Melancholy
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.
Ode to ‘Reading Room’
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to ‘Reading Room’"
How I love my time
Spent in the woods of Maine!
At one point in my life, I went up
There for twenty one straight years every
November, and in all my
Life I have never found a more
Consistently peaceful place to
Contemplate and write. Every sight and
Sound in the woods had
Meaning to me, and I had a
Wide variety of names to refer to
Some of my favorite spots –
For example, the “Reading Room,”
The “Field”, and the “Trap Line” were
Three locations I regularly
Visited. Each had a natural niche
For me to settle into, and to
Wonder and daydream.
I wrote hundreds of poems
While up there. I would just sit in
Silence. The “Reading Room”
Became my best-liked, and
I would often end my day
There as the late afternoon
Light took over the woods.
Invariably at a certain point,
I would hear the melancholic
Barking of a dog coming from
The pasture of a distant, white
Farmhouse. The sound would waft
Across the tops of the trees,
And I would be reminded
Of something in my past which
Was comfortable and I called “home.”
And so, even now when I no longer
Go up to those beloved Maine
Woods, I will daydream
Of the many walks which
I took to find my resting place
In the “Reading Room.”
In the case of the poem for
Which this meditation is
Written, I was daydreaming
One January day of what
The path I walked would look
Like if there were no footprints in
The snow, and if the “Reading Room”
Was all alone watching what
I would have been watching, but
Sadly there was no one there
Now to call the barking
Dog home …
Leo Carroll
February 25, 2019
No footsteps in the snow
Lead up to you today,
No flesh cold sits upon your
Ledge, no mind wanders and then
Wonders at every sight and sound, and no
Melancholy rises up in the throat
When bays a dog across the
Primeval expanse between you
And a lone, white farmhouse –
Which even now from here,
Lo all these hundreds of miles away,
I can still see gleaming like a
Shining beacon across the tree tops
In my daydream’s gaze.
Cabin in the Woods
Click for meditationRegarding "Cabin in the Woods"
I was up in the
Maine woods one year with
A group of some friends.
We were there for the
Week in an old,
Historical hunting cabin.
One afternoon,
Most everyone had
Found their spot
Out beneath some tree
Or along a stone
Wall, but for me — my
Day had ended,
And I was sitting in the
Cabin with just
One other friend,
A dear friend, an old
Friend, a long-time,
Dependable friend, the
Best kind of friend,
And we were talking
Over a glass of red wine.
As the afternoon reached its
Zenith and final light,
An absolutely peaceful,
Melancholic
Warmth settled in
Upon the cabin, and
I realized how
Sometime soon
We would ourselves
Become merged
With the woods in a
Final accounting
Of all things created…
I always cherish that
Singular moment, that light —
And, particularly, that
Friendship to
Share in it.
Leo Carroll
May 11, 2018
Gradually
Settles up’n the
Cabin an autumn spell of
End-of-afternoon, fading light,
Golden in its hue, and
Melancholic in the
Warmth and glow it casts,
And a reminder, also,
That we are caretakers of
This place in time, and
Like the ghosts that once sat these
Self-same chairs in the
Womb of these old walls,
We, too, will someday share
With the woods the
Coming final sunset and
Descending night.
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.