Love
Walking with the ‘Word of Autism’
(Book of Isaiah 55:8)
Click for meditationRegarding "Walking with the ‘Word of Autism’"
This poem is related to an earlier
Poem, “The Word of Autism,” dated May 9, 2007.
Both of these poems acknowledge the
Overwhelming, universal presence of Creation as
Described in the Old and New Testaments.
This Eternal Mystery, which manifests
Itself in the likenesses and images of all
Living beings and creatures, therefore
Also exists in the countenances of
Autistic children. In short, autism is a
Face of Creation, too, and autistic children share in
The incarnation of the glorious
Verse of Isaiah 55:8, when Yahweh speaks,
“My thoughts are not your thoughts,
My ways are not your ways.”
In so many respects, this verse
Capsulizes the essence of an autistic child, and
Establishes their place in the sheepfold
Of the innocent lambs of God.
Leo Carroll
September 8, 2018
I could comprehend little of his actions,
As we walked along a graveled path of brambles and
Branches, bushes and such. All he wanted
Was to shake twigs and shoots and leaves and things,
Mesmerized by their invisible colors, scents,
Tastes, and whisperings…What was he looking at,
What did he see, why so much stimulation
From what appeared so ordinary to me? All this was
Beyond me, my understanding overcome
By his mysterious interests and motions – it was
As if this little boy rode a live rail as his
Means of locomotion! But then this child, whose
Senses seemed attuned to some other plane’s planet,
Collapsed me to my knees, by loosing within me
Emotions not measurable by depth or fathom.
For when we went to say “good-bye,” he
Needed not words from any earthen lexicon nor
Thesaurus, but he simply gave me one, two, then three
Insistent, soft taps to my palm – his only want
Was I not leave him…before receiving love
From his “high-five’s” blessed font.
Slate-Colored Juncos
Click for meditationRegarding "Slate-Colored Juncos"
One long ago
Winter day, a mix of
Grey and overcast and my
Mood the same,
I was peering out my
Window at one of my
Rock gardens, and
As I was doing this,
I noticed the barest
Of movement
In the curled-up,
Dormant grass.
I thought at first it
Was a single bird, but I
Soon realized it was
A tiny flock of
Small, blue-grey
Birds, sparrow size
Maybe, but birds
Which I had not
Noticed in my garden
Before. They kept
Inching their
Way closer to my
House, and their heads
Were vigorously
Bobbing as they
Pecked away
At some invisible
Source of nutrient.
Before I knew
It, they reached
The foundation of
My house and were
Right below the very window
I was looking out, and
Finding sustenance,
Where 30 minutes before
I had thought all was
Cold and grey!
Leo Carroll
January 29, 2019
Little blue-grey
Birds inch their way
Towards my house,
Their beaks to the ground,
Their hope to fill
Their mouths.
Their color seems
To be of the sea’s winter
Sheen – cold and
Hard – but I believe
Their tiny beaks feed a
Gentle breed.
Releasing
Click for meditationRegarding "Releasing"
This poem is a
Metaphor for when one of my
Daughters was getting
Ready to relocate
To New York City to
Pursue the next
Phase of her life.
What a wonderful and
Thoughtful daughter she
Had been, and still is…
At the time, I was filled with
All sorts of strong
Emotions, as I realized she
Was leaving the home for good.
In a way, it was as if I
Was reliving the emotions of
Teyve, the father of
Five daughters in
Imperial Russia, in the
Great movie and Broadway play,
“Fiddler on the Roof.”
All had been done
To raise my daughter, but
In my mind she still
Danced and twirled as
A small girl…
But now it was
Time to let her go…
Releasing is never easy.
It can be painful
And very sad, but life
Has to continue in its fragile
Form and flight, like a
‘Julia Longwing’ butterfly
Lifting off from cupped hands,
And then watching its
Loving climb…
Leo Carroll
May 30, 2018
Good-bye, my butterfly,
My hands are cupped to lift your ride.
Bye-bye, my butterfly,
My eyes are raised to watch your climb.
Good-bye, my butterfly,
Lo may you land ‘neath loving sky.
Ode to Dromod’s Field
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Dromod’s Field"
In September 2000, two of
My daughters went to Ireland, and
While there visited a cemetery
In County Kerry where some of the
Forebears of my father’s family were buried.
My daughters asked me if I wanted
To accompany them. I told them,
“No,” that I was busy with other
Things I was doing. They persisted in
Asking me. I persisted in
Saying, “no.” And so they went
Alone, to traverse the land
Where four generations before
Some of my ancestors had
Left Ireland. I should have gone.
I knew it even before they
Returned. I could tell in their
Voices over the international
Telephone lines that they
Had touched something
Like a heartbeat or the flesh
Of a palm no longer heard or felt.
I saw the photos when they returned,
And my eyes were overwhelmed
By the power of the images.
And so I came to write this poem of
A burial ground in Dromod, County Kerry,
Which saw the faces of my
Daughters, and in seeing their
Features, saw mine, too…as well as
The likenesses of their sons
And daughters who had left
Long generations before.
Leo Carroll
September 3, 2018
Upon your stones we move about, in
Prayerful search ‘midst this wheat throughout.
We never knew ye, but feel sure, you
Watch us tread this earthen floor.
From thy loins sprang Dromod seed, a
Comely fruit and sweet-isle mead.
These sons and daughters cupped your
Hand, kissed it gently, then sailed your land.
Lo years later, with them long gone,
You see us now as we part these thorns.
We’ve come to say we love you, too, and
Brush these stones etched in dew.
For as we spread these weeds grown
Wild, you see our faces and ken our smiles.
On our faces, likened clear, are the long
Ago images of your children dear.
Know ye then, people of yore, we’ve
Come to sit your lap once more.
Against your breast we commune and sleep, safe
In the warmth your field doth keep.
Autumnal Remembrance
Click for meditationRegarding "Autumnal Remembrance"
Autumn is a metaphor for
Endings and things
About to change. It is a time of
Great color, great beauty,
But change is definitely in the
Air, and everyone and
Everything knows it.
All Creation knows it, and it
Plays out in the life of
Every living thing. It is a
Season of soul-searching and
Introspection, melancholy
And feelings of loss – missed
Opportunities and
What-ifs, and on and on…
All this, though, silhouetted and
Accompanied by the
Wondrous majesty of
Nature as it peaks — and
Literally right before it falls…
In my mind, all other
Seasons pale in the
Shadow of autumn, and
It is in autumn when we get
The opportunity to
Re-evaluate our pilgrim’s
Path – and to somehow
Keep hope alive, because the
People upon whose shoulders we
Have stood are still with
Us in spirit, speaking to us
Through the things that they
Liked the most about autumn – geese
Passing overhead, yellow
Maple leaves dancing
In the breeze, the stunning
Purity of first frost on the
Petals of snapdragons…
Leo Carroll
May 20, 2018
When you hear the geese move overhead,
When you feel the wind rustle in the trees,
When you see the leaves begin to fall,
Please think of me, and I will be there.
When you smell the cool in autumn’s air,
When the sun bathes you in fading warmth,
When the flowers crowd for one last night,
Please think of me, and I will be there.
When dusk is early and morning late,
When frost touches dawn before it awakes,
When the grass curls for a season’s sleep,
Please think of me, and I will be there.
When fall becomes your season’s mate,
When you’ve aged and begin to contemplate,
When you wonder about all you’ve been…
Please think of me, and I will be there.