Melancholy
Red Maple Leaf
Click for meditationRegarding "Red Maple Leaf"
O’ how autumn casts
A spell up’n me, placing me into
An annual rite of reflection,
Making my September
And October susceptible to
All the memories composing
Who I am. The memories alight
Like chickadees whene’er
I hear a zephyr stirring
In the tops of trees, or see
The striking red plumage
Of maples doing their best to
To op’n my eyes to see,
Or as I sit the shores of Plum
Island and experience the
Hues of waves turning from
Cold to an e’en colder
Green…What heartstrings
Are pulled, sometimes I
Cannot e’en identify, ‘cept
I feel there is something
I am longing for…
And the transient beauty
Of fall and its fleeting
Glimpse are simply too
Irresistible for me
Not to savor and overly
Imbibe…
Leo Carroll
November 5, 2020
A single leaf, the red
Majesty of a maple before me
Pleased to be seen,
Something about it,
Something sublime,
Something I love, felt every
October when my
Reflection turns into
Waxing rhyme,
Something which
Uncannily lingers within
Me, cuddled ‘neath
The covers and spooning
Alongside my soul,
Winter soon to come,
But autumn’s colors
My brothers and sisters
From a long ago
Primeval old…
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.
Not Too Far
Click for meditationRegarding "Not Too Far"
Not too far from the Jeep Trail
Winding through Morrill’s woods is an old
Colonial-era homestead, or, more
Specifically, the homestead’s
Cellar hole, made of hardscrabble
Stones which would have been
Painfully unearthed by calloused
Flesh in times long gone.
The homestead site is totally
Invisible from the Jeep Trail, perhaps
No more than 75 feet away…
Forgotten, blocked by
Increasingly thick woods.
Also blocked or lost
Are all the homestead’s
Memories. Trees are even
Trying to grow in the cellar hole
Itself! Nothing speaks,
Nothing moves…it is only
Creation which knows what the
Stone cellar walls know.
It is only Creation which has
Heard the voices which once made
The homestead a home.
And it is only Creation
Which can bathe in warmth
The cold November temperatures
Ingrained in the stones, even
As they still feel the freeze
Of the ancient glacier which once
Tumbled them when the
Land was not even known…
Leo Carroll
December 11, 2019
Near the Jeep Trail
Here I sit this cellar hole amidst,
Just stoic stones remaining without the flesh
Which long ago them set…nothing
Left now…no voices, no laughing,
No crying…no pain, no joy…
No births, no deaths…no nothing…
Just this lone moment long
After footsteps took their last
Step…long after the last
Crib was rocked, long after
Was whispered the final vesper
At someone’s death…
But yet despite, still the sun
Shines, and to the cellar
Hole addresses, “I know all that
You did…so please take my
Warmth, and let this light up’n
Your stones be visited.”
Ode to Old Homestead
E’en the trees have tried to
Take o’er your cellar’s soul…but they
Underestimate the strength of
Your carefully-fitted stones…
What chance have the trees – –
Their trunks are made of
Mere wood!? Your stones are
Much harder than that, and e’en
An ancient glacier into the
Sea could not them push…
Day’s Done
Click for meditationRegarding "Day’s Done"
As I’ve said so
Often, I love this little beach,
This Pemaquid beach,
This jewel on Maine’s
Mid coast looking out
Onto the Gulf of Maine!
I am always so reluctant
To leave it. It lies on only a
Bit of a wisp of sand,
Perhaps a quarter mile
In length, but one that has
Given my grandchildren
A lifetime of memories and
Smiles – of seagulls
Swooping, and hermit crabs
Clinging to shelter
Inside the tiniest of
Shells, and sandcastles
And fortresses being
Buttressed against
The onslaught of a
Rising tide. This beach,
This secluded haven,
Has also been a
Gift of solace to me,
As I’ve sat and watched
Little running legs merge
With my own — in a
Miracle of times past
And now — as I morph
Back and forth
From boy to man,
Feeling melancholic over
Those things I would
Do over again…
Leo Carroll
August 27, 2019
The day’s gift of
Precious life all done,
All sand castles
Built, all bare little
Feet now home to be
Bathed and by
Sleepy-time
Welcomed,
All done, with
Naught but the
Majesty of dusk
To be spread across
A quiet, low tide
At rest, and the last
Glimpse of light
To be felt like a
Goodnight’s kiss
Unexpected.