An American Civil War Narrative

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

Since the Battle of Gettysburg occurred between July1-3, 1863, today is appropriate to post this one. 

  A nine-patch quilt, hand-quilted by me

Two Tiny, Nine-Patch Doll Quilts

(An American Civil War Narrative)

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 

"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.

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

 

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.

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.

Beoufed Up

Below is a poem I wrote a while ago after passing a neighbor's farm and seeing the cows getting loaded into a red cattle van. I was amazed to see the reaction of the cows across the street in the lower pasture, who were obviously distraught. On my next walk, I came across the farmer's wife, and she informed me that the cows were only on their way to their annual check up. Whew!!!

These are some of the cows that I saw. 

Beoufed Up

Brown cows loaded

into a red cattle van

One last bellow

to spare their ribs

Black cow shouts out

from the lower pasture

"Don't worry, Girlfriend!

I'll meat you on the other side."

This week, the 'girls' may be on the menu:

Porterhouse, Sirloin, Filet Mignon

"Medium Rare, au jus on the side, please."

I wonder,

as the restaurant patrons

pass the emptied pasture

in beefed up red sports cars

with their beoufed up selves,

will there be a longing?

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

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

Power of Love

East Lake, Danbury, Connecticut

Power of Love

This Power of Love

electrifies, magnifies, clarifies

the Divinity 

within our living, human souls. 

Always moving us forward

through the darkness, the sadness

the vacuity, 

and into a peaceful sharing

of the Light, the Joy, 

the Promise.

Thus, I am eternally grateful 

for this Power of Love

that echoes through our lives, 

purifying us for the next

as this Love from our hearts,

overflowing,

carries us gently 

into the Peace, the Hope, 

the Blessed Purpose

of this Journey together.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

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

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

"But the Greatest of these..."

1 Corinthians: 1-13 (kjv)

1 If I speak with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

2 And if I should have prophecy and should know all mysteries, and all knowledge, and if I should have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.

3 And if I should distribute all my goods to feed the poor, and if I should deliver my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind: love is envieth not, dealeth not perversely not; is not puffed up;

5 Is not ambitious, seeketh not her own, is not provoked to anger, thinketh no evil;

6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth;

7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

8 Love never falleth away: whether prophecies shall be made void, or tongues shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed.

9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.

10 But when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away.

11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became an adult, I put away the things of a child.

12 We see now through a glass in a dark manner; but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known.

13 And now there remain faith, hope, and love, these three: but the greatest of these is love.

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.

Attack of the Georgia June Bugs

June bug from DuckDuckGo Images

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.

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

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

My Joycean Journey

Quite a few years ago, on June 17th, yes, the day after Bloomsday, I intended to attend a conference held on the IADT (Institute of Art Design and Technology) campus in Dun Laoghaire, Ireland. Since I wasn't scheduled to present until the 19th, I thought I'd drive myself for the first day's activities. After carefully surveying maps and consulting Mapquest, I sat myself in the driver's seat and decided to drive myself. Since I'm left-handed, driving on the left side of the road comes naturally to me. I was set to go. FOUR HOURS later, I drove into the parking lot of IADT. The following days, I relied on the bus. 

Below is a photo I took whilst I was lost: 

Day After Bloomsday: 

My Own Odyssey in Dun Laoghaire, Ireland

I pass by Davy Byrne's pub 

And think, “I must go there for a pint.”

It’s just off Grafton Street, ye know. 

And there’s the Ormond Hotel (Sirens chapter) 

But I must get on the M-50 to Dun Laoghaire.

It’s now 9:30. 

I get off the M-50 and drive along the highway,

I go through a town and find another highway.

Water is to my left. So beautiful! 

I take a picture and miss my turn.

So I ask for directions from a lovely garda. 

“Oh, I know exactly where ye want to go. 

I used to pick mushrooms there 

when I was a boy. Shame what they’ve done

To that land now. A real shame. It’ll take you

no time at all to get there.”

I follow his directions to the T…

And end up at the Martello tower.

The Coast Guard tell me I’m almost there.

10:30 I missed the first panels.

I drive around Sandycove 

And around Sandycove

And around Sandycove 

And around.... well, you get the picture...

I see cliffs in the distance. I want to jump….

End up back in City Center Dublin!

I pass the Gardai station again

in Dun Laoghaire... and keep driving.

Eventually,

I see a little red pub: Dunpheys Pub

1:00 (I’ve missed Lunch.) 

I beg them to tell me where IADT is. 

“I’ve heard there’s a blue, boxy building,” sigh I. 

One kind gentleman says to another,

“Oh, I know where that is. 

Tom’s son goes there. 

Here, let me draw you a map.”

He proceeds to draw each traffic light, 

And tells me which lane to drive in.

I make it! Just in time for the 2:00 panel. 

When I return to my hotel room,

An email awaits me from my friend,

“Jeanne,” he says, “You MUST go to 

Davy Byrne’s pub, the Martello Tower,

(Opening Ithaca chapter-

where Buck Mulligan descends the stairwell.) 

Sandycove, the cliffs of Killiney… 

That’s real Joyce country.” 

I smile as my keys click the reply… 

Been there, done that. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

Media Arts Building, IADT, Dun Laoghaire, Ireland, where mushrooms once grew.

Bloomsday! (June 16th)

I took this photo of O'Neill's Pub, Suffolk St., Dublin, Ireland 27 May, 2010.

---that was the one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you yes that was why I liked him---  (from Molly Bloom's soliloquy in the novel, Ulysses, by James Joyce)

Happy Bloomsday! In James Joyce's novel, Ulysses, Leopold Bloom epitomizes the concept of circuitous paths, as he meanders through the streets of Dublin on the 16th of June, 1904. The following is an excerpt from a paper I presented in Dun Laoghaire last year. It will be a chapter in a book to be published this year with Peter Lang Publishers and illustrates the use of iconic realism in James Joyce's Ulysses as well as in the medieval poem, Roman de la Rose. The following excerpt from that chapter discusses the character, Molly Bloom, who speaks out in the final 'Penelope' chapter through 40 pages of stream of consciousness and not a punctuation point to be found... an amazing read!

            In his novel, Ulysses, James Joyce illustrates parochial dissonance by means of Victorian feminine perceptions throughout Molly Bloom’s soliloquy in the final chapter of his epic tale. Using stream of consciousness in a manner unparalleled at this novel’s publication, Joyce leads his audience to the entrance of the sphere of Molly’s mind, taking the reader to every crevice of her feminine consciousness. Joyce defies the social stigma of women during this era as he interweaves Molly Bloom’s expression of a unique feminine point of view.

            Through Molly’s voice, he seeks answers to his own challenge with a feminine defiance of human weakness. The Ireland in which James Joyce lives is in the midst of revolution. As Joyce leaves his ancestral home, he allows his own genius to flourish. He sees the result of the male world’s design for women and seeks to illuminate the world with its significance. His personal associations with women frame the female portrait of Molly Bloom, as he places Molly in the midst of the Victorian era, with its focus on proper placement of gender roles, customs and even nations, carries the burden of living with this regimented philosophical point of view. Joyce designs the person of Molly to reveal traits that originate from conventional Victorian masculine ideas of how a woman should act or think. Joyce writes Molly as one whose actions have a tendency to focus upon her sexual desires. Molly, like Ireland, is a contradiction of human spirit. On one hand, she is independent, wild, yet she depends on the ruler of her heart for identity. 

Prayer of St. Columba of Ireland

The Prayer of St. Columba

Be a bright flame before me, O God

a guiding star above me.

Be a smooth path below me,

a kindly shepherd behind me

today, tonight, and for ever.

Alone with none but you, my God

I journey on my way;

what need I fear when you are near,

O Lord of night and day?

More secure am I within your hand

than if a multitude did round me stand.

Amen.      

                

               

Happy Flag Day! June 14

Happy Flag Day! 

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.