Garden
Daisies
Click for meditationRegarding "Daisies"
Every fall, every late fall,
I always marvel how certain flowers can
Survive until the very last moment,
And still continue to show their beauty.
But unlike in the spring and
Summer, I have to search to locate
Their faces, and I invariably
Find them almost hidden
By the mushrooming debris
In a garden otherwise fastidiously
Manicured in spring, summer,
And early fall. But by late fall they are
Like a gem found in the middle
Of chaos (leaves of all sorts, twigs,
Branches, pine cones), or a
Lamp uncovered from the burden of
A dark shade, in short, a simple,
Loyal, floral planting saying
‘Thank you’ for all the months of
Cultivation – when their chance to
Repay comes with only days
Before they, too, go away.
Leo Carroll
November 27, 2021
Can two beating hearts
Make it through the coming winter?
Cuddled and close they are,
As if autumn would always linger…
But can they find safe refuge,
And can the surrounding
Oak leaves continue to protect?
Because what happens
When December comes, and
Their love is shivering —
Will they have any regret?
Chipmunk
Click for meditationRegarding "Chipmunk"
And so I saw a summer
Chipmunk – standing on its hind legs
Like it was part of the Lewis
And Clark Expedition and
Staring in awe at what is now
Called Yellowstone Park!
It stood as tall as it absolutely
Could, ramrod straight,
And was perfectly still lest it
Disturb a single blade
Of grass on the infinite plain
Before it…So engrossed
It seemed in ‘something,’
Fascinated, mesmerized, that
It dared almost not to
Breathe…and then
It relented, its chest relaxing,
And it moved serenely
Into my flower bed –
A mere ten feet away –
Its answer to the meaning of
Existence contained in
What a lemon-yellow daylily
On its face had to say.
Leo Carroll
September 25, 2021
Up’n its hind legs,
Stretching its tendons to almost
Breaking while peering o’er
The summer grass, a
Chipmunk surveils the vast,
Unlimited prairie
Before its gaze, perhaps
Looking for love or food or
Danger or something
I can imagine not,
But all it sees is a
Thursday morning –
Dawned like all others –
Except that for a
Few seconds I captured
Its contemplation
Of the universe’s infinite
Landscape…until it
Settled on my garden a
Mere ten feet away, and knew
It was seeing whate’er
It would e’er need
To see…or e’er hope for
In answered prayer.
Plumeria
Click for meditationRegarding "Plumeria"
There is an enclave in
Secunderabad, India, in the
Indian state of Telangana, where
A woman faithfully tends
Her simple, but astounding
Garden. There is an
Aspect to her work which
May be in remembrance of her
Father, a long-serving, decorated
Senior officer and doctor in
The Indian Army, who
Was also, himself, a devoted
Gardener. Although I have
Never visited this garden,
I liken the garden to a
Mythical haven for pilgrims
Aspiring to reach a higher
Indian plane. It is a floral
Masterpiece of beauty, and is a
Soothing sanctuary from
The snares and toils
Of daily life. And most
Importantly, it could be
Thought of as a bulwark and
Respite against evil,
Particularly the worldwide
Evil of the Covid virus
Which is rampaging within
India this very hour.
In this garden is the sweet,
White plumeria flower,
Which emits a fragrance
Impervious to this evil – and
Its self-effacing meekness
And innocence are what make it
So wondrous! Indeed, in
Some regions of India, the plumeria
Is considered a sacred flower,
And is believed to reside
At the highest level of heaven,
Home to the Hindu god,
Sri Krishna. In that context,
The plumeria’s perfume
Could be thought of as a
Natural antidote to anything
Which would want to do harm…
And its wafting scent also
A tribute to the dignity
Of the woman who planted
It and who tends it so lovingly — as
Would likewise her father in
The shadows, and for India
Still on guard…
Leo Carroll
May 6, 2021
What sacred grace, what
Staunchness, standing like it is
At the ramparts of heaven’s
Gate, the sweet face of plumeria,
Granting entrance to only
The meek and humble
Of heart, because each petal
Softens the arrogance of
Any other dreaded weight or
Earthly power…O’ champak,
As you are also called,
The palace guard perfumed
To all swaddled within
Your kingdom’s walls…
And to even contemplate how
You can so indomitably
Bloom – and not one
Of your five white petals
Flinches, no matter the
Covid fever which ravages
Within India’s bosom…!
Touching
Click for meditationRegarding "Touching"
How many people for whate’er
Reason are metaphorically cloistered behind
Barriers both visible and invisible,
Real and unreal, physical and not…?
I believe there are countless, and
Feel e’en that does not do justice to the
Actual number…! When I recently
Saw a photograph of yellow and
Violet flowers touching and rubbing
Against a drab, grey window pane,
I was immediately struck by how valiant
It was for them to be doing that!
Maybe they were simply attempting to
Connect with a lonely flower
Sitting in a musty, dry vase behind
The window panes, or maybe
They somehow sensed a human
Was secluded behind there, and their
Little yellow and violet petals
Could be the first steps towards
Liberating what (until then) had just
Been a lost manifestation of
Hopeless and powerless prayer…
But then Beauty came knocking
On the window, and that set
Loose the possibility for something
Or someone to rise up
And to live again…
Leo Carroll
November 15, 2020
Discreetly they reach,
Each trying to peek in and to touch…
Yellow and violet “somethings,”
Peering and looking, somehow suspecting
That on the oth’r side of the
Grey panes was “something else,”
And so their petals – with
Their colors and curiosity piqued –
Tap the glass to awaken
Whate’er is cloistered the
Cobwebs and mildew behind,
Because if the window
Could just be pried op’n a
Wee bit, could be breathed
E’erlasting fresh air by whate’er
Invisible lay hid…
At the Well
Click for meditationRegarding "At the Well"
At anytime and anywhere can
Be found relief, especially relief from
Our very selves, or relief from
What is going on around us — the
General cacophony of noise
In the guise of supposed sound —
And at the moment of this
Writing, the incredible
Crescendo of Covid-19 and
Politics, all mind numbing and
Soul deadening, unless
For a moment we can “see”
The natural world which
In its glory is still unfolding
Around us, and which is
Oblivious and immune to the
Fury which humanity
Wreaks and manifests…
In my rock garden, the
Faces of three flower petals –
Petunia, marigold, and
Daisy – descendants of
Descendants of descendants,
Living proof that not all
Life has to bow before the
Obscene, and definitely sufficient
To halt me in my tracks
As I browsed amongst my
Flower beds, already working to
Ready them for next spring,
Sadly like an automaton in my
Actions, and almost missing
Their three faces, reminding me
That fall was not yet
A memory…
Leo Carroll
October 12, 2020
Their faces circle
Faster and faster before me,
Autumn’s smile to
Slacken my thirst, whirring as
If inviting me to cross
Their threshold,
Their door wide-open,
My knees pressed to the leaves,
Their roots in the
Universe, my countenance
Inching closer, my
Mind in glorious blur…