Daydream
Finally
Click for meditationRegarding "Finally"
Sometimes our path may
Seem so arduous, so unrelenting, so
Littered with choices and
Decisions and events, which
To look back up’n later
Can leave us worn and spent,
Almost turned to stone like
Lot’s wife, each step
Taken a test of perseverance
And might, each step with
No chance to repeat,
But just to move
Forward with a hopeful
Heartbeat…but what if we
Suddenly came up’n and
Arrived at the final few steps,
And could smell the
Blessed salt air of rebirth
And fragrance, and e’en hear
The gentle lap of waves
As if applied against our
Psyche and soul had come
A warm compress…such
Thoughts came to me when I
Saw two photographs
Recently taken at Sandy
Point on Plum Island.
I could not help but put
Myself in the shoes of the
Photographer, and thus
Unfolded before me the
Poem written in first person.
And so. a peridot-green canopy
Became a dream-like,
Long-sought tunnel
Of welcome, and on the
Oth’r side of it – the
Magnificence of a sun-bathed,
Pristine beach, with
Immaculate sands purring,
“Behold the absolute
Wonder of peace and
Release.”
Leo Carroll
September 28, 2020
Through the portal
I flow, its canopy my safe
Passage to shelter
Where e’en my whims
May follow…and then out the
Oth’r side I someday
Step, my journey
O’er, and my deepest
Wish waiting on the beach –
With my breathing
Breathless…
Summer Daydreaming
Click for meditationRegarding "Summer Daydreaming"
I love that little Maine
Beach where I found myself sitting
Last week! Every year it
Becomes my safe harbor to
Daydream, wonder, and reflect. No more
Than a quarter mile in length,
It points seaward into
The Gulf of Maine.
Cold the water is! Brrrr!
Healing! Rejuvenating!
And it seems that
Every year as I sit upon
That beach, a fog bank will
Regularly roll in, and a sailboat
Will come into view tacking
In and out of my sight.
I have a relationship
With that sailboat which is
Complicated to define.
It has so many different
Meanings to me, and each one
Is synonymous with
Various themes at work
In my life. One of the
Most important of these
Themes is the loosing of
An almost continual, merciful,
Thought-stream of verse
And stanza, which will
Slip in and out of my
Consciousness like that
Which tacks in an out of a
Marvelous coastal
Maine fogbank, and
Where on my last day
Sitting — it will disappear
Until next year…
Leo Carroll
August 20, 2019
Found
Like a sailboat my voice
Wafts, tacking into the wind, and
Then blithely disappears into the fog’s womb,
Where it soon re-emerges again…
It seems as if my speech has
Been released by the muse on
Behalf of merciful God, and verse and
Stanza have been loosed by
Healing spittle upon a
Tongue’s tied knot.
Sailing
It is as if
On that sailboat I found
My voice, and in and out of the fog tacked
Verse and stanza which
Had waited to be released for
Eons without choice.
“Heave into sight,” shouted
The First Mate, and from the crow’s nest
Then hollered down, “Nary a fear
Is in view, just whitecaps
And blue sky in natural union
Abounding.”
Home of Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Home of Stone"
Again and again
I return to say
That whatever I believe
In my heart
Represents best
What in life
Seems true
And trustworthy
Is seen in a stone wall
Cutting on a perfect
Heading through
The woods, as
Much a part
Of what sits in
New England
As maple, birch,
And oak, and the
Animals which scurry
Amongst the crevasses
Of the rocks which
The wall’s builders
First fitted together
When up from
The earth was
Offered in glacial
Oblation the finest
Granite objects
The Universe
Ever saw.
Leo Carroll
April 11, 2019
A stone, or a
Collection of stones,
A wall, definitely
Something calling me
Home, reliable,
Trustworthy, making
Me melancholic
When in gloaming
I roam, built by
Flesh, by palms
Calloused by hard
Work honed, indeed,
A paean to duty
And everything
Holy like Gibraltar
Pointing its face
Into an Atlantic
Storm, yes, a wall,
A wall of stones
Against which
To lean, recline, and
Dream on a day in
Autumn warm,
A place which has
Withstood Time’s
Passage without
Pause or flinching, a
Monument to
Strength and what
Lies within, a bed
For me to safely sleep,
A womb in which
To rest, a place
For my hat to be
Finally set, and duty’s
Descriptive postcard
With no more to
Be said…except to
Daydream that bays in
The distance a
Long ago dog, and
Then a small child
Runs up to call
Me to supper, just
As sunset starts
To dip in a farewell’s
Beautiful yawn.
Sailboat
Click for meditationRegarding "Sailboat"
To be free,
To be carried by the wind
Uncaringly, to
Cast your lot with
Fate and to let the tides
Caress you with
No fear, because you
Have decided to
Be free, the air in your
Hair and the
Air imbibed like
Quenching, wheat beer…
Ah, yes, free,
Answering to no one
But Mariah the Wind, and she
Turns her gaze
Towards you and asks,
“Why not come
Here, where the sails
Are topped for your life
To live?”
Leo Carroll
July 9, 2018
There rides my
Daydream, sailing towards and
Away from me,
Gracefully,
Effortlessly,
And then gone it is
Beyond a jutting shoreline,
Where it disappears
For a moment behind
A teasing veil…but then back,
I see it, back, tacking
Towards a little
Summer isle, appearing
To slow offshore
A small, sandy beach,
Contemplating,
Pausing, deciding whether
To dip its masts
Towards me — and from
Afar show a
Promising smile!
Ode to ‘Reading Room’
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to ‘Reading Room’"
How I love my time
Spent in the woods of Maine!
At one point in my life, I went up
There for twenty one straight years every
November, and in all my
Life I have never found a more
Consistently peaceful place to
Contemplate and write. Every sight and
Sound in the woods had
Meaning to me, and I had a
Wide variety of names to refer to
Some of my favorite spots –
For example, the “Reading Room,”
The “Field”, and the “Trap Line” were
Three locations I regularly
Visited. Each had a natural niche
For me to settle into, and to
Wonder and daydream.
I wrote hundreds of poems
While up there. I would just sit in
Silence. The “Reading Room”
Became my best-liked, and
I would often end my day
There as the late afternoon
Light took over the woods.
Invariably at a certain point,
I would hear the melancholic
Barking of a dog coming from
The pasture of a distant, white
Farmhouse. The sound would waft
Across the tops of the trees,
And I would be reminded
Of something in my past which
Was comfortable and I called “home.”
And so, even now when I no longer
Go up to those beloved Maine
Woods, I will daydream
Of the many walks which
I took to find my resting place
In the “Reading Room.”
In the case of the poem for
Which this meditation is
Written, I was daydreaming
One January day of what
The path I walked would look
Like if there were no footprints in
The snow, and if the “Reading Room”
Was all alone watching what
I would have been watching, but
Sadly there was no one there
Now to call the barking
Dog home …
Leo Carroll
February 25, 2019
No footsteps in the snow
Lead up to you today,
No flesh cold sits upon your
Ledge, no mind wanders and then
Wonders at every sight and sound, and no
Melancholy rises up in the throat
When bays a dog across the
Primeval expanse between you
And a lone, white farmhouse –
Which even now from here,
Lo all these hundreds of miles away,
I can still see gleaming like a
Shining beacon across the tree tops
In my daydream’s gaze.