Mood
Prodigal Son
Click for meditationRegarding "Prodigal Son"
We all
Pause at some point,
And make an assessment
Of where we’ve been, reflecting
How time has so quickly
Passed and how the gates to
Our past are now closed and cannot
Be swung back open. “O Life,
Did I make good use of you, or
Was I frivolous with what
You so freely offered?”
Such we can wonder and
Such has no answer, because
Like the prodigal son in
The orchard of this poem,
A time comes when
All left to do is to turn up
Our collars against the chill,
And hope any furies are
Overcome by the “good”
We’ve sown, and we’re not
Undone by other choices
We’ve chosen.
Leo Carroll
January 8, 2020
He peeks, as if through a
Portal back into time,
Under a canopy’s
Branches from where
He is described in rhyme.
He pauses wistfully,
His memories old but
Intact, ruminating
As the woods begin to
Whisper, and when the
Furies will emerge
And run at him fast…
And so in an ancient orchard
Picked of apples clean,
He stands quietly
Still and muses how he
Used to roam this Maine field…
And how long ago he
Would not have
Flinched when the
Cold crawled and crept
Into his bones, but
How now he tucks his
Collar up, as a chill comes
With a shiver he knows.
Musings
Click for meditationRegarding "Musings"
There are some moments,
Some places, some situations, which
Can cast us into a freefall of
Emotions and thoughts
And musings. Such was the
Case when I was on
The beach in Mutiny Bay
On Whidbey Island.
My writings, while there,
Were both related and
Unrelated to the beauty of
The seashore, but they
Were a consistent collage
Of who I was, who I am,
And where the Muse has
Led my longing to be.
My thoughts placed me in
Awe before the Divine,
But also swung me back to
Consider the clay of
My humanity.
Leo Carroll
November 20, 2019
Knowing
If only I knew that I would
Never know, that I was merely
Destined to sit a beach
Like this, and to always
Wonder the meaning of a back
And forth, tidal flow…
If only I knew that I would
Never know, would I still persist and
Sit this beach, and in tremble
And awe be satisfied
With what had been gifted
So exquisitely…?
Seasons
…The eternal, intriguing
Nature of your smile, felt
Particularly in autumn, and
Fleeting, but always long
Enough to me beguile…it haunts
Me still, ne’er too far away —
What once I felt I knew,
But now the meaning I
Cannot explain…
Feelings
Puget Sound cold are my hands,
And cool across my brow brushes
A wind which also cloisters
And huddles shoulder-to-shoulder
The grains of sand, but
Blessedly and thankfully,
Faintly still warms the sun, and
About me circles the lingering
Season of someone.
Daffodils
Click for meditationRegarding "Daffodils"
It came to me
That my own pilgrim’s path
Resembles the
Seasonal flow of my
Garden in a four-part act, with
The fresh growth of
Springtime’s hope and
Rebirth akin to my
Ever-evolving
Renewal, followed
By the endurance
Required in the summer
Heat of July…a
Metaphor for the
Endless twists and turns of
The human condition
As it sits the beach of
Low and high tides…
And then the final
Burst of color and beauty
In autumn, before
Plunging again
Into the deep sleep
Of winter, only to
Arise again in April,
Pointed and poised to
Resume my journey,
But always bowed by the
Growing pains of
Bloom in my
Season of change…
Leo Carroll
May 7, 2019
…One of the first
Fruits of spring — daffodils
Buttery-yellow and
Dangling from the
Ear lobes of morning —
And at their feet
In fealty, the remnants of a
Once-magnificent,
Autumn leaf, placed by
Winter’s wind and
Now a companion
And witness to
The fresh shoots
Of daylilies green,
And all of these
Stirrings staring into
The stoic eyes of
Garden stones, the
Singular thread
Stitching together
My rock garden
As my shifting
Seasons unfold…
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.