A Place Called Return: An Assorted Collection of Poetry

By Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde

Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde, will arrest your attention with her poetry. While she has been writing since childhood, this is her first published book. Poetry, she says, runs in her blood. Also, her two grandmothers were poets, and The Poet of the Adirondacks was her great+ grandfather. Raimonde, while a keen observer of both human nature and nature in general, speaks the language of her times through symbolism, metaphor, and simile. She composes her poetry with a unique blend of sobriety, humor, and mystery, juxtaposed with a philosophical twist that is both distinctive and unique. This is a book for everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 6, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469105482

Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde

Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde is the author of A Place Called Return, On Eagles Wings, and Beholding His Glory. She has a Bible College Diploma, a B.S. in Human Development, an M.A. in Biblical Counseling, and a PhD in Christian Counseling.

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Copyright © 2009 by Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Forward

Returning to Nature

24 Hours in the Secret Garden

A Country Ride in Winter

Birds Eye

Creeks

Echoes of South Creek

Galapagos

Garden of Eden

Give Me Country

Haiku/Cinquain

Heading for the Island

Hill Flowers

Indian Grapes

Lily

Nature’s Retreat

Niagara Ice

October Farm

Painting Rocks

Reflections on Lake Saranac

Return to Back Creek

Sienna Rose

Skipping Stones

Spring Waters Back

The Black Swan

The Great White Eagle

The Outhouse in Griffin Mills

The Love of Geese

Tree of Knowledge

Tsunami

Walking the Beach

Watch Out for the Ducks

Wildflowers

Returning to Holidays

An Abandoned Boys Christmas

Bloody Mary

Christmas of ’99

Christmas Tinsel

Cry of the Magi

Easter Egg Hunt

Easter’s Hope

Easter Surprise

Halloween

Halloween Night

July 4th

My Valentine

Thanksgiving

The Christmas Angel

The Christ Child

The New Year

Returning to Family

A Life Well Lived

Blessed Hope

Four Separate Women

Great White Stallion

Half Past the Hour

Hands

Indian Stories

Jayla Noelle

Joanna’s Call

Joanna Elizabeth

Julie Kara

Kelsey Good-bye

Leah’s Birth

Life is Never Over

London Gabriel

Maxim

Maxim Carter

My Brother and I

My Photo at 10

My Uncles Flag

Night Cycle

Obscurity

Phthalo green

Prayer for a Son

Recycled Gift

Remembering When

Renewed Vows

Sad Reality

Scenes of Christmas Eve

Scrambled Eggs

Secret Park

Sound the Alarm

Thankful

The Walk

The Wooden Playground

The Year it Rained

To My Daughter

Two Sisters

Vermont Men in Buff

View From the Top

Wyatt Perry

Unassuming Dad

Returning to Faith

A Bruised Reed

An Ear to Hear

April’s Glory

Beholding the Glory

Call of the Deep

Close to the Edge

Day of Rest

Dating the Creator

Deep Calls to Deep

Deliver Us from Evil

Difficulties

Earnestly Desire

Falling Leaves

Father God

Fire Snatchers

Forgive Us Our Debts

Hands of Christ

He signed His name God

His Ways

I Played in the Dark for God

Into the Light

John 1

Joseph

Looking for Jesus in the Dish Water

Mary’s Simple Faith

Morning Breaks

Moses’ Prayer

Mystery

One Man’s Vision

Path to God

Pinecrest Revival

Prophets and Poets

The Dry Bones

The Runner

Quiet My Soul

Return

Rose Heaven

Ruth’s Return

Serendipitous Journey

Snow White Prayer

Stormy Night

Sweet Holy Spirit

Thanksgiving

The Christ Child

The Day of the Lord

The Form

The Gaze

The God Card

The Journey

The Key to Christ’s Return

The Kingdom

The Love of God

The Passion of the Christ

The Potter’s Hand

The Shining

The Story Teller

The Voice

Worldview

You Never Give Up

Zoë

Returning to Reflection

43 & Me

80 and Alive

59 Candles

Alone in the Crowd

Arranging Your Thoughts

Back and Forth

Big Muddy Waters

Broken

Call of the Wind

Change

Cry of the Soul

Cutting Down Trees

Death Pull of an Artist

De’ja’vu

Esoteric Snow

Famous Poem

Fate of the Overweight

Filthy Rags

Grateful

Gray Areas

Heading Back Home

Homely Green Bags

I Remember

Lost Dreams

Morning Observations

Mortality

Naked Psyche

Nothing New Under the Sunflowers

Once upon a Time

Oprah

Part Time Poet

Prophetic Voices on the Bus

Prophets and Poets

Recurring Dreams

Savor the Season

Slumber Party

Sunday Morning

That’s the Deal

The Darkness of Spring

Miss Bray’s Fateful Day

The Memory of Time

The Move Out West

The Mystery of Finite Creations

The Path

The Silent Cry

The Walk Home

The Water Flow

The Way Back

The Way to Camp

Things Remembered

Too Big

Too Much

Vincent’s Pain

Windows of Time

Wish I Could Convey

Yin and Yang?

Youthful Ideals

Returning to Days

and Seasons

A Winter Walk

April

April Fools Day

April’s Hope

August Good-bye

Aware Of The Season

Candle Wishes

Cold Ground

February Winds

Green

Home to Spring

June is Here!

November Trees

November Winds

Remembering the Dead

Riding Through Winter

September Moon

Sounds and Sights of Spring

Spring

Spring Up Waters

Stopping at the Lake Late at Night

Talking Leaves

The 12th Day of Christmas

The Dance of May

The Fall

The First Snowfall

The Spring of Hope

Waiting For Spring

Winter’s Gray

Returning to Relationships

Angelica Noelle

Belonging to Someone

Come Eat

Cool Lady

Dear Friend

Destiny?

Eternal Hug

Falling Backward

Falling Off the Edge

Family Reunions in the Park

Far From the Tree

Femme Fatale

Foster Mom

Friday Night Group

Getting Together

Ghosts of Yesterday

Jadah Monet

Jade Madison

Jimmy and Me

Kiss Me Goodnight

My Therapist

Sheltering Tree

Sorry

Sudden Betrayal

The Anger of Change

The Cost of Compassion

Three Rings

Time Captured Hope

Unplugged

Until Then

Vicarious Good-byes

Waiting to Belong

Watched by an Angel

Returning to Events

Baby Name Book

Boat Tour

Book Bags on the Bus

Buffalo Snow

Crossing the Peace Bridge

Fireworks on the Lake

Forgotten Alumni

Freaky Friday

Grand Island Escape

Homecoming

Local Fire

Millennium Eve

My First Transistor Radio

Sledding at Chestnut Ridge

The Armory

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Ned Raimonde, my beloved, best friend,

and one who has encouraged me in all of my pursuits.

Acknowledgments

Quote from A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean. New York: Pocket Books, © 1976 by The University of Chicago.

Poems first printed in these periodicals:

The Aurorean, Home to Spring

The Buffalo News, Indian Grapes; Cross-Over

Time of Singing, Day of Rest; Eternal Hug

After 50 Magazine, An Abandoned Boys Christmas; April’s Hope; February Winds; Easter Egg Hunt; Easter Surprise; Halloween; June is Here!; My Valentine; November Winds; Spring; The New Year

Forward

I remember feeling things as a young child, which I needed to put into words—written words. While the content and style has changed over the years, the drive has never changed. William Wordsworth once said, All good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility. I would have to concur with this as I recall the power of my emotions propelling me to find expression in the quiet places of my soul. But still, life had its raucous moments—times where I became lost like a little child wandering aimlessly through the woods, waiting to be rescued.

Thomas Wolfe entitled one of his books, You Can’t Go Home Again, and while this may be true in some cases, I have discovered that in God, there is always a way back—a home filled with warmth, nurturing, and a welcoming embrace. My poems cover a journey of alienation, loss, hurt, and pain, but always returning; coming close to the edge, but never falling off completely. That, my friends, is the grace of God. While this book contains some Christian poems, it could not be pigeonholed as a Christian book. It is for everyone. Encapsulated within it you will find the thorns of life as well as the roses. I perceive that we are all like sea glass, hurled about egregiously by the waves, until our sharp edges are softened and we get tossed to shore as tiny, smooth, opaque treasures, ready to be hand-picked by God.

In my life, these waves took the form of such experiences as: miscarriages, loneliness, rejection, sickness, nervous breakdowns, and bipolar illness. But in the midst of all this, God’s river sustained me. It pushed me past the pain, and brought me back to health and wholeness. I still struggle with some of these issues, but the river sustains me. As Norman Maclean once said:

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.

Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde

Returning to Nature

24 Hours in the Secret Garden

Stepping inside

My secret garden

I soak up the sun

Beside the misty

Lilac wave

And pale purple

Petunias congregating

With blue and orange Impatiens

And other floral fascinations

Like Joseph’s Coat covered

Overhead by Bittersweet Nightshade

And Blue Jays serenading

While red Cardinals fly by

Reminding me to fill

The hanging feeder

With black and white seeds

Before the night falls

And tall evergreens

Silhouette their textured bark

Against the dark gray sky

A Country Ride in Winter

Sparks splashed behind the plow

Like a cigarette butt dancing

Down, around the highway

Birch saplings like white straws

Stood erect in the snow

We turned down Genesee

And Townline road

To view the pine covered lots

We could have bought

When the kids were young

Snowmobiles zoom in and out—

Not watching where they’re going—

(Perhaps they are too young to plan a destination)

We pass the house where I was born on Chestnut ridge

It sits all tired and worn with peeling paint

Another log cabin lies on top of the world

Touching the heavens with its fingertip

We stop at the country store for fresh hot coffee

The cold wind bites our bones and makes us shudder

Heading back home, we realize we are lost

Until we make a right hand turn on Urn road

Where once we looked to buy but stayed instead

Are we much different than the graveyards dead?

Snow flurries mingled nicely with ancient trees—

The aged oaks lining meandering roads

If only we would take a second glance

A myriad of stories could be told

An old farmhouse with Christmas lights still lit

In mid January no one dared to say—

That’s not the thing to do so turn them off!

I’d rather have them stay and shed some light

On the eastern side of Boston State road

Old ashen white stones stand all alone

I wonder who is left to lay some flowers

Where only wind and spirits seem to roam

Evening descends

The lights dim in the parlors—

It’s time to head back home

This winters midnight hour

Birds Eye

I wake half dazed

With a stiff lower back.

I lift the comforter

To spread its wings

Over the king-sized bed

One beat at