A Day with Wintry Trees

The following group of poems are a brief narrative that describe one full wintry day. Since we recently experienced another New England Nor'easter this past weekend, I thought it would be appropriate. 

I took these photos in Danbury, Connecticut.

A Day with Wintry Trees

As morning sun

awakens each snowflake

adorning bare limbs,

and trees sigh

in serenity's brilliance,

one last, golden leaf glistens

in the snowy shower

when a brisk wind

draws its stem from a tree,

and in this release,

the leaf tumbles

in a dance of jubilation.

This leaf drifts to the ground,

and the tree,

now naked and sparkling

in the sun's warmth,

stands tall and ready

to accept its wintry destiny.

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

Golden sun illumines

the end of this day.

Behind striated clouds

of pink and orange,

an aqua sky enhances

the illumination

as dancing branches rattle,

yielding to the variant wind.

She breathes in the song

of this winter night

and surrenders to its peace,

lets the fresh, brisk air

fill her smile, for she sees

the tiny footprints of animals

braver than she,

leading to the tree's hollow.

Nurtured by the moon’s iridescence 

and a dominion of love,

they snuggle 

within a newly fallen leaf.

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

Evergreens mingle

with snow-kissed branches.

The canopy opens

to welcome a thousand stars

spread across the midnight sky,

and under their distant radiance,

she whispers, “Humbly, I adore Thee.” 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  

You can hear me recite this poem by clicking HERE.

"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.

Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)

Decades ago, I lived in Atlanta and received a letter from a friend who lived in my hometown in Michigan. She wrote to tell me that our mutual friend in Junior High School had committed suicide. We were all cheerleaders, and it was so sad to learn that this young girl came to such a sad ending. After praying, I wrote this poem, "Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)." Unfortunately, our friend ended up as a drifting river. 

Photo of a stream near my home with a small, gentle waterfall and many rocks

Faith like a Rock

(or Ode to a Friend)

So this is life ~

engulfing 

the sorrows and heartaches

of human weakness.

There are no tides without the ocean depths.

A tear can stroke my cheek,

but where is Faith?

The heart can contain emotions.

The soul can contain feelings.

A waterfall may flow forever, 

but without the steadfast Rock,

it is only a drifting river.

Each of us has a Rock

which harbors our heart. 

The stronger the Rock, 

the more tender the soul. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Empty Nest

 

Empty Nest

Nest of winter

left over from the hot, summer months,

carefully interlaced grasses

rest peacefully against a raftered wall.

This nest that once was the home, 

center of life for the young feathered ones

whose songs welcomed sleepy ears each morning

and sang 'good night' echoes to begin each evening. 

Now, the silence reigns,

bringing with it the howling, wintry winds, 

as the strength of woven grasses awaits

another answered prayer for the warmth and hope 

of Spring.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Ash Wednesday

 

“But thou, when thou fastest anoint thy head, and wash thy face; That thou appear not to men to fast, but to thy Father who is in secret: and thy Father who seeth in secret, will repay thee.”

(Matthew 6:17-18) kjv

Bluebird Dream

Years ago, TFE's Poetry Bus  had Kate the Emerging Writer as its driver. She provided us with three excellent prompts, and I chose to apply my own version of l'esprit d'escalier for Prompt III and a little of Prompt II, too, so I guess this was a combo plate. For those unfamiliar with bluebirds, they are the most beautiful little birds on the planet. Below, I've included a photo of one that I took from my living room window... for your viewing pleasure.

Bluebird perched on a maple tree branch

Bluebird Dream

Letting the pen fall,

she sighed into a dream.

There, her responses

were perfectly timed

and no one left the room

unaffected.

She was strong, efficient.

Perseverance was her game.

Not one soul

would even consider

challenging her decisions.

They wouldn’t dare.

A bluebird awakened her.

So small, beautiful

iridescent blue

and sweetly chirping.

Suddenly, it darted past her

and again in the other direction.

Soon, she saw a pair of wings

much larger, bolder.

That bird flew high and away.

The bluebird perched

on a limb of the maple tree,

panting, confident, dreaming.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic, 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 

Winter Sky

This lovely photo by Tunc Tesel exemplifies my poem below: 

Winter Sky

Brisk night air,

unfettered firmament:

the stars whisper

ancient secrets

in this ancient sky,

reaching a distant eye

in silent concert 

 with eternal Love.  

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): 19th Century Awareness of Cultural Change

           

I took this photo of Sydney Owenson's memorial plaque on Kildare Street, Dublin, Ireland.

From pages 17-18 of my book: 

Revolutionary philosophy of the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries provides momentum for the transformation of consciousness, circuitous pathways of innovation and circularity within societal parameters, creating awareness of cultural change, often through literary articulation. 

During the long eighteenth century, Sydney Owenson constructs her national tales by configuring lexical combinations of Irish, English and European colloquialisms, drawing upon the historical and philosophical perceptions of René Descartes and Immanuel Kant to transform her romantic tales into narratives of political inquiry. 

Her voice maintains a necessary fortitude in terms of her unique perspective, placing Irish ideology into the center of English culture at the onset of the Ascendancy, while she illustrates foresight in challenging the political stance of the United Kingdom in the early decades of the nineteenth century.

Ha' Penny Bridge, Dublin, Ireland