath my feet. 

That's what it means to flâneur

among fallen leaves, 

embracing 

the glory of Autumn. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Wild Roses

 

Wild Roses, full bloom in my garden

From my operetta, Luminescence: 

How can this Rose grow steadily on the vine
and not see the goodness of her Diviner’s gift?

The holy offerings of kindness, 

joy and cerebral inspiration

have led to this moment of jubilant glory.

I erupt with vitality, basking in this moment

of perfect harmony with the one who bestows 

wisdom deep in my spirit.

Humbled by the magnitude of this influence,

I breathe in the goodness.

Evensong radiates compassion on my heart.

© Jeanne Iris Lakatos

Singing the "Blues"

Every year, when my Siberian irises bloom, thoughts of my Dad return to me. Below is a poem about the irises that he brought to me many years ago. He commented, "They're your flower, Jeanne Iris. The blue matches the blue in your eyes and they bear your name." This was a significant statement, for my genetic 'flaw' of blue eyes had always made me feel like an outsider, for everyone else in my immediate family has brown eyes. 

Blue Irises

My Dad brought me some irises

one day

I planted them,
and when 'moving day' arrived,

those bulbs were dug up
brought along for the ride.

Now, in late May, they appear

bearing memories of his smiles 

more vividly than the previous year

keeping his beautiful memory alive.

As I strive to achieve daily goals,

his voice rings clearly in my ear:

"You can be anything you want to be, my dear...

if you just persevere."  

Rest in Peace, Dad. 

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

The poem below describes the first thing I experience in the morning. One of my favorite times of a day is that moment when I first awaken, sometimes still dreaming, and I look out my window to a lovely little forest, night animals still calling to their mates, no human sound outdoors at all. It's just before dawn, and just after that 'darkest hour,' and for only a few minutes, everything is blue. 

Just Before Dawn (The Blue)
Eyes open slowly.
Still, I walk along that lovely beach
and glance up to see a small village.

That same, intriguing dream,
now, it fades away
with the early morning mist.
 I feel a gentle, cool breeze
waft across my face
and turn my head
toward the choir of crickets,
still calling to their mates.

An owl wings its way
midst entangled branches,
eerily hooting through the blue.
My gaze reaches the maple tree
standing tall in this tableau
all blue, shades of blue, no other color
but blue... everywhere!

Leaves, tree trunks, even the lone deer,

all blue.

It's no longer evening, not yet dawn.
Sky and sea are one magic hue.
The song of one bird greets me:
a prayer for the new day
in this tranquil moment of
blue.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read these poems, please click HERE.

Hope

My focus here is an individual, trying to catch a break, the proverbial 'brass ring on the carousel of life', feeling the dizziness and fatigue of the ride (or running in circles...multiple meanings there, too), parched for answers and passionate with hope.

http://k41.pbase.com/g4/78/672378/2/61284496.Carousel.jpg

flickr.com/photos/ 78252871@N00/437700770/

Hope

Tears amid the cheers

reaching for the brass, 

spinning,

thirsting for the flow

only to turn away parched,

tongue swelling in dry air 

hot 

with the fever of hope. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.