Beach
Day’s Done
Click for meditationRegarding "Day’s Done"
As I’ve said so
Often, I love this little beach,
This Pemaquid beach,
This jewel on Maine’s
Mid coast looking out
Onto the Gulf of Maine!
I am always so reluctant
To leave it. It lies on only a
Bit of a wisp of sand,
Perhaps a quarter mile
In length, but one that has
Given my grandchildren
A lifetime of memories and
Smiles – of seagulls
Swooping, and hermit crabs
Clinging to shelter
Inside the tiniest of
Shells, and sandcastles
And fortresses being
Buttressed against
The onslaught of a
Rising tide. This beach,
This secluded haven,
Has also been a
Gift of solace to me,
As I’ve sat and watched
Little running legs merge
With my own — in a
Miracle of times past
And now — as I morph
Back and forth
From boy to man,
Feeling melancholic over
Those things I would
Do over again…
Leo Carroll
August 27, 2019
The day’s gift of
Precious life all done,
All sand castles
Built, all bare little
Feet now home to be
Bathed and by
Sleepy-time
Welcomed,
All done, with
Naught but the
Majesty of dusk
To be spread across
A quiet, low tide
At rest, and the last
Glimpse of light
To be felt like a
Goodnight’s kiss
Unexpected.
Looking towards Sand Beach and Beyond…
Click for meditationRegarding "Looking towards Sand Beach and Beyond…"
I frequently
Speak about my
Pilgrim’s path, the
Trail I’m on as
My youth learns
It won’t last.
The longer I live,
The closer I am to dying,
And the more I hope
My path has
Somehow
More time…
And so I muse if
I might have
Multiple, serial
Forms of existence?
I must, such is
The staggering
Amount of
My shaping and
Smoothing yet
To be done, and all
I need is to
Look at Acadia’s
Sand Beach — and
See the pinprick-sized
Remnants of
Seashells, and
Realize Creation’s
Tides will wash me
Until Kingdom
Come…!
Leo Carroll
November 16, 2018
I see the deep, and if
I can e’er reach it beyond the rocks,
Then maybe into its blue
Arms I can dive and sleep…
Returned home after
Millennia of seemingly
Endless searching,
My pilgrim’s path finished,
My tired feet no longer thirsty…so
Tantalizingly close but still
So far away, because
The remaining steps of my
Path are destined for
A finely sculpted copse
My walk must enter
Along the trail…and then
Onward to a beach, itself
Formed of infinite, miniscule
Pieces of seashells, each
Shell’s journey incalculably
Longer than mine,
Literally grounded into
Smithereens, and the length it
Took not e’en known
By Time…
Yarmouth Heaven
Click for meditationRegarding "Yarmouth Heaven"
The Kingdom of God
Resides quietly within us, but we do
Not have to search very far
On this earthen plane to see
A physical replica of its ramparts,
Or to experience its
Transformative peace.
Such manifestations of the
Kingdom occur around us in
The day-to-day beauty of Creation,
Even in a photograph of the
Beauty of Creation, such
As when I was recently shown a
Picture of a wonderful
Vista in the Cape Cod town
Of Yarmouth. Beauty
Is certainly in the eye of the
Beholder, and the eye
Which took the photograph
Saw it…and thankfully shared
Its splendor and heavenly
Message with me.
Leo Carroll
October 3, 2018
And so there in front of me —
Pink-sprinkled rosa rugosa — that sweet,
Wild shrub which blooms best
At the edge of a salt sea…and then
Beyond it, a sailboat at ease,
With a channel buoy guiding blue
Waters into the safe sheepfold and harbor of
Psalm Twenty Three…and then e’en
Further beyond, in the perfect image
Of September on ol’ Cape Cod,
A little beach beckoning, hoping in
Awe my thoughts to pause.
Ode to Seashells
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Seashells"
I love seashells.
They have so many shapes
And curves, so many
Edges smooth but yet still being
Smoothed, so innocent
But yet so strong,
Strong enough to have
Withstood roiling
Riptides, and yet gentle
Enough to lie as a feather
In the flesh of a palm,
So many stories to
Tell, so many waves which tried
To crush them asunder,
So many channel buoys
Ringing in their ears,
So many nameless beaches
Which showcased them in splendor,
So many hands which might
Have picked them up, and then
Passed them along — until
They came to where I am, and
My eyes in another’s
Palm gaze them upon.
Leo Carroll
August 13, 2018
How came you to
Be in her hand, so that to me
She would you give,
My flesh to become soon your
New plane of sand,
Your thin frailness
To become my strength…
Each to the other
To the other…all having
As their source the
Unremitting pounding
And smoothing you once
Withstood — upon an
Anointed shore I tremble to even
Set my pilgrim’s foot!
My Feet
Click for meditationRegarding "My Feet"
There is a small tidal pond,
Naturally preserved, perfect in its
Primordial soul, perfect
In its willingness to serve. And so I found myself
There, immersed in what it
Had to offer, my toes
Intermingled with periwinkles,
And scrubbed by ‘knotted wrack,’
Itself undulating ’round
Smoothed stones,
And then over.
Leo Carroll
September 17, 2018
My feet, each being washed
Clean by the patient primordial sea in healing,
Each little wave lapping as if a
Water pitcher poured down, each smoothed
Stone one of the steps I was
Shown when my life I was
Searching to be found, each
Gentle ocean sponge to exfoliate
My flesh in consonance with
The universe’s care…yes, my feet, and
By these cold Maine gifts they
Are bathed, as if this tidal
Pond’s purpose was to soothe all
They had to bear…