Artistry of a Poet's Hand

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

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.

Ugly Duckling's Pond

Years ago, Peadar's Poetry Jam prompt asked us to reveal an unknown from a fairy tale or myth. I chose one of my favorites, The Ugly Duckling's pond. 

Swans in East Lake, Danbury, Connecticut, U.S.A. 

Ugly Duckling’s Pond

Reeds sway

along the water’s edge,

 gentle waves

from graceful paddling

of a family of swans

lap up

heartbroken tears

as they embrace

the distorted reflections

of a duckling,

furtive and yearning.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

To hear me recite this, please click HERE. 

Just Before Dawn (The 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

Physics of Divine Love

Physics of Divine Love 

Harmony and illumination unconfined
by restrictions of the human mind 
impetuously flit throughout the universe
in joyful exhilaration. 

God's eye sees the vibrance.
God's ear hears the exuberance. 

God's hand touches the human heart. 

God's wisdom guides the human soul

to learn the truth of Divine Love. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.

Awaiting

 

Awaiting 

Eagerly, she awaits

 the perfect moment 

when God's Timing

aligns with the hope 

of many moments, many dreams.

Days, months, years

all carry the same hope, 

and each day brings her closer

to the joy and peace 

that accompany a renaissance of spirit

that only His guiding Love and divine Timing 

can bestow upon her awaiting heart.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

North Carolina Mountains

Mountains of Cullowhee, North Carolina  (photo from DuckDuckGo images)

 

North Carolina Mountains

 

The North Carolina Mountains, 

so beautiful, so sublime...

in my heart they’ve nestled in,

clinging to my eternal soul,

erasing the concept of time. 

 

Memories that I have there

are gentle, filled with love,

and in my quiet moments, 

I envision Angels recalling 

with peaceful smiles from above.

 

One day, when I return, 

 those hills of green will welcome me

 with gurgling brooks and lakes so clean,

and blissfully, I will sing along, 

coalescing with their sweet harmony.

 

© Jeanne Iris Lakatos

Three Part Harmony

One week, long ago, the Poetry Bus had Ms. Kat as its capable 'driver!' Her wish for us was to choose our favorite pub and make the name into a character. Well, my favorite pub, pictured below, was Molly Darcy's in Danbury, CT. It was and still is a place not too unlike the old Cheers bar where the owners and staff really got to know the patrons. I decided to choose Molly, an Irish icon from West Cork, Ireland, known for Celtic psychic talents and add her two best friends, Sheila and Cathleen, to create a little three part harmony. The name, Sheila, has origins in Ireland with a meaning close to 'heavenly' and Cathleen (or Kathleen) ni Houlihan has long been a cultural metaphor for the strength and resilience of Ireland. Enjoy!

Molly Darcy's, Danbury, Connecticut

Three Part Harmony

Molly, Sheila, and Cathleen

three ladies, one spirit

dressed in true green

flirting with melodies

of the wild and free.

Once, tears from a dazzling sun

cast shadows on dreams

but they shook off the dread

by using their heads

with hope, intricately sewn

in each well worn thread.

Now, with winks in their eyes

their songs fill the skies.

With their high heels and beer

they stir up the stardust 

from a firmament of cheer.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Take Time

Me, plucking the strings of my Celtic harp

Take Time

When the day has flown at rocket speed,

take time.

When the dog is barking in Kitty's face, 

take time.

When daily demands seem to overwhelm,

take time.

Take time to feel each moment's special glory.

Take time to hear the beauty in a sweet bird's voice.

Take time to love each task for its own story, 

and soon, the Infinite Beam

of life's loving Beacon

transforms the ordinary 

into extraordinary, 

creating simplicity

in time. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(You can hear my reading of this poem by clicking HERE.)

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.)

Trains! A Phantasmagorical Journey

Grand Central Station, NYC

Photo from Google Images

One week, my poetry group leader asked us to consider taking the train. Well, my trains of thought below switch tracks now and then: from London's Victoria Station Underground to the New York City's Metro North, which transported me from Connecticut via Brewster, NY to Grand Central Station, NY City, a phantasmagorical experience, centered with love. 

Phantasmagoria

My train of thought travels

along rickety tracks

holding onto every second

of life, whirling images

in hues of benevolence,

common sense,  and innocence

trying to make sense of it all,

love

Thrilling, drilling,

milling, willing,

this train has made stops:

friendships, family,

laughter, tears

love

Dedication, rumination,

allocation, tribulation,

abandonment, containment

achievement, bereavement

love.

Once, I rode the train in London.

It stopped suddenly, and we

were told to evacuate.

The bomb did not detonate!

Divine Love

I stepped through a city of bedlam

eyes of fear, fearless, far from home

found my way to the British Library

back to my daughter’s smiling eyes

alive and satisfied, determined:

Loved

Clickety-click, the clock ticks

in synchronicity with New York City.

Passengers wait, date, relate, abate

whirling past the swans, evergreens,

quaint boutiques of Chappaqua:

country love

to Harlem’s door,

racing past graffiti,

colors smearing, words jeering

interlocking letters on a wall

textual shout outs: anxious, proud

confused, fused, words:

city love

Bridge to tunnel, dark, lights blink

so many tracks, interlace under

this train slowly squeals to a stop,

doors open; we walk through the gates

under a Grand Central firmament

to blend in with the multitude

and I am one...

love.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(You can hear my reading of this by clicking HERE.)

A Long Sentence, Silence is.

Below is a poem inspired by a number of events involving my family and friends in which the long wait in a hospital sometimes has felt like a sentence. Waiting for word from medical staff on the outcome of a loved one leads to the mixed feelings of worry, loneliness, and hope. I wrote this as one very long sentence with the subject Silence and the verb, is because in these moments, we gain strength in the silence. 

 

Coole Park, Ireland

A Long Sentence 

While moist eyes wait

for word of your condition,

inquiring of God 

if I will experience your vibrance again,

though the response is "I don't know,"

though I smile to hide my tears,
though my heart yearns to beat

with the rhythm of your joy,

waiting

for the word that brings hope

for the song of your smiles 

for your breath of “yes”

within is the silence 

of a long sentence

and outside:

the wind,

the rain,

a lone lea,

me,

then the sun.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Listening...

A view of a cold, wet Spring day

Listening... 

I feel strength in the wind today.
It doesn't care what I have to say
because it has a job to do,
spreading seeds and pollen everywhere, 
so I stand very still and listen with care. 

Birds do not chirp as they did the day before, 
but they dart from branch to branch
seeking shelter and food with no worries
about their cold, wet feathers. 
In fact, they seem to enjoy this weather.

Windblown hair wraps around my face
and darting raindrops pelt my cheeks, 
yet here I stand listening
to the bare branches click with delight,
their strong leaf blossoms stand up to the fight. 

Puddles that form along the road 
reflect low, ethereal clouds, 
gliding through the gray sky, 
like pictures painted by a Master's hand.
 Then, I hear a message, simple but grand: 
"Let go; let God." 

© Jeanne Iris Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

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

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.)

BLISS is my word.

Once, one of my professors asked our class to choose a word from Spenser's The Faerie Queene that particularly intrigued us. I chose the word, bliss. Below is a poem that explains my perspective of this word, for I thankfully pray for blessings received each day.

"Praise the Lord with the harp, make music to Him on the ten-string lyre. 

Sing to Him a new song, play skillfully and shout for joy." (Psalm 33: 2-3) kjv

Bliss

In the Oxford English Dictionary

 resides the little word,

bliss

So many entries for this little word:

bless, blessed and even bleche!

Heavenly gifts 

juxtaposed 

with human expression.

We have the responsibility

to emulate higher levels of demeanor

to elevate awareness,

for each of us has been blessed

with gifts that enhance the living

presence surrounding us

moving humanity forward

in peaceful bliss.

My bliss originates 

in the glorious way 

we speak to one another.

I scrutinize others,

make mental notes 

of their paralanguage:
spiritual linguistics

where the core of truth 

generates the coexistence 

of benevolence and deceit: dissonance!

Sometimes, this confuses me…Bleche!

so I retreat 

to Prayer, the voice within, the Glor*

where music of eternal natural peace 

and soothing sound waves of passion

form consonant harmonies,

my personal bliss.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos    

*Glor: the Irish Gaeilge word for voice, sound

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.) 

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.