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.
Depths
Click for meditationRegarding "Depths"
Depths,
Cleansing depths,
Healing depths,
And depths
Available
To all of us
If we can just
Hold long enough
Our breaths…
How deep
Can
We go,
How much do
We want to
Find for what we
Search,
How long,
How deep, no
Matter how
Much it helps when
It hurts…?
Leo Carroll
November 24, 2018
Down, down deep,
Into the depths I
Plunge, sounding for the
Bottom in fathoms
Dive to plumb.
Down, down deep,
The water courses
O’er me, in a protective
Rush of foam
Across my eternity.
Down, down deep,
My body points
In arrow flight, single
In its purpose, its
Object out of sight…
Stone Walls
Click for meditationRegarding "Stone Walls"
In today’s impermanent,
Transitory culture,
Stone walls can speak
To all of us. They stand for
Faithfulness and duty
And enduring accomplishment,
Not only in their own
Continued longevity
And legacy and existence,
But in the homage
They pay to the
Character of those
Who so lovingly
Built them, and whose
Spirits are still
Imbued into each
And every stone lifted and
So carefully placed.
Leo Carroll
April 18, 2018
Where are my children,
My grandchildren and heirs, as
You, you strangers,
Pass me near?
They formed these
Walls, they placed these
Stones, in long ago act to
Carve this home.
And now you come
This November brief, and
Sit the moss my
Walls lone keep…
Tell my children, my
Grandchildren and heirs, I still
Silently stand to all
They did here.
Ode to Dromod’s Field
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Dromod’s Field"
In September 2000, two of
My daughters went to Ireland, and
While there visited a cemetery
In County Kerry where some of the
Forebears of my father’s family were buried.
My daughters asked me if I wanted
To accompany them. I told them,
“No,” that I was busy with other
Things I was doing. They persisted in
Asking me. I persisted in
Saying, “no.” And so they went
Alone, to traverse the land
Where four generations before
Some of my ancestors had
Left Ireland. I should have gone.
I knew it even before they
Returned. I could tell in their
Voices over the international
Telephone lines that they
Had touched something
Like a heartbeat or the flesh
Of a palm no longer heard or felt.
I saw the photos when they returned,
And my eyes were overwhelmed
By the power of the images.
And so I came to write this poem of
A burial ground in Dromod, County Kerry,
Which saw the faces of my
Daughters, and in seeing their
Features, saw mine, too…as well as
The likenesses of their sons
And daughters who had left
Long generations before.
Leo Carroll
September 3, 2018
Upon your stones we move about, in
Prayerful search ‘midst this wheat throughout.
We never knew ye, but feel sure, you
Watch us tread this earthen floor.
From thy loins sprang Dromod seed, a
Comely fruit and sweet-isle mead.
These sons and daughters cupped your
Hand, kissed it gently, then sailed your land.
Lo years later, with them long gone,
You see us now as we part these thorns.
We’ve come to say we love you, too, and
Brush these stones etched in dew.
For as we spread these weeds grown
Wild, you see our faces and ken our smiles.
On our faces, likened clear, are the long
Ago images of your children dear.
Know ye then, people of yore, we’ve
Come to sit your lap once more.
Against your breast we commune and sleep, safe
In the warmth your field doth keep.