Beauty
Ode to Iris
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Iris"
Many years ago,
Someone walking past
My garden told me
That an iris was a symbol
Of “friendship.” I had
Never heard that before,
And to this day do not
Know if it is true or not.
However, the sincerity and
Certitude with which
This was said to me have
Always stayed, and
So every year when the
First shoots of spring
Start to show themselves
In April, nay even late
March, I always look to
Confirm that some of these
Shoots belong to irises,
And when I see them I smile,
Because that person’s
Comment re-lives in my garden
At that moment, and also
Later in June when
Lavender petals radiate,
As if still trying to catch that
Passing person’s eye.
Leo Carroll
June 23, 2019
Someone once told me
You were a symbol of friendship, and
So in my garden you flourish
With those words inscribed
As nourishment.
Lavender seems to be
A favorite of your colors, and
So I till its hue more
Than all June others.
Daffodils
Click for meditationRegarding "Daffodils"
It came to me
That my own pilgrim’s path
Resembles the
Seasonal flow of my
Garden in a four-part act, with
The fresh growth of
Springtime’s hope and
Rebirth akin to my
Ever-evolving
Renewal, followed
By the endurance
Required in the summer
Heat of July…a
Metaphor for the
Endless twists and turns of
The human condition
As it sits the beach of
Low and high tides…
And then the final
Burst of color and beauty
In autumn, before
Plunging again
Into the deep sleep
Of winter, only to
Arise again in April,
Pointed and poised to
Resume my journey,
But always bowed by the
Growing pains of
Bloom in my
Season of change…
Leo Carroll
May 7, 2019
…One of the first
Fruits of spring — daffodils
Buttery-yellow and
Dangling from the
Ear lobes of morning —
And at their feet
In fealty, the remnants of a
Once-magnificent,
Autumn leaf, placed by
Winter’s wind and
Now a companion
And witness to
The fresh shoots
Of daylilies green,
And all of these
Stirrings staring into
The stoic eyes of
Garden stones, the
Singular thread
Stitching together
My rock garden
As my shifting
Seasons unfold…
Silence in Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence in Stone"
A stone wall is symbolic
Of everything this world is not.
It is silent, content to
Bask in solitude, confident
In its strength, and in
Absolutely no need
To be known. It is just there,
Wherever it is, blending
Into the background
Of everything going on
Around it, quietly listening,
Unassuming, and
Satisfied to stand in
Loyalty and solidarity to
The flesh which built
It with long ago hands.
It has no expectations,
Except that in autumn some
Maple, oak, and beech
Leaves lean against its
Moss, and that together
In the fading sunlight they
Share in the glow of the lost
Art of tenderness
In a time-forgotten,
Promised Land.
Leo Carroll
April 1, 2019
I try to claim each
Day in the name of silence,
If such a thing from
Noise is possible
In this world the
Garden of Eden has
Cast us into. Perhaps
This is why to
Stone walls I so
Gladly cleave.
They seem to
Be able to stand
Without having to do…
And just to be…
They are content in
Their timeless, tireless
Strength, and
Are happy to
Let the forest and
Its timbers beat
Their breasts before the
Moon, as if to
Achieve this could
E’er surpass the
Silence resonant in a
Stone’s beauty.
Wagon Wheel
Click for meditationRegarding "Wagon Wheel"
A wagon wheel is faithful,
Always ready to roll…the only time
It stops working is when
It breaks and needs
Fixing, or when it
Is too old to be repaired.
Wagon wheels are
Held in mystical esteem.
Anytime someone drives in a rural
Area, even in an area which
Is no longer rural, it is
Possible to come upon a
Wagon wheel leaning against
A stone wall, a tree,
A barn, or something else.
They are rarely discarded.
They are respected.
Sometimes they are revered.
They are reminders of a
Simpler time of life – hard working
And dutiful. The lupines
In the photograph know what
The old days were like.
They grew then, just
As they also grow now.
Their collective memory
Knows the importance
And meaning of a wagon
Wheel. That is why they stand
In homage around the grey, weathered
Rim and spokes, and listen
To the stories…stories of what the
Wheels and their wagons once did, before
They became tired and broken and
Weathered and…
Leo Carroll
December 13, 2018
At last it has come to rest,
An old wagon wheel weathered, with its
Wizened spokes pointed outward
As if still poised in
Yesteryear’s duty-radius.
No more turns now, no
More thoughts of service, just a green field
Of lupines, to bind its
Wooden wounds in June’s
Glorious fervor.
And so it sits, alone
And at ease until gloaming’s end, alone
Except for lupines, and the
Lavender praise and reverence
Of their hymns.
Colors of Armistice
Click for meditationRegarding "Colors of Armistice"
On a grey and cold November day
In 1929, eighty nine years ago,
My father was working with my
Grandfather cutting firewood in the
Backyard. My father was eight
Years old, and the First World War
Had ended 11 years before.
All of a sudden, the “whistles”
Went off in the town, and
My father was startled. He asked
My grandfather what the
Whistles were for, and my
Grandfather told him that the
“War” had ended at that
Very hour, 11 years before…
My father never forgot
That moment, and every Armistice
Day, or Veterans Day as it is
Now called in the United States,
He would tell me the story.
Fast forward fifty six years later
To 1985, and I was living in Belgium.
It was common in Europe for
People to wear a small red poppy
In their lapel on Armistice Day because of the
Great poem, “In Flanders Fields,” written in 1915
By Canadian Lieutenant Colonel and doctor, John McCrae.
At the time of the poem, beautiful red
Poppies were seen to be growing up out of the
Grasses where dead soldiers were hastily
Buried in Ypres, Belgium. And so my
Memories became even further stirred
On November 11th every year…
Now I will always go out into my garden
On that day, and think of my
Father’s stories, and I will always
Look for a late autumn flower
To symbolize the beautiful red poppy.
This year I saw a pink daisy.
It stood in remembrance as well.
Leo Carroll
November 21, 2018
On this day,
Holy in the fields of
Flanders and
On the lapels o’er
Countless
Hearts,
Bloom
Poppies in the
Sacred
Color of
Vibrant red.
On this same
Day in a
Late autumn
Garden,
Blooms in
Solidarity a pink
Daisy,
Affirming in
Remembrance
There is no
Death…