Poem
Asking Judith
Click for meditationRegarding "Asking Judith"
In this poem, the daisies in
My rock garden speak, and they ask
A woman of quiet gardening
Renown to identify whether their
Blooms are Shasta, Sheffield, or Montauk?
All three of these daisy varieties
Are similar, and are a staple of
Autumn, and provide in their wonderful
Faces one last look at the
Fading warmth of the sun.
It is as if the beauty of fall clings
To their petals, and these
Dainty flowers smile for all they
Are worth…as if they
Think if they band together
And try hard enough —
They might even push back
The cold, which otherwise
For winter would place in cocoon
Their gentle souls…!
Leo Carroll
November 1, 2018
We defer to you, if you
Were to kindly agree, to discern
The proper name of our
Pretty, little daisies…
We believe we are Shasta, but
Sheffield and Montauk
Look like us, too, so if you
Would examine our leaves,
Perhaps you could settle
The lineage of our bloom…?
We’re not asking, though, that
You gage the quality of
Our autumnal beauty, because
Along this garden wall,
Our petals already reign
Supreme with their pink and
White heavenly purity…
Pink and White
Click for meditationRegarding "Pink and White"
I used to believe
A pilgrim’s path was
Composed of life events and
Challenges to “round”
The “rough edges” off of
A person, much like
A sand grain lying on the
Beach and being bathed by
Tidal flows, and as part
Of this marathon trek, a
Person could learn
And be taught…
The older I get, though, I
Have come to believe
A pilgrim’s path is meant
To be far more…that a
Pilgrim’s path is also comprised
Of steppingstones of comfort
And Beauty, and it is these
Latter two which can help
A person to persevere
And live a more peaceful life.
In short, a pilgrim’s journey
Is not just about being
Re-shaped and smoothed
By the events of life,
But by being helped and
Guided along the way by
The simple gifts of Creation —
Such as pink and white shasta daisies
On an autumn morning
Along a stone wall…
Leo Carroll
October 26, 2018
Could I
Meander along a
Prettier pilgrim’s path
Than this?
Could my eyes
Open
Any wider,
Lest any pink and
White beauty
Along this stone wall
I miss?
Maple Leaf
Click for meditationRegarding "Maple Leaf"
Of all leaves,
Maple leaves are my
Favorite, and of all the seasons,
I like the warmth of their
Hues in autumn the
Absolute best, and on this
Particular day it seemed
That one maple leaf
Of the most vibrant color red
Actually levitated over
The peridot waters of
Walden Pond, where the
Smoothed stones
Beneath the surface
Marveled at how a leaf
Could defy gravity —
And above the shallows
Dangle as if by the leash of
A golden thread.
Leo Carroll
October 22, 2018
A
Perfect
Maple leaf,
Autumnal and
Living-red,
Seems
O’er the
Surface as if to
Levitate —
Lest it
Dip its
Color into
The
Pond,
And
Dilute the
Work of
Walden’s
God.
Walden Heron
Click for meditationRegarding "Walden Heron"
There is something
Introspective about a
Heron. Whenever I see one,
It is usually alone, but it
Also seems simultaneously to
Be very curious and in
All things interested, both
Maintaining proper distance,
But concurrently drawn
To the object of its attention.
In the case of this poem,
The heron has just emerged from
The Walden grasses and
Reeds, and seems to be
Caught in the act of fishing
By the camera’s lens.
It did not drop the
Little fish from its beak,
But neither, maybe, did it
Instantaneously swallow,
Perhaps for a few nanoseconds
Not wanting to offend
The person who was so
Carefully capturing its dignity
As a bird, and who might
Someday with camera to Walden’s
Worn path return…
Leo Carroll
October 22, 2018
From
Out the
Pond grass it steps,
An apparition
Almost,
Except in its
Beak a
Fish…
Caught by
The
Camera,
It pauses its
Swallow,
Wanting to be
Polite,
Lest the
Photographer
Not
Return
Tomorrow.
Ode to Walden Heron
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Walden Heron"
There is something
Introspective about a
Heron. Whenever I see one,
It is usually alone, but it
Also seems simultaneously to
Be very curious and in
All things interested, both
Maintaining proper distance,
But concurrently drawn
To the object of its attention.
In the case of this poem,
The heron has just emerged from
The Walden grasses and
Reeds, and seems to be
Caught in the act of fishing
By the camera’s lens.
It did not drop the
Little fish from its beak,
But neither, maybe, did it
Instantaneously swallow,
Perhaps for a few nanoseconds
Not wanting to offend
The person who was so
Carefully capturing its dignity
As a bird, and who might
Someday with camera to Walden’s
Worn path return…
Leo Carroll
October 22, 2018
And so
There you are,
Your fleeting
Swallow caught by
An autumn
Glimpse,
A silver fish
Fresh in your
Beak, and then
Gone it is…
Slid down your
Gullet, and
Gulped in
The whoosh of
A Walden
Whisk!