Tag Archives: flowers

Summer Moves On

DOC010 August Bouquet

Summer Moves On (an ovillejo)

Black-eyed Susan puts on a show,

summers go –

cicadas sing season’s song,

time moves on.

Corn grows sturdy and so tall,

soon comes fall.

Languid days that to us call,

August hours that give great joy,

but these moments are quite coy –

summers go, time moves on, soon comes fall.

Lainie Senechal

The ovillejo, which means ” tight little ball of twine”, is an old Spanish poetry form.  I learned the form from Rhina Espaillat.


Mid-Winter Reverie


Mid-Winter Reverie

In mid-winter, bitter cold

passes into warmth –

wind whispers Southern stories.

A bit of yellow brightens

goldfinches’ gray feathers.

Long nights dwindle

into early rising dawns,

seemingly, a hint of change.

Our hopes, with this small melt,

soar into thoughts of spring.

Lainie Senechal

September Morning & Announcement

Two SunflowersSunflowers Awaken

September Morning

A morning of secrets –

a halo of mist rings

the cooling lake,

catches in branches

of tall trees along shore.

In some spots the sun

breaks through, bright

rays explode on ripples

created by rising wind which

cleans out remaining wisps,

pushes tethered boats

to rub and squeak against docks,

while a kingfisher rattles above:

the song of a September morn.

Lainie Senechal

Announcement:  Lainie will be exhibiting artwork with members of the Kaji Aso Studio at the Fenway Community Center, 1282 Boylston St., Boston. The exhibit runs from Sept. 1 through Dec. 31st with an opening reception on Sept. 16th from 3-5 PM.  Free and open to the public.

Love Never Says, “This is the Last”


I find your face

in sepia photographs

of our first encounter;

your visage lifts my heart

like the great fluttering

of a thousand doves.

How I protest this separation.

I search for a glimpse

but the window’s glass plate

has darkened by eternal decree.

Love, however, cannot be contained,

love follows no commands –

the joy of the heart overflows

into a never-ending stream

that forever connects our lives.

“Love never says, ‘This is the last’ “.

Lainie Senechal

I read this poem at my brother Ray’s funeral.  He passed away suddenly on August 17.  He was 57 years old.  The last line is a quote from the writings of Thich Nhat Hanh.

Pulse of July

Summer RosesSummer Roses

Pulse of July

Pulse of July’s languid hours:

blueberries ripening to deep purple,

lilies aligned in colorful arrays.

Ivory egrets,with graceful steps,

scout among green marsh grasses

that bend in warmer winds.

Heat and humidity have arrived –

energy is lost to move one muscle.

When winter’s blast whitens land

regrets will arise for passing

of these pleasant summer days.

Lainie Senechal


May’s Flower Moon

Blue FlowerIrises

May’s flower moon

dances in pre-dawn sky,

an angel of night,

a dream almost forgotten

when snow showered landscape.

Waves swerve into lane of light

which has landed across lake;

clouds only a smudge on horizon.

A progression of blossoms

burst into beauty then

retreat and fade

as season pushes forward

in phases of increasing warmth.

Lainie Senechal

Black-Eyed Susans

Black-Eyed SusansBlack-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.