Melancholy
Winter Ode
O’ hardened hearts,
Do you despair as if gone fore’er
Is your spring, and as if
Your fate is to eternally
Hang flash-frozen in drips
Attached to this winter field’s
Meanderings?
O’ hardened hearts,
Nothing stays frozen fore’er,
E’en if it be on a
Branch which someone
Happened by, reminding them
Of what they want not
To remember.
O’ Fallen Leaf
Like an unexpected
Hug you are to me, or an
Extended palm to
Grasp in blessing, but
‘Something’ good you
Definitely seem – a leaf to
Wish me goodbye,
E’en as we’ve just met and
Say our first hello,
Each in mystery passing,
Each cloaked in our
Seasonal disguise to
Face the cold.
Here
Click for meditationRegarding "Here"
I have been to Plum Island
So often, starting from when I was
Just a little boy ten years old, right up to
The present when I was there three
Times during a magical stretch in October.
Instead of thinking pumpkins, though,
I was thinking about “grief,” but
Also about “rebirth.” Plum Island is my
Sanctuary when I need sanctuary.
It is my piece of Heaven,
When I need to be reaffirmed
In my faith and to feel the
Absolute awe and wonder of
The eternal Creator, the God of
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
The “I AM WHO I AM.” So
Over the years, each individual
Wave and sea state, when
I would come and look out over
The boardwalk, has gifted
Me a peak, a hint, into the
Infinite possibilities of the forms
And faces of God, and when
Each time the bare ripple of the
Foam of a wave has touched
My feet, it has always done so in a
Way in which understanding and
Acceptance were conveyed.
Here at Heaven’s gate
Laps nigh my feet in its final
Wake the tide, bare
Seconds before returning
Back out to where it
Will regather into all its foam
And former strength,
And then once more
Come rolling back, to
Kiss where in another life
I had in memory’s bliss this
Sand reclined.
O Maple Tree
Click for meditationRegarding "O Maple Tree"
Every year I am
Susceptible to the whims of
Autumnal melancholy. Whether it
Is due to the falling leaves
Delivering an emphatic
Message of earthly
Impermanence, and
Rekindling within me the
Furies of things I would re-do
Differently, or the
Good things I have
Known and are now no
More, or something else…
But in its final gasps of
Change, fall is spectacularly
Beautiful and comforting – – setting an
Unmatchable standard of self
Sacrifice and duty, right
Up to the last leaves to fall and
The final glimpses of their
Wonderful, fading glory,
Particularly if I had kneeled
Down over them and
Was marveling how their
Plentitude must rival
The stunning miracle of the
Loaves and fishes as
They once laid multiplied
And displayed near the
Sea of Galilee.
Leo Carroll
November 21, 2021
O maple tree, your
Leaves lie crinkled beneath
My knees, but their
Yellow tatters still speak
In little whispers
Of warmth and love,
The kind that autumn
Spawns, tho’ it be “change”
In its goodbye hug.
Cold Moon
("Love")
Click for meditationRegarding "Cold Moon"
A December full moon
Is referred to as a
“Cold Moon.” It can also
Be called the “Long Night Moon,”
Because it occurs so close
To the winter solstice, and is
Associated with the
Longest night of the year.
If the skies are clear,
It can be an absolutely
Beautiful sight,
Bright white-yellow
In color. And it was on such
A clear night when I
Happened to open
My front door and stick
My head outside to
Take a deep breath of fresh
Air, and I saw it – a
Beautiful orb in the night
Blackness, and
Peering down at me
Through branches almost
Bare of their big,
Pie-plate sized oak leaves.
I stepped out the door
Onto my front walkway and
Just peered up at it,
Amazed that such a spectacle
Could ever exist…and
Particularly just for me!
And then I remembered that
This was not the first
Time I had stared up in a
Mesmerized fashion
At a Cold Moon! It had
Happened years and years
Before as well, and under that
Long ago sky with such
A marvelous moon, I had
Whispered about
Something that only
The Cold Moon heard…
And which memory of e’en
Now can still cast me
Into a December swoon…
Leo Carroll
March 15, 2021
A cold moon, really cold
In its name and the
Gleam of its Decemb’r bloom,
Shining through branches
Of barren oak, the
Same oak tree which
Years ago listened…when
I whispered of something I’d
Ne’er before of
Spoke…