Decades à Rose

Decades à Rose

Quivering hands release

rose petal beads

from the deepest pocket

of an abandoned purse.

She traces the Sign:

forehead, heart,

left shoulder, right shoulder;

then gently touches the Crucifix

to her trembling lips.

Clutching each bead, lips pursed,

she whispers the prayers.

Words trickling off her tongue

mingle with questions:

Why? How? Where? When?

Perspiration

awakens the rose scent

by fingers slipping their way

around the chain to the final bead.

Then the one entitled, 

Prayer after... then Memorare.

She recalls most of that prayer.

"Thank you, Jesus, for listening.

Amen."

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Poetic Version of my Operetta, Luminescence, Chapter II. 'Morning'

a wooded glen nearby

From my operetta, Luminescence, 
a poetic version of Chapter II (Morning): 

II. Morning

One by one, the refrain of each morning bird 
replaces the subtle evening melodies, 
warbling with delightful purpose for 
the one song that harmonizes with hers. 

Soon, the woody patch of land is alive 
with a symphony of delicate pitches, 
led by the bobolink’s resonating voice. 
Echoing through the woods, their songs augment. 

A gentle zephyr turns this undisturbed plot 
into a pulsating, verdant sanctuary of wooded bliss. 
The breeze gracefully embraces feathered wings 
of russet, crimson and blue, as they touch 
the extended branches of the clustered trees. 

Each bough moves in a synchronized dance 
to the brushed rhythms of the singing birds in flight. 
Desire reigns gloriously in this place 
and passionately awaits another day to display 
her energetic embrace with life.

Soon, an auburn beam of light reaches into the center 
of this flora, gently kisses each stalk, 
wraps around the tender flowers, 
and awakens the new buds
for the coming of the empowering sun. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

'Dog Days' of Summer

Since we are in the midst of the 'Dog Days' of summer, I thought I'd write a quick verse about living through such days.

One summer day at East Lake, Danbury, CT

Dog Days of Summer

They're here: 

The humidity, heat, and oppressive days

that cause me to long for

 a bright, brisk autumnal morn. 

Temperance abbreviates 

as anxiety prevails 

with the ache for 

one cool breeze to refresh my soul. 

Oh, if only that gray cloud above

would just spill a few raindrops

to mingle with the dripping sweat

on my forehead and neck. 

Oh, Canada...

bring on that northern front

and turn this steaming grip

into a restorative, gentle caress.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this, please click HERE.

Declaration of Independence

Click the title below to go to Yale University's Avalon Project site:
Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776

When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident:

That all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.... 

Memories of My Dad

August 20 would be my Dad's 99th birthday. May he rest in Eternal Peace. A few years ago, I participated in a literary challenge to write about our fathers. This is not a poem; it's a reflection of the time that my father brought me some Siberian iris tubers, and each year, I feel his presence as the irises propagate annually. The ones in the photo are from this year's blooms. 

Blue Iris:

A Reflection of my Dad

I didn’t realize it would be the final kiss on his dimpled cheek, that the irises he brought would be his last gift to me. “They’re blue, like your eyes, and they have your name,” he winks as he carefully unwraps the newspaper and inspects each delicate tuber. 

Thinking back as if it were just yesterday…

* I was picking green apples in our backyard on a hot August afternoon. I glanced down to see my T-shirt covered with ants; I ran, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!" Calmly, he brushed the ants off my shivering 4-year old self. “There, there, it’s nothing. See? All gone.”

* Glancing down at my hands now, I remember my little fingers clinging tightly to the rim of the old green wheelbarrow, as I sit atop a pile of fresh grass clippings, inhaling the sweetness. My own dimpled smile reflects his as he merrily sings or whistles a variety of tunes.

* His lap is the best seat in the house while we watch the Tigers defeat any other team on T.V.

* As a sophomore in high school, I can still hear his lighter click as he inhales yet another Lucky Strike and sketches lines and digits. Then, my Dad, the chemist, patiently explains one more geometry theorem to me for the night.

* Purple heart, bronze star, and a battle wound scar in his leg from the Battle of the Bulge that never kept him from running with the ball during many a neighborhood baseball game or a quick game of handball with my Mom.

Once, he brought a spray of blue Siberian irises for me to plant in my garden. There, outside my window grows a sea of blue, each year more irises than the year before, winking at me. 

                                                                Thanks, Dad. I love you. 

My Dad as a young boy with his dog, Snowball.

Be sure to save and label old photos. 

                                                                   © Jeanne I. Lakatos

And Now, A Word from Plato...

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." ~ Plato

I took this photo at an International Performing Artists Competition, Merrion Square, Dublin, Ireland.

Always Looking Up

  An angel hovers over my house in the calm sky. 

'Morning' Recitative

(from my operetta, Luminescence)

A graceful breeze embraces feathered wings 

of russet, crimson and blue.

They touch extended branches of clustered trees.

Selected boughs move in a synchronized dance

to brushed rhythms

of these singing birds in flight.

Desire reigns gloriously in this place

as passion prepares for another day 

of feeling 

the buoyancy.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos