My Hands, a poem

 "And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it." (Psalm 90:17)

Below is a poem with the theme of my use of hands, 

which some may think is archaic in this current era of technology:

Harp and me, one afternoon

My Hands

Turning 

weathered pages of a centuries old book,

my fingers touch a piece of history,

for this page was once turned by the fingertips

of a lady sitting by candlelight on a blue velvet chair,

her linen dress, flowing around covered ankles.

Strumming 

the strings of a vibrating harp, melodic echoes, soothe

the mind of my precious dog who lives to protect me

love me, comfort me. It's the least I can do for her.

Kneading 

dough that clings to each finger until I apply 

one more dash of flour to create 

the soft ball that will miraculously rise

to form into the sweet, aromatic sustenance of life: 

bread, feeding others with joy.

Threading 

a needle with just the right length and color 

of waxed cotton,

slowly I turn remnant pieces of cloth

into a quilted memory to comfort 

through the warmth of artistry and pragmatism.

Digging 

into rich, brown soil, I plant a seed

water, nurture, protect until one day it grows

into a savory food, the source of a satisfied smile.

Holding 

an extended hand, I feel the presence

of tender strength, our fingertips, touching,

Loving 

 brushing the tear from a dear one's eye

fond memory of the gentleness.
Praying
palm against palm, I sing a song of praise.
Humbly, I give thanks to Him,
Knowing 

His Love is undying, strengthening, 

guiding each step to fulfillment of 

His Purpose for me:

Living 

from heart to hand.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Dusk

Below, I have written a poem based on a photograph, as an example of Ekphrasis.

My photograph is of the beautiful East Lake in Danbury, Connecticut, at sunset, just before dusk. This lake has a very similar appearance to Walden Pond in Massachusetts. I took this photograph when the lake was full. 

East Lake, Danbury, Connecticut.

Dusk

Indigo pond

reflects

a hopeful, graying sky

shades of peach and blue

intermingle 

with soft, fleecy clouds

framing the Peace and Love

that harken my heart 

dreaming

 of possibilities...

Dusk.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

Frontal Acumen

photo taken by me in Danbury, Connecticut, U.S.A.

In a recent year, we had an extraordinary weather pattern here in Connecticut. As a front rapidly moved through the area, the skies filled with color, then torrential downpours, then sun and warm temperatures. Then, we were back in the freezing zone with snow predicted. As Mark Twain commented once, "if you don't like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes." Okay, that's the weather report. What does this all mean philosophically?  

Human consciousness continually evolves, and as we move through our daily activities, nuances affect us in ways that sometimes we don't even realize until other events bring these subtle revelations into focus, providing clarity and introspection.

Frontal Acumen

Such grandeur surges

in a moment of wonder: 

guiding, hoping, gusting, 

winds envelop 

swirling reality 

shaking dreams loose,  

sparking an idea 

with divine Authority. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

The Mill

Long ago, a friend told me about this beautiful mill, located in Floyd County, Virginia. I found a picture of it in a history book and saw the serene beauty of this sight, so I took out my oil paints and painted my own version of the mill: Mabry Mill is its name. Below are two photos. One is a photo from Google Images. The other is my painting of the lovely Mabry Mill in Floyd County, Virginia. The poem revolves around this stalwart mill.

The 'melodious Lark' in the poem refers to Ralph Vaughn Williams' masterpiece, The Lark Ascending. You can hear the lovely melody if you click HERE. 

Photo of Mabry Mill, Virginia

 from Google Images

 

My painting of Mabry Mill, Virginia

                                             

The Mill

Quietly and peaceful

 The Mill does stand

In harmony with God's land,

and in its tranquil solitude

the melodious Lark 

sings its sweet etude. 

All the while, 

the Mill in steady repose sings: 

"I'll be here

as long as the wind does carry

His song through the realms of time. 

I'll be here for you ~ 

My love will ne'er weary

for your spirit 

inspires

my Joy. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Acts of Love

 

The Great Smoky Mountains, North Carolina 

(photo from DuckDuckGo Images)

This poem stems from a prayer I learned as a young child: 

The Act of Love: O my God, I love thee above all things, with my whole heart and soul, because thou art all good and worthy of all my love. I love my neighbor as myself for the love of thee. I forgive all who have injured me and I ask pardon of all whom I have injured. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.

Acts of Love

Someone over there
might reach out to me,

might need my comfort, 

my trust, my love. 

The Lord will provide 
Blessed moments to enfold 

a Joy fulfilled

 with the one over there. 

First, I will pray,

then gently step forward,  

lifting the heart 

of the one over there. 

I accept all that God provides,

 share what the Son confides
do what the Spirit guides:

righteous Acts of Love.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Face of Renaissance

 

This image of Jesus is in a tree in my front garden.

Face of Renaissance

See the insolence gently float away.

Turn and decide on Godly Good.

Replace worldly ambitions

with the guiding hand of Love.

A world changes to see His face

in all the energy and intricacy 

associated with the simplicity

of renaissance. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

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.) 

Arachnid's Aim

 Once, I observed a lovely spider, busily spinning her web, and I proceeded to write the poem below. 

A spider's web suspended from my deck

Arachnid's Aim

One by One by One by One by One by One by One by One,

she extends her reach into the world, 

Glad that she yet retains eight strong, healthy appendages. 

Her sisters' are damaged, maimed, broken, or lost, 

but hers are vibrant, able to take her

to any destination she beholds as sacred. 

Now, she extends her reach into the world.

Carefully, gracefully, she moves along this space,

arranging each extension in its proper place, 

allowing a Hopeful Touch to capture the attention

of one who will see her radiance

and share her iridescence with lasting, hopeful bliss.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

You can hear me recite this verse by clicking the link HERE.

Happy Bastille Day!

 Happy Bastille Day!

Photo of Fontaine Subé, Reims, France

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

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

A Gathering of Souls

A Gathering of Souls

Friendship bound by a common thread

nourished with Eternal Bread

of kindness, love, and stories shared

revealing truth to one who cared.

These are the Blessings we unfold,

as youthful dreams become 'days of old'

and gatherings are more carefully planned,

honoring love as a theme so grand. 

Refrain from giving confusion reign!

A shivering soul has warmth to gain, 

I pick up my needle with colorful thread

  Repair the tattered.  

Share the Bread. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Imre Madach's "The Tragedy of Man," Revolution and Knowledge

Photo: Illustration from website: http://www.wga.hu/html/z/zichy/index.html 

In The Tragedy of Man (1860), Hungarian playwright, Imre Madach, reveals the inherent spirit within humanity to resolve differences through knowledge. This play, consisting of fifteen scenes, depicts the first couple, Adam and Eve, in paradise whereby Eve questions the validity of the Lord’s request to deprive the couple of all knowledge. In her exchange with Lucifer in Scene II, she philosophizes:

Why should he punish? For if he hath fixed

The way that he would have us follow, so

He hath ordained it, that no sinful lure

Should draw us otherwhere; why hath he set

The path athwart a giddy yawning gulf

To doom us to destruction? If, likewise,

Sin hath a place in the eternal plan,

As storm amid the days of sunlit warmth,

Who would the angry storm more guilty deem

Than the life-giving brightness of the sun? (Scene II)

After leaving the garden of Eden for tasting of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve fall asleep in their new home and experience a number of historical events to become aware of the many ways humanity has grown into self knowledge, beginning in Egypt, where the couple learns of personal glory. Adam then longs to learn of humanity’s struggle for the good of nation, through experiences in ancient Athens, Greece. They discover hedonism in ancient Rome, Christianity in the form of knighthood of the middle ages, where he also discovers medieval fanaticism. This leads to his search for sense in the sphere of Johannes Kepler. However, in the world of Emperor Rudolph, Adam moves on to the French Revolution, where he encounters the deceit of Danton and the ultimate failure in humankind’s ability to execute a lasting revolution. He becomes disenchanted with humanity at the London Fair. In the final scene, Eve tells Adam of the upcoming birth of their second child. She foreshadows:

If God so will, a second shall be born

In sorrow, who shall wash them both away

And bring upon this wide world, brotherhood.

Well, we all know what happened with that relationship, so Imre Madach, who places the burden of man’s struggle at the hands of the woman, also illustrates that humanity has within its grasp the ability to seize control over its destiny as the heavenly choir of angels sings:

…Yet in the glory of thy road,

Let not the thought thee blind

That what thou dost in praise of God

Is wrought of human mind.

Think not the Lord hath need of thee

His purpose to fulfill,

And thou receivest from Him grace,

If thou mayest work His will.

The Lord responds: O Man, strive on, strive on, have faith; and trust! (Scene XV)

Therefore, Imre Madach reveals, through the artistry of his writing, his intense belief that within its own consciousness, humanity has the ability to advance harmonic relevance from dissonant experience, for he presents Eve as the mother of humanity with the conviction that her children will move humanity forward in their quest for true knowledge. (Lakatos 2007)

Sweet Dreams (Codladh sámh)

Sweet Dreams (Codladh sámh)

Softly the trees sway
breezes steadily pulsating
plummeting my senses 
DEEP DEEp DEep Deep deep
into a serene, sensory 
serenade of sleep
slowly sifting
through sands of 
discernment
into a sea of dreams
where fantasy releases
the genesis 
of truth

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(My reading of this poem is on Pod-omatic. Just click HERE.)

Alley Adventure

A memory of one of the many adventures my brother and I shared as children has come to mind. Stephen always discovered fascinating places, and I was the only sister who had the guts (or insanity) to go with him. This one was at our grandparents' house in an old section of Detroit, Michigan where each neighborhood had an alley.  Enjoy!

My grandparents' old house in Detroit, remodeled. 
You can see the tree in the background. Beyond that tree is the alley.

Alley Adventure

The Alley behind our grandparents' house

was intriguing to my brother and me.

The grown-ups didn’t want us to go there,

but he knew how to unlatch the back gate,

Sshhh…very quietly, so it wouldn’t squeak.

We tiptoed onto the graveled road.

A sweet yet acrid smell filled the air;

it was a strange, forbidden world.

This day, we discovered a horseshoe print,

embedded in a piece of hidden pavement,

shadowed by the tall grasses growing wild,

fighting for a piece of the dappled sunrays

that played upon the broken cement.

“Only one print,” Stephen whispered,

“Must be from Pegasus.”

Voices formed words in an unknown tongue

and floated from a large window of an old house

behind an unpainted wooden fence,

“Sssshhh!  Ghosts!” he  whispered.

I bent down to pick up a weapon,

a broken shard of brown glass

“This is a piece of magic glass, Jeanne,

from a land faraway… Put it down!

We don’t know what evil powers it might have.”

Reluctantly, I tossed the shard.

No magic today… no spilling of blood.

A quick run to the old wooden gate,

and we were back on Grandma’s garden path,

with freshly cut grass, wildflowers and roses,

our absence unnoticed, our memories enriched.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos