LORNE C. LONEY

[Sands of Time A book of Poetry & Prose, 1964]

Lorne C. Loney spent much of his early childhood in and near the village of Fonthill, Ontario, Canada. Here among the beautiful rolling hills of the adjacent St John’s Valley, he has found much of his reminiscent inspiration for such poems as “WHEN AUTUMN COMES’’ ‘’BOYHOOD MEMORIES’’

‘’WHEN WILD GEESE CALL’’. He is also the true balladier of the sea and when reading these poems the individual finds himself at once transported into an enhanced spirit of adventure. It is indeed only through this deft and rare manipulation of exacting genius that such communication of zeal is extended from author to reader. The meter is smoothly lyrical and always easily read. Although the poet has been writing for only two short years, already he is  making himself heard around the world. For a  bard of the present century to achieve this type of recognition is to say the least unusual. This in itself would seem to be a banner of the true talent which has manifested itself in this meteoric career.

The author’s father, a printer by trade, later moved his family from Fonthill to the city of St Catharines, Ontario, where the poet received a more extended education in the T.R. Wright Business College, and the St Catharines Collegiate Institute. Mr Loney’s ancestry being of U.E,L, stock, one of whom was “The Baron Bishop Christopher Springer” who immigrated from Stockhom, Sweden to Wilmington, Delaware in 1689, later moving north to Canada. These ancestors also including “Colonel Richard Beasley being among the first white setters in the area where Hamilton, Ontario now stands.

Harold P. Stewart.

WHEN AUTUMN COMES

When autumn’s smoky haze drifts low above
The hick’ry ridge, blending her dulcet tones
To rhapsodize the sweep of azure hue.
Then is this feeling born akin to love
To reconcile with this serenity.
Then, insistant comes the urgent call
This searching, yearning to be part of it
Blending the soul with all infinity.
Ere I had roamed the world with searching heart
With hope for that which none but few attain,
Found beauty as an earthly radiant part
Where scarlet sumac borders down the lane.

Here, with childish awe  my eager footsteps, lent
To fervoured leap and barefoot rapture, sped me
Through red and misty maze of autumn’s gold
As down, down, through fiery woodland dales,
Where bright palat’al carpets there unfold
I plumbed the haunts which then alone were mine-
A kingdom where the boyhood heart prevails…

Ah! there my subject sits, on your pine tree
Whose bushy tail to mock attention snaps
As with scolding, chattering glee..drops it–
His tribute acorn to my feigned royalty.
So bent my steps and childish laughter thus
When autumn doned her scarlet robber’s coat
To plunder verdure green of oak and ash
With defly moving stroke of Master’s Brush.

Yet knew I not the meaning of it then–
A wild duck winging,–silouettes a sunset sky..
My kindred spirit soaring up to him

To feel his loneliness and know not why.
Since I have roamed the world with searching heart
With joy for that which I through God have known.
Since I have quested those far alien shores–
Found all of beauty stems a Heav’nly part.
‘Tis He that marks the sumac in the lane,
As guiding now these wiser footsteps, while
With slower tread and knowing rapture, leads me
Through red and misty maze of autumn’s gold.
As down, down, through fiery woodland depths
Where  bright palat’al carpets there unfold
I plumb the haunts wherein His Spirit dwells,
A kingdom which my grateful heart accepts.

BOYHOOD MEMORIES
(A tribute to an old friend)

There’s a vision I have of a valley
Where a laughing brook shimmers and gleams,
There’s a barefoot lad with birch fishing pole
Who inhabits the land of my dreams…

They shared many things, this boy and his dog
When the summer sun grew mellow and warm,
When the picket-fence garden, back of the house
Came alive with the hum of bees a-swarm.

Then the lure of the valley called them both
To the alder haunts along the brook,
And they hied them there, this carefree boy
And his faithful dog, to their secret nook.

And they’d seek the shade of the willow tree–
Not where the brook went a-panting by,
But a spot where it stopped to rest awhile
In peat-brown pools, where lily pads lie.

And the boy would get lost in wondrous dreams
As he pondered the brook-trout’s darting glee,
And he’d span all the years till manhood’s grace
A-lying beneath the willow tree.

And the dog would watch with adoring eyes–
A trusting friend who would e’er abide,
Though the lad knew not that he reigned a king
In the guileless heart, close by his side.

So they lay on the cool green moss-banks there
A-tuned to the new born summer’s joy,
While the locust hummed in the tall tree tops–
This happy dog and a carefree boy.

And then with the rainbows— a goodly string,
They’d leave their quiet sequestered nook,
As if by some magic signal given
To follow the lure of beck’ning brook.

Where a collie dog of sable and white
Goes a-bounding over the lea,
Then waits up ahead for  tow-haired boy
A-wagging his tail in urgent glee,

Thus laughing and leaping through moss and fern
They quested their daily ultimate goal,
As dodging through alders and willow branch
They came at last to the swimming hole…

Now the picture fades like a childhood dream
With the boy long grown to manhood’s grace,
As my thoughts stray back to the long ago
And the trusting friend I can ne’er replace.

Yet I’ll ever remember the valley
Where a laughing brook shimmers and gleams,
And the barefoot lad with birch fishing pole
Who inhabits the land of my dreams..

And a collie dog of sable and white
Who is waiting ahead on the lea..
‘Tis the fondest of mem’ries no time can erase
And will ever shine brighter for me