Melancholy
Home of Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Home of Stone"
Again and again
I return to say
That whatever I believe
In my heart
Represents best
What in life
Seems true
And trustworthy
Is seen in a stone wall
Cutting on a perfect
Heading through
The woods, as
Much a part
Of what sits in
New England
As maple, birch,
And oak, and the
Animals which scurry
Amongst the crevasses
Of the rocks which
The wall’s builders
First fitted together
When up from
The earth was
Offered in glacial
Oblation the finest
Granite objects
The Universe
Ever saw.
Leo Carroll
April 11, 2019
A stone, or a
Collection of stones,
A wall, definitely
Something calling me
Home, reliable,
Trustworthy, making
Me melancholic
When in gloaming
I roam, built by
Flesh, by palms
Calloused by hard
Work honed, indeed,
A paean to duty
And everything
Holy like Gibraltar
Pointing its face
Into an Atlantic
Storm, yes, a wall,
A wall of stones
Against which
To lean, recline, and
Dream on a day in
Autumn warm,
A place which has
Withstood Time’s
Passage without
Pause or flinching, a
Monument to
Strength and what
Lies within, a bed
For me to safely sleep,
A womb in which
To rest, a place
For my hat to be
Finally set, and duty’s
Descriptive postcard
With no more to
Be said…except to
Daydream that bays in
The distance a
Long ago dog, and
Then a small child
Runs up to call
Me to supper, just
As sunset starts
To dip in a farewell’s
Beautiful yawn.
Silence in Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence in Stone"
A stone wall is symbolic
Of everything this world is not.
It is silent, content to
Bask in solitude, confident
In its strength, and in
Absolutely no need
To be known. It is just there,
Wherever it is, blending
Into the background
Of everything going on
Around it, quietly listening,
Unassuming, and
Satisfied to stand in
Loyalty and solidarity to
The flesh which built
It with long ago hands.
It has no expectations,
Except that in autumn some
Maple, oak, and beech
Leaves lean against its
Moss, and that together
In the fading sunlight they
Share in the glow of the lost
Art of tenderness
In a time-forgotten,
Promised Land.
Leo Carroll
April 1, 2019
I try to claim each
Day in the name of silence,
If such a thing from
Noise is possible
In this world the
Garden of Eden has
Cast us into. Perhaps
This is why to
Stone walls I so
Gladly cleave.
They seem to
Be able to stand
Without having to do…
And just to be…
They are content in
Their timeless, tireless
Strength, and
Are happy to
Let the forest and
Its timbers beat
Their breasts before the
Moon, as if to
Achieve this could
E’er surpass the
Silence resonant in a
Stone’s beauty.
Noticing
Click for meditationRegarding "Noticing"
There is
Something
Inherent
About a heron,
Visually so
Quiet, so
Observant,
So unassuming in
Its walk, so
Wonderful in its
Flight, the
Unobtrusive
Observer of all
Things
Around,
Not just in
Curiosity, but
In hope something
Lost should
E’er return and
Be found…
Leo Carroll
October 14, 2018
…A heron,
Pensive, perfectly still,
Stoic on a dock,
Waiting for
What the boardwalk
Brings, be it
Lady or her
Glass
Slipper or
Simply the
Lingering scent of an
Unforgettable
October
Dream…
O Eternal Mother
(Ode to Primeval Stone Wall)
Click for meditationRegarding "O Eternal Mother"
What beautiful peace and
Comfort come to me when I recline
Against a stone wall, particularly
In autumn, when all my
Senses are on fire, and every
Nuance of every living and
Dead thing in the woods leaps
Out at me! It is the best time and
Place of the whole year
For me! Every poignant
Event in my life, every recurring
Memory, crawls out from
The crevasses in the
Stone wall I am resting
Against, and comes back
Gently before my heart. I
Feel melancholic, but I also
Feel blessed, because somehow
I have been gifted the
Magnificence of the stone wall
I am leaning against, and its
Wisdom and perseverance
Bring me the sure knowledge of
A listening ear and the
Prospect of an eternal,
New start…
Leo Carroll
May 24, 2018
Like a womb to me you are,
A place to curl against and to softly shut
My eyes, a place where I can feel
Warm and cradled, and a place where
Long ago hands can still humbly labor and
Lay their stones to bound their
Fields and farms and sighs…
Yes, all these centuries later, you
Still steadily run east-west towards and
Away from me, and each of
Your stones, mottled and so smooth,
Offers me a pillow in a bygone
Kindness I find courteous
And disarmingly beautiful…
Ah, I swoon, swoon…and I recline back at
Rest with you — found by autumn,
Unconditionally accepted, and all I have
To do is to daydream, because the
Work has long been done, and the cows
Called home, and the last croaking
Raven flown over the treetops into the
Twilight of the next hollow, and silence now
Alone sits with me as the beech and
Oak and spruce upon me look, and
Occasionally their leaves and
Needles nod to whatever it is they
Perceive…as sunshine dapples
With the shadows, and modulates my
Mood in consonance with the
Beating heart of Thee.
Ode to Walden Pond
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Walden Pond"
This poem attempts to
Explain the profound meaning of
Walden Pond to me.
But my words fail!
My feelings on this subject
Far surpass the ability
Of my verse to
Convey them, and,
Honestly, probably
Always will fall short…
Everything about
Walden – the
Chameleon colors
Of its waters,
The changing moods
Of its seasons
As seen in the
Overhanging leaves,
The warmth of
Its late spring and
Summer and early
Autumn waters, its
Mystical depths
And fathoms, always
Mysteriously
Rising and falling,
Its stone steps for
Sitting and remembering…
These all overwhelm
Me…and simultaneously
Both draw me to
Walden Pond and caution
Me not to get too
Close — lest I turn into a
Pillar of salt, like once
Betook Lot’s wife.
Leo Carroll
October 29, 2018
I am told your colors
Blend blue and green, but I
Choose olivine, and
See your hue as if tinted
Like an earring.
I am told your seasons
In rhythm move from mood
To mood, but I choose
Autumn, and call its
Peace, “maple solitude”
I am told your waters
Can vary in their heights and
Depths, but I choose
The level which best
Reveals your stone steps.