Love
From the Field
Click for meditationRegarding "From the Field"
There is a field in the
Middle of the Maine woods,
Which functions for me
As if a prayer carpet before
A glistening farmhouse
Which rises above
It in the distance.
Holier than any place
Of worship, this
Field, in turn, bows
Before the farmhouse
To which it points.
Every time I have
Stood in that field,
The farmhouse has
Appeared as if it was
Caesarea in the Gospels,
A veritable shining city
Upon a hill, and a
Beacon to anyone
In search of coming into
The presence of their
Higher Power. And as
If trying to mark my path
To the Kingdom of God, I always
Take my compass out
And take a reading of the
Farmhouse’s direction from me.
The bearing never changes –
It is north northwest,
As dependable as
The eternal love of God.
Leo Carroll
December 5, 2018
I come in awe
Before this mountain,
Embraced by tall
Autumn grasses as I
Peer up at what
On a sun-facing slope
Rests – a far-away,
Familiar white
Farmhouse, ablaze
In sunlight like it
Was disseminating
God’s Word to alight
Upon my head…
And then an inner
Voice prompts me
To re-check the
Compass heading of
This object holding my
Spellbound gaze,
And as always the
Precise needle of
Creation points the same,
“Son, the bearing and
Path for you to
My farmhouse lies
As the croaking raven
Flies — north by
Northwest.”
Morning
Click for meditationRegarding "Morning"
I was sitting on a barstool
At the kitchen counter, and beside
Me was one of my little
Granddaughters. She was
Spending the day with us, and her
Visit was starting out with
A bowl of oatmeal and
Some toast. She noticed two
Roses which I had picked
The day before from my garden,
And she reached forward
To touch them, or better
Described, to caress them.
What a gentle moment
In a world which is filled with
Such beautiful events – if
Only we would notice them!
Gifts or blessings are
Given to us constantly, and
All that is required of us is to
“See” them and to
Accept them. Creation
Works in ways which are not
Our ways…we are
Given much in our Pilgrim’s
Walk to soften the
Calluses on our feet.
Leo Carroll
June 28, 2018
Two
Garden
Roses
Red and pink, a
Little girl’s
Inquiring fingers
Feeling
Them and
Caressing…a
Porridge
Bowl and its
Purple
Spoon set to
The side,
And love,
Sweet
Love, at
Breakfast to
Abide.
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?
Palms and Wings
Click for meditationRegarding "Palms and Wings"
It was only when
Seeing my granddaughter
Cradling and
Preserving the little
White form in her
Palms that
I realized the
Overwhelming
Power and meaning
Of the Gospel’s
Call to become as
If a little child.
The purity of her
Innocence
At the moment
Of showing me the
Butterfly was
Absolutely
Staggering…
Until I realized
The butterfly was
Also showing me my
Granddaughter.
Leo Carroll
April 23, 2018
Could
Tiny white wings
E’er be held
By more
Protective
Palms?
Could
Little palms e’er
Be anointed
By wings
With a lighter
Balm?
Could
More innocent
Palms e’er
Keep white
Wings safe from
Harm?
Could
More attentive
Wings e’er
Cherish
A small child’s
Psalm?
Evening Snowflakes
Click for meditationRegarding "Evening Snowflakes"
At the most unexpected
Times, Creation speaks to us,
And usually this occurs in
Simple ways, so simple and
Routine that these
Communications can
Be overlooked. These gifts
Are meant to be a form
Of sustenance to us, to
Rejuvenate us, to be an
Ameliorating antidote to
The human condition.
And so, whether in the
Form of a flower’s face
Such as the snapdragon, a
Seagull’s call, the sound of a
Rising tide, the dance
Of a monarch butterfly,
The chirp of a late
Summer’s cricket, the
Warmth of the sun on
A south-facing, Maine
Wooded slope, the slow
Pace of a ladybug’s crawl, the
Glint of September’s
Fading light, the rush of
Winter’s wind through the
Tops of trees, a raven croaking
And circling far above, a
Flock of Canadian geese
Beating their wings into a
Stormy night, an autumn maple
Leaf floating on Walden
Pond, and, yes, even
The imperceptible weight
Of dainty snowflakes
On the jacket of a coat like
Mine, as I shut my car
Door and pull up my collar,
Reminding me I was absolutely
Not alone along a
Darkened path leading
Somewhere under no moon.
Leo Carroll
March 11, 2019
Down they come,
Big, soft, silent ones, as if their
Whole life they had
Been slowly falling, and
Finally up’n my shoulders
Land as lightly as if
They had no weight —
Except, that is, for their
Yoke of grace…
The sky against
Which they float has a hint
Of grey, black, and
Some blue, and the sheer
Quiet of their descent
Is staggering, as if they
Were at the end of
Silk puppet strings, and
Made of the curliest,
Winter wool.