The Muse
Click for meditationRegarding "The Muse"
Effortlessly
My eyes lift, drawn
Mysteriously
To a mythical, desert
Mesa, sandy-
Reddish,
Where sits
Stoically an
Indian maiden
In Pueblo dress,
Eternally watching for
Me it seems,
As if she felt
My gaze, and knew I
Was waiting yet
Again for her
To release the words
Within me born
To live.
Leo Carroll
July 17, 2018
“Find me,” comes
A quiet, whispered
Voice, female
In its sound, longing
In the depths of
A wispy, far-distant
Thesaurus…
“Find me,” and
So up the high-desert
Plain my eyes
Lift, and there on
The mesa, in
Pueblo cloth, an
Indian maiden
Sits…
Cabin in the Woods
Click for meditationRegarding "Cabin in the Woods"
I was up in the
Maine woods one year with
A group of some friends.
We were there for the
Week in an old,
Historical hunting cabin.
One afternoon,
Most everyone had
Found their spot
Out beneath some tree
Or along a stone
Wall, but for me — my
Day had ended,
And I was sitting in the
Cabin with just
One other friend,
A dear friend, an old
Friend, a long-time,
Dependable friend, the
Best kind of friend,
And we were talking
Over a glass of red wine.
As the afternoon reached its
Zenith and final light,
An absolutely peaceful,
Melancholic
Warmth settled in
Upon the cabin, and
I realized how
Sometime soon
We would ourselves
Become merged
With the woods in a
Final accounting
Of all things created…
I always cherish that
Singular moment, that light —
And, particularly, that
Friendship to
Share in it.
Leo Carroll
May 11, 2018
Gradually
Settles up’n the
Cabin an autumn spell of
End-of-afternoon, fading light,
Golden in its hue, and
Melancholic in the
Warmth and glow it casts,
And a reminder, also,
That we are caretakers of
This place in time, and
Like the ghosts that once sat these
Self-same chairs in the
Womb of these old walls,
We, too, will someday share
With the woods the
Coming final sunset and
Descending night.
Winter Resurrection
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Resurrection"
On a cold, cold February
Day on Plum Island,
When to hold onto a pen in my
Fingers was almost too
Difficult, and on the entire
Expanse of the beach
There was not one other
Person to be seen, the waves
Continued to pound in
All their glory…as
If oblivious to all else…
And so I knew then
I could write, too…
Despite all else.
Leo Carroll
April 16, 2018
It was too cold to put
My toes into the
Water, but not too cold
For poetry, so a
Steel-blue surf gave
Way to my words, and
Into the depths
I plunged unhurt.
Grandson
Click for meditationRegarding "Grandson"
As grandparents, we
Are given the opportunity to help
Shape the development of a
Young child again…
No matter how good
A job we think we may
Have done the first
Time around with
Our own children,
There are probably some
Things we wish we had done
Differently…and so with
Grandchildren we are given
A second chance. Part of my second
Chance has been to tell the
Equivalent of fairytale
Stories, stories with
A moral to them to be
Emphasized and learned,
Stories in a sense
Which are simple fables.
I have told these as
Bedtime stories, and they
Have centered around a
Mythical farm and
Pasture where all the
Animals magically come
To bucolic life…particularly little
Lambs, and one lamb in
Particular by the name, “Dingle.”
And so, when years ago, I saw that
My grandson in kindergarten had taken
These stories to his heart,
I realized a sense of satisfaction
Which far transcended
Anything the mighty world
Could ever have shouted from
The highest rooftops!
Leo Carroll
August 24, 2018
Proudly he shows me
His little papers from school, and
Amongst the simple images
And symbols is printed his
Choice when asked by his
Teacher to write his favorite
Animal’s name…
And
Then I see the influence
My bedtime storytelling on him
Has had, because penciled
In kindergarten script…innocently
Bleat the four tiny letters
Which spell the woolly
Word, “Lamb.”
Releasing
Click for meditationRegarding "Releasing"
This poem is a
Metaphor for when one of my
Daughters was getting
Ready to relocate
To New York City to
Pursue the next
Phase of her life.
What a wonderful and
Thoughtful daughter she
Had been, and still is…
At the time, I was filled with
All sorts of strong
Emotions, as I realized she
Was leaving the home for good.
In a way, it was as if I
Was reliving the emotions of
Teyve, the father of
Five daughters in
Imperial Russia, in the
Great movie and Broadway play,
“Fiddler on the Roof.”
All had been done
To raise my daughter, but
In my mind she still
Danced and twirled as
A small girl…
But now it was
Time to let her go…
Releasing is never easy.
It can be painful
And very sad, but life
Has to continue in its fragile
Form and flight, like a
‘Julia Longwing’ butterfly
Lifting off from cupped hands,
And then watching its
Loving climb…
Leo Carroll
May 30, 2018
Good-bye, my butterfly,
My hands are cupped to lift your ride.
Bye-bye, my butterfly,
My eyes are raised to watch your climb.
Good-bye, my butterfly,
Lo may you land ‘neath loving sky.