Faces
Love
Click for meditationRegarding "Love"
I was recently sitting
In a waiting room in Stoneham and
Listening for my name to be
Called for my ophthalmology
Examination. It is still not clear to
Me what happened next,
But I sensed someone was
Standing in front of me and
Staring at me. I raised
My head slowly to look up,
And there was this little
Boy, perhaps six or seven years
Old, and he had a smile
On his face. As soon as our
Eyes connected, he said
Something quickly to me which
Came out in a burst, like a
Digital stream of binary
Information. I could not
Understand a word of it,
But whatever he said, it was
Obviously important to him from
His facial earnestness looking at me.
Before I had a chance to
Respond, however, a young woman
Quietly appeared beside him,
Gently took his hand,
And as she started to
Turn to lead him back to a
Chair in the waiting room,
She gave me a knowing nod,
As if to convey she knew
That for a few seconds
Her son and I had connected in a
Mysterious, spiritual bond.
Leo Carroll
February 20, 2019
I feel his presence before
I see him, a young boy perhaps six
Years old who now stands several feet
In front of me, almost as if an
Apparition he so suddenly appears,
Like a rush of wind and then the
Paraclete’s breath upon my face,
And he smiles but his attempt
To speak is garbled and unintelligible —
At least in a worldly way that I can
Understand — and then his mother
Walks up softly and takes hold his hand,
And gently leads him away to
A seat in the waiting room’s
Sheepfold … while I in my
Chair am left wondering in
Awe of the message spoken by his
Incomprehensible words, and
Why he had picked me to be
Culled from out of the herd to
Hear his vocal cords struggle
In stanza and verse?
Asking Judith
Click for meditationRegarding "Asking Judith"
In this poem, the daisies in
My rock garden speak, and they ask
A woman of quiet gardening
Renown to identify whether their
Blooms are Shasta, Sheffield, or Montauk?
All three of these daisy varieties
Are similar, and are a staple of
Autumn, and provide in their wonderful
Faces one last look at the
Fading warmth of the sun.
It is as if the beauty of fall clings
To their petals, and these
Dainty flowers smile for all they
Are worth…as if they
Think if they band together
And try hard enough —
They might even push back
The cold, which otherwise
For winter would place in cocoon
Their gentle souls…!
Leo Carroll
November 1, 2018
We defer to you, if you
Were to kindly agree, to discern
The proper name of our
Pretty, little daisies…
We believe we are Shasta, but
Sheffield and Montauk
Look like us, too, so if you
Would examine our leaves,
Perhaps you could settle
The lineage of our bloom…?
We’re not asking, though, that
You gage the quality of
Our autumnal beauty, because
Along this garden wall,
Our petals already reign
Supreme with their pink and
White heavenly purity…
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!
Ode to Shasta Daisies
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Shasta Daisies"
As I meander
Along the curves of my
Rock garden’s
Wall, I come
Up’n a flock of
Long-legged shasta
Daisies, which
Ebb and flow like
A cleansing tide with
Whitest foam.
How peaceful they are,
How remarkable
In ability to soothe
The fray, how
Almost ignored,
Because who would
Expect their
Thin stalks to be
Able to bind
What makes afraid!
Leo Carroll
October 23, 2018
I would
Love to sleep
Amongst
You,
My duty
Finally
Come to
Rest,
My covers
Pulled
Up around
Me, and
Your
Wondrous
White
The sentry
I could
Depend.