Maine
Rockweed Love
Click for meditationRegarding "Rockweed Love"
We were in Maine
Again this past summer, and
As customary, one of
Our daughters with her
Young family was with us.
We were at the beach
Almost every day, and
Our two granddaughters
Frolicked in the cold
Waters with no ill effects.
On the next to last day
There, as we were
Getting ready to leave
The beach and were washing
The sand off our feet,
A little voice standing
Beside me spoke
With the innocence and
Prescient wisdom of a
Child. It was one of my
Granddaughters, age
Eight. And out she was
Holding her palm,
Wanting to show what
She had miraculously found –
A piece of rockweed
Seaweed, a free-floating
Type of algae, its appendage
Drawn into the shape
Of a perfect heart!
It symbolized so much –
Her love for me, mine for her,
The Love of the Creator
For us all, and the love which
Flows from each of us
As the Second Commandment
Shouts out from the
Shores of Down-East Maine
And then echoes back
Out into Penobscot Bay…!
Leo Carroll
October 14, 2021
“Papa, look! A heart!” and
My granddaughter
Extends her wrinkled
And waterlogged palm to
Show me the mercy
And message come fresh
From the cold sea,
Her hand innocent, her
Face in awe and
Wonder, sensing that
Her Papa would see what she
Herself believes…
Tug Boat Christmas
Click for meditationRegarding "Tug Boat Christmas"
Lingering in the back of
My mind was a photograph I had
Seen some time ago. It was
Of a simple tugboat tied up in 2018
In Boothbay Harbor, Maine,
With a Christmas wreath
Adorning its cabin door.
I finally decided to write a poem
About this photograph,
To relieve the pall cast over
Me by Covid, and to
Celebrate something which
Was a total antithesis
To the somber mood draping
In black bunting over Christmas
And Hanukkah and other
Spiritual and secular holidays.
And so this poem portrays
A crimson-red cabin door,
Obviously a bit worn for wear,
But yet clearly well
Cared for over the years,
And hanging on this door is a
Christmas wreath, which
Hardened sea hands had
Hung just two years ago, when
Hope was the unequivocal
“Jingle bell” of the holiday season.
Leo Carroll
December 11, 2020
Crimson-red, peeling, but
Not too old yet, a buttress against
What needs to be outside kept,
An entry for what inside
Can be let, a door, layered and
Lathered in lovingly applied
Strokes, a porthole to
Safely look out in a howling
Sea, and at the same
Time to be opened for
Wondrous eyes, in hopes
Of catching St. Nick at work after
Hanging his Christmas wreath.
Silence
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence"
So rare is silence…
It’s almost as if we are afraid
Of it, and run from it,
Preferring the comfort of
Being around noise,
Rather than to have to think,
To have to consider who
We really are and the
Purpose of our existence in a
Universe too immense
And chaotic to understand.
There is a saying,
“God is in the silence.”
It speaks of the precious,
Divine nature of silence and
Its ability to heal and foster prayer.
In the Gospels, Jesus would
Always seek a quiet place to pray.
In the minds of Believers,
Yahweh was able to be
Heard above the roar of the
Big Bang in Genesis, such was the
Greatness of His almighty
Voice! Yet lo billions of
Years later, as galaxies still
Scream outward and expand the
Boundaries of the Universe,
God can be found meekly
In the sights and sounds of all
That composes His Creation,
Such as the birds of the air,
The grasses in the wind,
The gurgle of streams, and all
Else patiently calling us to
A state of calm and
Peace within. Silence is
So quiet, but yet is so
Profound, that its presence
Can supersede the din
That all human minds
And mouths can pour into
A dry fountain. When I
Was recently in Maine, the
Silence re-awakened
Some musings which I
Always associate and find
Poignant with my visits to Maine.
The same silence, however,
Also brought assurance
In the wizened croaks of a raven –
And I knew God in mystery
And mercy was present in my
Moods! In short, silence
Can not only evoke or activate a
Wellspring of feelings that
Noise would mask, but silence
Can also teach us that in
The crosscurrents of the Universe
The Omniscient presence
Of God (“I Am”) can assuage any
Desert loneliness running
Wild in the swirling sands.
Leo Carroll
August 25, 2020
Mood
“O, I am so missing you,”
I muse, sighing inaudibly while
Contemplating a solitary
Spruce through the window
Of my mood. “How can you be the
Other side of this glass,
Here now, here last year, and
Next if I so last…?”
Leo Carroll
August 17, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Finding
God can be found
In the silence, in the voices of the
Grasses and the birds and
The wind… gone now are His
Booming chords of First Day,
When ’twas necessary to shout
Above the cacophony of the roar and
The blast with, “Amen!”
Leo Carroll
August 18, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Saying Goodbye
A raven bugles in two,
Maybe three quick croaks…
While reverently stands
Ramrod-straight a little spruce, its
Duty to listen, as if no
Oth’r ears were interested
Enough to be open…
Leo Carroll
August 23, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Morrill
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill"
Every autumn for 21 years,
I went up to a cabin in the woods of
Morrill, Maine. It was a wonderful
Experience which I will never
Forget, and it is where I wrote scores
And scores of some of my
Favorite poetry. Seven years ago I
Took a sabbatical from going up,
But every fall I continued to
Feel the pull of the spiritual
Silence and majesty of those Maine
Woods. This autumn, after
My seven year hiatus, I
Returned for several nights
To those woods. It seemed a little
Strange for me, because
Although the woods appeared
Essentially the same, they
Did appear to have changed in
Subtle ways. It is hard
To explain. The more I have
Thought about this,
Though, the more I have
Come to realize that the true
Changes and differences
Were with me, and not the
Woods, and this is the theme of
All the poetry I wrote
While I was just up there. The
Poems try to put their
Finger on “something,” and the
“Something” is that the
Twenty one straight years
Were a distinct, unique period
In time, and performed a
Specific role in my life’s
Journey, and thus, when the
Woods and I saw each
Other again, we each took a
“Double-take” at each
Other – in pause and in
Shock – and I realized the truth
Of Thomas Wolfe’s saying,
“You can’t go home again,” and
Find either home and/or
Yourself the way things
Once were…
Leo Carroll
December 2, 2019
Ode to Morrill
You watch, waiting in
Silence, as if expecting I might
Have something to say, while I, in turn,
Watch you, thinking your
Branches to be both changed
And unchanged, your faces the same
Tho’ not the same…
Woods
Gray came up’n me,
Cold whipped the trunks of my soul,
Wind beat about me, and the
Woods whispered that “old” had crept
Into my snowy bones.
Moment
Still no movement, silence
Has even stopped…branches which are
Bent remain bent…branches
Which are straight guide my gaze
To their tops…
But then something flies
Chirping, and I would describe it if I
Could, but its feathers are
Too far away, and so I resume my
Autumn mood…
O, Angel of God
“O, Angel of God, my guardian dear…,”
And thus I begin my catechism’s
Childhood prayer, and then
In the silence, a distinct silence
Cold and white, a chorus rises up,
And chickadees alight…
Calling Out
“Where are you, Memory,
Where can I find you in the midst
Of this snowy field lying in
My mind and up’n this ground…?
Everything looks the same,
But my mind tells me
Something has changed…!”
Requiem
I returned to these woods to
Re-walk and live my old memories, and
Found some of them moved and
Wondered to where they
Might be keeping…?
And so I mused aloud,
“Is there not anything here
I can depend?!”
And then all my old
Haunts and shadows looked
O’er at me, and I knew
I had crossed the
Threshold to an e’er
Approaching requiem.
Morrill Road
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill Road"
There is a road, a magical,
Spiritual one, which leads me into the
Woods in Morrill, Maine.
It is not like the fantastical
Yellow Brick Road of “Wizard of Oz”
Fame, but every time I visit
These Maine woods I travel down this
Road as I descend deeper
And deeper into a “different”
World – – into a world which is as
Different from my normal
Existence as could possibly be…
I recently traversed this
Road once again as part of
Returning for several
Nights to a cabin in these
Woods, which at one time
I had visited annually
Every autumn for 21
Straight years. As I’ve
Detailed already in another
Associated meditation, there was
“Something” which was
Not the “same” this
Abbreviated time around.
The biggest contributor
To things seeming changed
Were not the woods,
Themselves, but me…!
For I had changed, as much
If not more than any
Tree or branch or stream
Or animal or anything I would
See…! And this change
Played out as I
Reflected upon those
Things I encountered, such as a
Remnant, colonial-era
Homestead and its
Surviving cellar hole…and a
Myriad of other things
I once knew years and years ago. …
To re-visit these things, I
Had descended what on a
Topographical map is only referred
To as a “Jeep Trail,” but in
My mind is a one-of-a kind
Portal Into a deep,
Spiritual world of unimaginable
Eye-openings and magical
Goings-on…
Leo Carroll
December 9, 2019
Jeep Trail
What a wonderful road,
Its ruts and rocks and grooves painted like
A mural up’n the melting snow!
It winds like a pathway
Interconnecting
Spiritual things…and oh the
Wisdom of its compass
Heading…especially when I
Am filled with the anticipation of
Where its portal leads…!
Thanksgiving
E’en aft all the glorious
Things this earth has already seen,
Can still be found such a
Lovely, holy road, and it leads
To a blessed place where
Seated I can witness as all about
To the Lord sings…