Depths / Fathoms
King Tide
Click for meditationRegarding "King Tide"
The Christmas and Hanukkah
Seasons have the potential to be over-whelmed
By the attention being given to Covid…
It has been 2020’s most dominant story,
Far-surpassing anything else,
Even in a Presidential election news
Cycle. Other traditions such as
Kwanzaa, a secular, spiritual one
Which celebrates pan-African culture
And the African-American
Way of life, are equally in danger
Of being swamped by the “king” tide
Effect of living in this time of
A worldwide pandemic. In Hindu,
Diwali (or Divali), the joyful festival of
Lights, occurred last month on
November 14th, and had to contend
With the virus’s dark! The very
Essence of each these holiday seasons,
Even a secular one like Festivus,
Is the coming together of family and
Friends, and, in general, sharing
And partaking in bonhomie.
All are shaken to their very
Cores now…Even as I write this,
One of my daughters said,
“Dad, I guess we won’t be seeing
You on Christmas,” the look
In her eyes one I will not forget.
My insides screamed out,
“No, I will see you…!”
But how best and safely
In the coming weeks to still
Be determined…! Jesse Jackson
Is famous for saying, “Keep
Hope alive!” I believe our duty,
Our responsibility this year,
Is to somehow do just that…Our best
Way to strike at the heart of
Covid is the lighting of
Even just one Christmas or
Hanukkah candle, or the
Singing of just one Kwanzaa
Song, or the eating of just one
Diwali sweet snack, or the airing of
Just one Seinfeld-like, Festivus
“Grievance,” all while
Somehow prudently gathering,
And knowing the best
Antidotes are faith and the
Indomitable will of the human
Spirit to never give up!
Leo Carroll
December 9, 2020
It washed o’er my defenses,
Rising gently at first, but
My bastions were soon breached,
My seawall caught asleep,
My mind submerging ‘neath a
High tide with no antidote earthen,
Wave after wave piling
In, and their frigid hues
Gazing up at the cold
Moon, whose face, in turn,
Stared back with a chameleon’s
Covid smirk…
In the Midst
Click for meditationRegarding "In the Midst"
A “king” tide is when the sun
And moon align with each
Other, and the gravitational
Pull on the earth is at its
Absolute strongest. One such
Tide recently affected
Boston on November 16th,
When there was surprise flooding
In Boston’s Seaport District
And shutting down traffic.
It was a king tide which
Came to my mind when I
Was trying to equate the
Confluence of events which
Recently spun me into my own
Riptide. For I briefly found
Myself treading water in a
Metaphorical, strong
Ocean current, which, as
Much as anything, was caused
By the grinding, relentless
Burnout of ten months of
Covid (with no clear end in sight),
Together with the gloom
Of November’s declining
Weather and light, and with
My own furies adding a
Topping and dash of
Their unique spice…!
Leo Carroll
November 28, 2020
(Covid, Late Fall 2020)
A cold dampness settled
Within me, brought on by an
Endless Covid November and its
Drooling rain and the truth of
My age and the ground
Beneath having no name.
Everything seemed brown
About me, adrift, and wherever
My mind walked, it found
Itself floundering in a
Medieval bog, where to
Escape the muck my best
Path was to press forward and
Get further lost…
Strange Day
Click for meditationRegarding "Strange Day"
Sometimes we can find
Ourselves in a place or state of mind
Which seems ‘different.’
Such a thing happened to
Me several weeks ago
When I went to a meeting
In Weston. I no sooner
Took the exit off Route 95 South
Onto Route 30 West and
I seemed to immediately enter
A different sensory world.
The traffic lights at
The top of the exit ramp
Were not working, and the
Number of cars on the
Road seemed eerily
Light. I eventually found
The address for which I
Was searching, but the weird
Wind and rain were no
Help! As I walked up the
Steps to the building,
I realized something
Was amiss because some
Sort of alarm system on the
Premises was beeping.
I tentatively opened the door and
Went into the foyer, and
There was more of the same.
People on the first floor
Seemed oddly subdued, and
It was then I heard the
Hum of a generator
Running – but not for the
Whole building, but just the
Offices on the first floor.
The elevators were not working,
And so I took the staircase
To the next floor, where
I came upon a waiting room
Where people were talking in
Whispers … Hmmm …
They politely pointed
Me to where I should sit,
And it was then I became aware of
Fire, police, and ambulance
Sounds on the roadway
Below the window.
Then a tree across the
Street crashed down, and
Was accompanied by the
Wind rattling uneasily on a
Nearby window pane,
All, remarkably, giving me an
Impression of events occurring in
Hues of black and white …
Thus, when later at my
Appointment, a person
Observed, “Strange day,”
Indicating to her, too, that
Things seemed out of whack,
All I could manage was,
“Yes, something surreal,” and
Thus it was and thus it
Still remains now –
Where was I really? Only
The wind and rain and
Swinging traffic lights
And building alarms and fire and
Police sirens and people whispering
Knew what time and place
My confused senses
And bearings had stumbled
‘Strangely’ upon. The only
Thing I can confirm is it occurred at
Exit 24 off of Route 95,
But even more ‘strangely’ –
I still felt and feel I belonged there
On my path to somewhere …
Leo Carroll
February 7, 2019
“Strange day,”
She says, and immediately
I agree, Yes, something surreal, but
Did the ‘strangeness’
Come from the day seeming
To be tinted in hues of
Black and white, or was
It the unstable, out-of-season
Tropical weather, or the
Malfunctioning traffic lights,
Or this building I am in
Shrouded in darkness
With a buzzer endlessly
Sounding in despair, or
The fire engine sirens
Coming closer from afar, or
The police lights flashing
Across the street, or an
Ambulance going by as if
From something fleeing, or
People in a nearby waiting room
Talking in whispers, or the
Wind curious and nibbling
At the window panes,
Or the thumping ‘bam’
Of a tree falling in the
Woods across the way!?
Yes, indeed, a very
“Strange day,” but for me
In this place, this life,
This time, just another further
Step along my journey
Without cessation.
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…
Poems from Plum Island
Click for meditationRegarding "Poems from Plum Island"
One day in early
February almost two years ago,
I went to Plum Island.
My trip that day was
Spontaneous, and
I simply found myself
Going there … my mood
Was roiled, and I somehow knew
That Plum Island was the
Place for me. This meditation
Is for a series of poems
I wrote while out there
That day. The poems are
Like shutter clicks
On a camera, each
Representing how on
Succeeding seconds
I “saw” the Island and how it
Correspondingly saw me.
I wrote many poems
While there that day, and the
Ones shown here are
Representative and are
Snapshots of my mind.
I spoke to the beach there,
And the beach spoke
To me. There was not one
Other person there,
But there was a lone seagull.
We observed each other
And were bonded to each other
That day. That is the
Great thing about
Plum Island – it can be
All things to all
Creatures, but the one
Constancy is its healing,
Faithful solitude.
Leo Carroll
December 26, 2018
Preface
(In the Beginning)
“Brrr!” says my
Soul, “This place reeks of cold
Not poetry …”
“No!” chides the
Marsh, “The ice, fog, and clouds
Offer immunity.”
Reprieve
All I saw was the boardwalk, its slats
Grey winding their way through ice, snow,
Memories, and past winter storms,
Showing me the path towards a beach where all
I hoped to do on its sands was to bask
Like a seashell and to be washed smooth
Like a cradled sea stone …
View from the Boardwalk
As if a cold compress had come down
And flattened the sea like a hot steam iron once did on
My mother’s ironing board on a long ago, frigid
Winter’s night, thus before me stood the
Gateway to the Atlantic with its cobalt-blue color —
And it seemed spent, or was it just simply sated? It was as if the
Waves had neither the strength nor the will to lift their
Heads for one more tide, as if an exhausted,
Hunched woman with an iron had creased flat
Their mood, taming them despite how hard they tried.
And so it stretched before me without ripple –
Having clearly surrendered to a February freeze —
This on a sunny Saturday which was otherwise
Grand and glorious, and snow on the
Sand was setting a white tablecloth to
Showcase the finest shells and stones and
Seaweed I had ever seen …
Beyond the Boardwalk
… And so, bobbing, about a quarter-mile
Offshore, I see the shape of a seagull, and it is
Observing me as I sit this snow-covered
Sand — and both of us marveling at how the sea was so flat
And cobalt-blue cold, and how nobody else
Was on the beach to see it, because
February was deigned only in quiet solitude
To be shared and known…
Ode to Cold Beach
I knew your waters would be flat and calm.
I knew in color your waves would be coldest, cobalt-blue.
I even knew winter’s windswept
Sands would run across your boardwalk …
But I absolutely did not know that snowdrifts
Would conceal my footprints,
From where they stood in praise
To you this past June …
Merest Flesh
Why should I be any
Different than all else that waits to be
Swept off of this winter strand!?
I am made of only the merest, weakest flesh and
Blood, while even gets shoved aside
By every tide and storm this faithful and
Snow-laden, February sand!
Winter Beach
Down to the very shore’s edge runs a
Six-inch layer of snow, and from there extends out to the
Horizon the coldest cobalt-blue I ever saw …
The sun peeks over my right shoulder while a mighty
Sand dune behind me stands disheveled in awe …
And in approval from a quarter-mile out,
A seagull rides each light swell, and points at me
Its beak, because in solitude we are
Brothers, and that is our unbreakable,
February bond.
Postscript
(Ode to Seashore)
I would lie down with
You gladly and close gently my eyes.
I would weep knowing that my
Tears would be accepted by
The lows and highs of your tides.
I would even scream if I thought my
Voice would reach your ears —
But alas you await far deeper
Calls than mine from all your
Canyons of fathomless fears —
So all I can do is sit here
On your snow-covered sands,
And marvel at how cold is your
Cobalt-blue hue, and how
Empty is the sea of any daring
Small boats, and how I
Can only see a lone,
Bobbing seagull, and how
The sand dune to my back
Thankfully blocks me from the
Winter wind, and how the
Sun bleaches yet another inscrutable
Puzzle of jumbled pieces of
Seaweed and shells and
Stones left by the last rush of
High tide … all placed in a
Mysterious pattern to proclaim
God’s message in primordial parable –
And writ solemnly on this
Strand of a February paradise.