Hope
Colors of Armistice
Click for meditationRegarding "Colors of Armistice"
On a grey and cold November day
In 1929, eighty nine years ago,
My father was working with my
Grandfather cutting firewood in the
Backyard. My father was eight
Years old, and the First World War
Had ended 11 years before.
All of a sudden, the “whistles”
Went off in the town, and
My father was startled. He asked
My grandfather what the
Whistles were for, and my
Grandfather told him that the
“War” had ended at that
Very hour, 11 years before…
My father never forgot
That moment, and every Armistice
Day, or Veterans Day as it is
Now called in the United States,
He would tell me the story.
Fast forward fifty six years later
To 1985, and I was living in Belgium.
It was common in Europe for
People to wear a small red poppy
In their lapel on Armistice Day because of the
Great poem, “In Flanders Fields,” written in 1915
By Canadian Lieutenant Colonel and doctor, John McCrae.
At the time of the poem, beautiful red
Poppies were seen to be growing up out of the
Grasses where dead soldiers were hastily
Buried in Ypres, Belgium. And so my
Memories became even further stirred
On November 11th every year…
Now I will always go out into my garden
On that day, and think of my
Father’s stories, and I will always
Look for a late autumn flower
To symbolize the beautiful red poppy.
This year I saw a pink daisy.
It stood in remembrance as well.
Leo Carroll
November 21, 2018
On this day,
Holy in the fields of
Flanders and
On the lapels o’er
Countless
Hearts,
Bloom
Poppies in the
Sacred
Color of
Vibrant red.
On this same
Day in a
Late autumn
Garden,
Blooms in
Solidarity a pink
Daisy,
Affirming in
Remembrance
There is no
Death…
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?
Present Moment
Click for meditationRegarding "Present Moment"
Beauty is
Everywhere, but we
Have to see it,
Simple beauty,
Dandelion beauty,
Visible but hidden beauty,
In plain sight beauty,
Beauty our eyes
Are blinded to because
They’re clouded
With the scales of
Worry, beauty which
Is freely given,
And beauty which
Creation appointed to
Accompany
Our pilgrim’s
Path, when all
Else seemed to flee
Before the twin furies of
Regret about the
Past and fear
Of what the future
Could be.
Leo Carroll
May 8, 2018
And so spoke
Jason in his quest for the
Golden Fleece, and
So shouted Solomon from the
Ramparts of all his
Kingdom’s glory, and even
Inquired Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun,
“Where has been kept this
Hidden beauty,
This boundless yellow,
This brightest smile,
This dandelion,
This annual spring
Hope of ours?”
In Retrospect, Ode to Walden Pond
Click for meditationRegarding "In Retrospect, Ode to Walden Pond"
The only way I can
Describe Walden Pond is to say that
It exists, but its existence
Is more like a dream, or a daydream, or better
Still – like something make believe,
Maybe like the magical movie,
“The Wizard of Oz,” where
Judy Garland dances
And sings her way through every
Fantastical landscape
And situation.
Walden Pond seems…
Well, perfect! That is the
Only way it can be
Described, a place for
All seasons, all depths and
Fathoms and temperatures of its
Peridot waters, all shapes
And hues of its leaves,
All hopes and possibilities
As they lead down rough-hewn
Stone steps to the water’s edge,
All laughs and wishes,
All lightheartedness, all hopes,
All, all…and it is found in
Concord, year round, every year, and
Even in darkest winter it is
A wonder, at cold sunset,
At anytime, because as
Dorothy says to Toto,
“I’ve a feeling we’re not in
Kansas any more…”
Leo Carroll
May 12, 2018
If I never swim again,
At least once in your sweet waters
I will have done…
I will have felt the joy
And rush of your precious
Peridot, and know
In your fathoms I was
Made welcome.
Even now in winter, with
Your surface iced-o’er
And cold become,
In my mind lives my first dive,
When I felt the summer
Warmth of the
Beauty I plumbed…
O Eternal Mother
(Ode to Primeval Stone Wall)
Click for meditationRegarding "O Eternal Mother"
What beautiful peace and
Comfort come to me when I recline
Against a stone wall, particularly
In autumn, when all my
Senses are on fire, and every
Nuance of every living and
Dead thing in the woods leaps
Out at me! It is the best time and
Place of the whole year
For me! Every poignant
Event in my life, every recurring
Memory, crawls out from
The crevasses in the
Stone wall I am resting
Against, and comes back
Gently before my heart. I
Feel melancholic, but I also
Feel blessed, because somehow
I have been gifted the
Magnificence of the stone wall
I am leaning against, and its
Wisdom and perseverance
Bring me the sure knowledge of
A listening ear and the
Prospect of an eternal,
New start…
Leo Carroll
May 24, 2018
Like a womb to me you are,
A place to curl against and to softly shut
My eyes, a place where I can feel
Warm and cradled, and a place where
Long ago hands can still humbly labor and
Lay their stones to bound their
Fields and farms and sighs…
Yes, all these centuries later, you
Still steadily run east-west towards and
Away from me, and each of
Your stones, mottled and so smooth,
Offers me a pillow in a bygone
Kindness I find courteous
And disarmingly beautiful…
Ah, I swoon, swoon…and I recline back at
Rest with you — found by autumn,
Unconditionally accepted, and all I have
To do is to daydream, because the
Work has long been done, and the cows
Called home, and the last croaking
Raven flown over the treetops into the
Twilight of the next hollow, and silence now
Alone sits with me as the beech and
Oak and spruce upon me look, and
Occasionally their leaves and
Needles nod to whatever it is they
Perceive…as sunshine dapples
With the shadows, and modulates my
Mood in consonance with the
Beating heart of Thee.