Distant Shore, Lake Attitash
October
To be alive
in leaf beautiful
misty golden time;
scent of wood smoke;
rich dirt lying
fallow until spring;
keen eye of hawk
circling brown fields.
Moments relinquished
like drifting colors;
no escape, a letting
go of all wants,
grateful to be free.
Soon, winter’s gray beard;
cold sinewy hands
will enter the land.
Lainie Senechal
Smuttynose, Isles of Shoals
September, Isles of Shoals
At rest on old wooden rockers
with basket weave seats
along porch of Oceanic Hotel;
beach plums have ripened;
flocks of cormorants gather;
cricket chorus drowned by
constant call of gulls
from slick granite rocks
that line the shore.
In distance, slant of rain
skids across the bay;
light turns from yellow to gray;
lightening flashes illuminate sky;
sailboats strain to reach harbor
as storm approaches Star Island.
Lainie Senechal
Deep Riverof universal dome, silver streaks
of fire ignite, reflect in lake’s
cool water, then disappear, diminished
into vast emptiness of space.
Dust particles, a comet’s refuse
that dwell in cosmic cloud,
silent and dark, until the time
when they burn with a desire
to immolate and fly free.
Lainie Senechal
Announcement:
Lainie will be reading in the following event at the Whittier Home, Amesbury, MA:
16th Annual Tapestry of Voices event will be held on August 16th in the Victorian garden from 3:00 to 4:30.
Whittier devotees Rhina P. Espaillat, Alfred Nicol, Harris Gardner, Lainie Senechal, Skye Wentworth, Edith Maxwell, Toni Treadway and Chris Bryant and Bill Plante will read selections of Whittier’s work, as well as those of his contemporaries, and perhaps some of their own. And Cynthia Costello, past President of the Whittier Home will sing the Whittier selection, “O Brother Man” in honor of the end of the Civil War being celebrated this year.
An informal reception will follow the readings and light refreshments will be served. The poetry reading is free and open to the public.
Black-Eyed Susans
The Sirens of Route 101
(From news report – Epping, NH: Plantings in
median of Highway 101 snarls traffic.)
In between eastbound
and westbound we flourish.
As traffic whizzes by,
we take life in slow motion,
imperceptibly follow the sun
across the late summer sky;
festooned with brilliant petals
that surround our dark hearts
where seeds slowly ripen.
We entice the bees
then lure chickadees
and finches with our bounty.
However, here on Highway 101
drivers, mesmerized by
our seductive beauty,
abandon their commutes
to commune with blossoms
as if some old song,
barely remembered, has called
them home, again.
Lainie Senechal
This poem was published in the journal Ibbetson Street #35, Spring 2014.
Indigo Bunting Waits for His Mate
Indigo Gate
I begin a rise above marshes;
a canopy of gray darkens to indigo,
sky thickened with ashen quilt
of smoke from incense burning.
Sea’s indigo depths broken
only with white wavelets,
lotuses against kimono blue.
Climb hill in solitude and silence,
park deserted on this solemn, peaceful day.
Suddenly, two large drops of sunlight
weave and bob in meadow,
diving in and out of grasses
lined with lacy weed and
rotund hips of wild rose.
A pair of goldfinches feed in field;
a slight squabble over seed
sends them into a whirl of wings,
swirl of melted butter.
I pass under the arch
of a gate to sacred space
where separations blur
and, like a primitive or a child,
I am lost in the moment
of this delight.
Lainie Senechal
First published in Dasoku, Kaji Aso Institute for the Arts, Spring 2001
Watercolor based on photo by Nancy Smith, nature photographer and fellow birder.
Surf, Plum Island
On Plum Island
Over the tidal river,
along border of Great Marsh,
raspy rattle of redwing blackbirds
newly arrived from south
to establish territories in reeds.
An ascent up tall dunes
of this extensive barrier island
that secures the coast
from full assault launched
by fierce Atlantic storms.
Beach is nearly deserted
on a balmy spring day;
empty strand a protection
for piping plovers who strut
along edge of surf to search
for morsels left by tide.
Set up chair to relax
beside boundary of refuge;
a chain of clouds like
puffs from passing train
hover above the coast.
Gulls gather to squabble
over scraps deposited on sand.
A steady procession of vessels
enter and exit distant harbor.
Waves murmur mysteries
heard in distant realms.
Nothing perturbs the peace
of an April afternoon
and one’s thoughts are lost
in the reverie of sea, sky and shore.
Lainie Senechal
Tulips
Moving Into the Green
green runs around and beyond.
Grass shoots up a carpet of green,
tender leaves open into green,
branches drip tassels of green:
bright, brilliant emerald green;
dark, secretive hidden green.
Before dawn singing of green
that flies away at first light;
at night, scent of green
which inhabits our dreams.
Lainie Senechal
Primrose
Invitation
What will I write you about May?
I will tell of red-winged blackbirds
defending their territories in reeds
with a raucous refrain.
Or, I may attempt to explain
intense yellow hue worn
by wild mustard blooms
against grasses’ fresh green.
Or, maybe, I will describe
scent of lilacs which
arrive at senses though
blossoms are beyond sight.
Evening’s ocean breezes
loosen petals of cherry
which flutter through air,
land on path, as if strewn
by a flower girl.
Spring is hosting a wedding
which all are invited to attend.
Lainie Senechal
Pink Moon at Dawn
Pink Moon
An eclipse of the pink moon
heralds flowering of new life.
Melt water streams into lake;
ice retreats from shoreline.
Transparent surface teems
with newly hatched fry of fish,
who frantically feed near edge.
Shadows of cumulus clouds
dapple lingering cover of ice.
Lainie Senechal
Beyond the Fence
Prenatal voyage shelless,
wombless, without shelter.
The human that bore me
a passage way, a conduit
to world of woods and thickets.
Fragment of primal essence
set free for a time, a journey.
First memories of Grandmother:
fleshy, round and delicious;
I wanted her to know
fierceness of my love;
I bit her as hard as
new teeth would allow.
I wished to devour her
so intense my devotion.
I wandered among hills
and copses, a return home,
to the place my mother dwells;
rise and dip of terrain
outline her tender bosom;
pound of waves, heart’s rhythm;
vagrant breeze her breath
against my face.
Since childhood I have run,
from dwelling place of men,
into her welcoming arms
to sleep contented nights
upon her warm earth,
to wander fields and thickets
on winter’s clear, crisp days.
Her many moods reflect my own.
Always concerns, controversies:
their little girl, first born,
so aloof from convention.
A child who spends spans
in forest; returns dirty,
scratched, clutching latest
treasure for growing menagerie.
If I had been the original,
on first rumor of the tree
it would become my quest;
I would not require
temptation of a snake.
The judge, Charlie Whinney wrote about the poem: “My first short-listed piece is the one I enjoyed reading the most. It is a high-quality poem that tackles the title in a brilliant, imaginative and unlikely way. ‘Genesis of a Dryad ‘ draws seamlessly on mythology, fantastical anecdote and biblical themes to build a complete narrative that is both descriptive of nature and also a life story with tenuous but tantalising analogies. I might be reading too much into this, but I liked the use of myth for this title as for young children ‘Mom’ or ‘Mummy’ is a concept bigger than the mere practical and physical; ‘Mother’ is the solid unmoveable reference around which the rest of life revolves, a force in nature like gravity. The mythical Dryad in this poem has many of these qualities, but also has its own life, rhythms and agenda described that children could never perceive, and the Dryad becomes more and more ‘human’ as the poem progresses.”