Birds
Winter Sky
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Sky"
The affect on me of
Canadian geese is inexplicable,
But the sight and sound of
Their flying overhead stop me in
My tracks every time.
There is something
Which is roused deep
Within me that has no
Limit in depth nor fathom.
I sometimes believe I encountered them
In some long ago past, and
When I first saw them
Way-back-then, they were
Likewise beating their
Way through a snow-sky.
Perhaps something happened
That forgotten day,
But every once in a while
They fly back again into my life,
And my mind begins to
Wonder what is that something
Which is being replayed…?
Leo Carroll
February 6, 2019
I hear them
Coming before I see them,
And I instantaneously
Stand stock-still, barely
Breathing, anticipating them —
Canadian geese in
Arrow-flight formation,
Beating their wings
Against a snow-cold sky, just
Like they once did flying over a
Primeval cave mouth
And in my hand
Was a sling which I
Let drop limply to my side,
And I watched them
Then as I do now,
Entranced as they
Plow ahead into the
Dark and soon-storm,
Not fighting its force but
Savoring it, their heads
Pointed straight into
What awaits them,
Their beaks confident
At the forefront of
Their phalanx, and ready
To be the first spears
To pierce into the
Winter’s teeth.
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!
Noticing
Click for meditationRegarding "Noticing"
There is
Something
Inherent
About a heron,
Visually so
Quiet, so
Observant,
So unassuming in
Its walk, so
Wonderful in its
Flight, the
Unobtrusive
Observer of all
Things
Around,
Not just in
Curiosity, but
In hope something
Lost should
E’er return and
Be found…
Leo Carroll
October 14, 2018
…A heron,
Pensive, perfectly still,
Stoic on a dock,
Waiting for
What the boardwalk
Brings, be it
Lady or her
Glass
Slipper or
Simply the
Lingering scent of an
Unforgettable
October
Dream…
The Universe’s Manger
Click for meditationRegarding "The Universe’s Manger"
Seeing the
Beating heart of the
Baby robin was like looking at the
Beating heart of
All of earth’s life –
Every life, every heart, all
Combined into
Just one life, one
Single, big beating heart,
A composite heart, and
All shown to me
From my living room
Window, where a
Robin’s nest
Was but bare
Inches away in
A boxwood shrub,
And rather than having to
Travel to strange
And exotic
Lands in search of
Strange and exotic life,
All I had to
Do was to peek
Through the glass and
See the embodiment and
Meaning of all life,
Any kind of life,
Wherever it
Resided in this
Universe, and it
Was safeguarded in
Front of me by
A mother robin,
Which humanity would
Zoom light years to
See, if it was ever rumored
To chirp on another
Planet’s rock.
Leo Carroll
May 16, 2018
Is there a life
With more meaning than
Yours? Is there pink
Flesh I should more honor
In awe?
Is there a heart
Which sweeter, lighter beats?
Is there a clearer
Chirp of born again, new
Beginnings?
Is there a season
Which comes with gladder
Tidings? Is there a
Warmer nest to soothe
Robin’s crying?