Tag Archives: winter

Winter Moon & Announcement

img-430151036-0001Winter Solstice
Winter Moon

Winter moon peers

between branches,

as smooth as sticks.

Lost leaves that traveled

on the tireless wind

now lie along roads

or wind up in woods,

trampled by footsteps.

The moon’s enigmatic glow,

sensuous and ladylike,

softens the cold, still night.

Lainie Senechal

Announcement:  Lainie will present poetry and watercolors in the new exhibit  at the Kaji Aso Studio: Winter Branches, Winter Moon.  Opening reception is January 16 from 7PM to 9PM, 40 St. Stephen Street, Boston. MA.

Rose in the Snow

December RosesDecember Roses
Rose in the Snow
Under mounds of snow

a red rose blooms,

love we cling to

through persistent winter.

Seasons have slipped by,

our treasured rose remains,

desire’s burning flame.

Time is abandoned but

not the constant allure.

Are we love’s buffoons?

We are each others’ passion,

frolicking in this distraction,

under an endless spell.

Reasons to relinquish

lie around our ankles,

amassed like snowbanks,

white as angel wings.

Evening approaches,

the rose still blooms

and heaven is amused

by our unflagging folly.

Lainie Senechal

White Pines & Announcement

Moonlight Through the PinesMoonlight Through the Pines

White Pines

Sentinels of lakeside,

veterans of many storms,

under blackened skies,

which crashed waves to shore.

Experienced in bearing

snows heavy burden,

with wisdom to capture

the pale winter sun,

when deciduous shells
stand silent, devoid

of all their leaves.

Possessing perches for eagles

and summits that
stretch to the sky.

Lainie Senechal
Announcement:  Lainie will be reading poetry at the Aurorean 20th Anniversary Poetry Reading and Celebration, Dec. 12 from 2-4 PM, at the Plymouth Public Library, 132 South Street, Plymouth, MA.

Can We?

FernJanuary Morning

Can We?
Can we recover from
frequent tempests that
have stacked walls
of snow around us?
Scenery is solely white;
wind whips up a frenzy
of flakes that shroud
landscape in solemn coverlets;
secret our shrubs
under ghostly mounds
which haunt our daily lots.
Does the groundhog seek
his shadow? He is safely secure
in his underground domain.
Awake and weary, we await,
with deep trepidation,
the next storm.
Lainie Senechal
This poem was one( of two) featured entries the first week of February on the website hourofwrites.com. 
The judge, Nick Thorpe, wrote:   “My second honorable mention goes to “Can We”. I am a terrible, awful, borderline illegally bad poet, but I found this piece both haunting and moving. The style is reminiscent of a great orator, and I found the imagery powerful.”

 

Wind Speed

Moon Patiently WaitsMoon Patiently Waits

 

Wind Speed

Storm commences quietly
with flakes which twirl
like fleece of dandelion
in a vernal breeze.
Gusts suddenly swell;
snow begins to wheel,
eradicates view of lake;
white becomes singular scene.
Drifts mound their mantels
over every form, like furniture
shrouded in wait for relocation.
Flakes dissolve into streams
that seem to fly at speed of light.
Blizzard whips around corners;
a fuming fiend, howling ferociously.
Huddled in house, near hearth,
with hope the tempest
will soon subside.

Lainie Senechal

 

Into the Darkness

img-Y20192623-0003

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

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