To M.H.

gramsPlace10th Anniversary

 

To M.H.
No longer do I play
tapes and discs made
when you plucked your guitar;
drank your whiskey.
No longer do I travel
to your tropical compound,
your artists’ Shangri-La
to paint in your gardens;
pen poems on your porch.
No longer do I take the bus
to Montreal, sun streaming in
to warm the winter day;
bathe us in a heavenly light
as we roll along the road.
No longer to I hang out
on Rue Sainte-Catherine;
wander directionless and droll
with light snow falling,
listening to Dylan, repeatedly,
sipping a large cup of cafe au lait.
The decision to cross the dark river
was yours alone.
The blues that haunted us
swept you away.
Your visits in dreams
are slowly dissolving;
at times, I long for your return;
a want which will never be fulfilled.
Lainie Senechal

From the Cold

img-Y20192623-0004Fairy Lights Galaxy

From the Cold

From the cold comes
solemn clouds whose
heavy burden is released;
snowflakes sneak in slowly
then whirl in wild winds,
swirling like a galaxy of stars.

From the cold comes
the great, white owls
of the North who sit
silently in marshes and fields;
their large yellow eyes
scan for rodents in barren lands.

From the cold comes
mornings as crisp as cookies
dipped into hot tea
as we sit by the fireside
waiting for the sun.

From the cold comes
days hard as ice
that now covers the lake;
stills the waves;
quiets the flotillas of ducks.

From the cold comes
fishermen who drill
through frozen surface;
wait patiently in frigid breeze
for a tug on their line.

From the cold comes
long nights near the hearth
in patient contemplation
of our particular place
in the omnipresent joy.

Lainie Senechal

Into the Darkness

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Into the Darkness

Into the winter darkness,
no bleakness nor despair;
an illumination, beneath
the sable sky, laced with tiny lanterns.
Long, night moon’s gentle glow
accompanies our journey;
day’s frenzied energy dissipates.
In evening’s quiet calm,
amidst silent sifting snow,
rose that is the heart opens;
we descend slowly into
the diamond mine of the soul.

Lainie Senechal

Light of the Beginning

img-Y20192623-0002Autumn Sunset

Light of the Beginning

“My soul had already brimmed with sunsets…”

-Juan Ramon Jimenez

 

Light of the beginning

touched the mountains;

touched the houses;

fell from the heavens

like a rush of water

to break into the crystal sea;

entered under the earth

where jewels lie sleeping;

switched on their brilliant sheen;

swept away the darkness

with the force of tornadoes.

This light you filled me;

I became your diamond.

Lainie Senechal

First Snow

First Snow in Angel GardenFirst Snow in Angel Garden

First Snow

On journey home,

prediction of squalls,

as temperature drops with the sun.

Heart jumps!, the first snow!

Rush to door, key turns,

quick kiss on back of hand,

the first snow!

Flick on garden light;

wait for large, white puffs

from an early storm to settle

on grass still green.

Flakes will find a place

among last bloom of rose;

bright nicotianna, innocent of season;

late crythansemum, whose burgundy

petals surround a golden heart.

Mind wanders on early winds;

childhood winters filled with snow.

Sled drawn with sturdy rope,

follows like a puppy to hill

that drops from overpass.

Scale heights to fly

through hole cut in fence.

Sparks ignite along runners;

zip across a small pond,

hope for frozen surface.

Over and over we ascend

and take flight.

Sun long set, by street light

we wind our way home;

covered in frost and ice,

half snow creatures, cold

beyond belief, near collapse,

as artic explorers on tundra

searching for shelter.

Warm glow of fire dries

mittens, hats, scarves, boots,

socks and layers of clothing;

settle under thick quilts,

as snow resumes falling,

through the night, to refresh

our winter playground.

Lainie Senechal

 

 

Thanksgiving

Oak LeavesOak Leaves

Photosynthesis

(A Thanksgiving Poem)

It is our tradition to gather as family

to renew and celebrate our bond;

to offer a prayer to the spirit

that connects heaven and earth.

For we are bound, not only

to each other, to elements

of the universe: sun and moon,

our brother and sister;

fruits of trees, grasses of prairies

nourish and sustain us.

They transform energy of stars

into sustenance of life

and through our veins pulses

the heat of cosmic creation.

Lainie Senechal

November

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November

Low beams of light

shimmer in leaves;

flutter of canaries’ wings,

bristle of fox fur.

Even the tamarack

has traded its green innocence

for a tattered coat of burnt umber.

You arrive with your flattery,

your sultry songs, where

buffleheads dive and bob

among wind-driven wavelets

that spark in the sun.

I have no choice but to

succumb to your charms.

 

Lainie Senechal