Mood
Doing a ‘Standing Climb’ up the Mountain of Hope
Click for meditationRegarding "Doing a ‘Standing Climb’ up the Mountain of Hope"
What exhilaration and
Jubilation when I first started doing
Spinning classes! It was as
If I had climbed a mountain and
Was looking down upon
All that was good and pure in human
Nature and its connections…
The people I met in
Spinning class were
Remarkable, and their
Energy and enthusiasm
Were contagious.
I couldn’t believe how
Happy I felt when spinning, and,
To this day, the euphoria
Of spinning is a metaphor
For the good things
Along my life’s journey.
In the poem, the
Imagery is of standing
Up on the pedals
With the hands forward
On the top of the handlebars,
And of climbing a steep
Mountain trail or grade – a
Very difficult task, unless
You have hope and
Confidence and the
Support of those cycling
Around you…
Leo Carroll
April 25, 2018
Lifted up I am, resurrected,
By the spiral of a spinning flywheel.
Circular in shape, its chrome
Whirs and whirs, as if its
Metal was flesh and
Its flesh was real. It
Carries me nowhere, but
Mystically everywhere, on the
Stationary magic carpet of
My deepest hopes and dreams,
And there, there, once
There like a kite I climb,
And can only be caught by the
Whoosh of a steep grade’s
Mountain breeze.
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.
Passing
Click for meditationRegarding "Passing"
We often never know why
We meet someone, especially if the
Encounter was for what turned out to be
A literal second … Sometimes the
Meeting evolves into lasting
A lifetime, sometimes far less or
Seemingly not at all …
This is a mystery, and in
My opinion is related to the
Pilgrim’s path which we are all on.
We sometimes will
Never know why someone
Crossed our path,
While other times it will
Seem very self-evident. In
All cases, however, whomever
We have met in life, at
That fleeting second we have
Breathed the same air
With them, and the
Interaction imperceptibly
Affected the path we
And they were on. For a good
Part of my life I was oblivious to this.
Now, every time I walk into
Dunkin’ Donuts or a food store
Or some pharmacy or pull
Over into a service station for
Gasoline, I am much more aware of
My surroundings. Invariably,
There is someone I exchange a
Smile with, nod at, or
Have a brief conversation
With. I am there for them.
They are there for me.
And then we part, sometimes
Like a shooting star, sometimes
Like a floating, beautiful
Monarch butterfly.
Leo Carroll
January 22, 2019
I tried to
Think of a poem to
Send you, but my mind got lost in
Rolling banks of sentimental mist … and
So all I am able is to forward you
My very best wishes
Forever upon a sister star, as our
Galaxies now shriek past one
Another on polar-opposite paths, streaking
From that brief interlude where we
Once stood a sweet beach, but now due to the
Physics of warp speed —
So strangely afar.
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.
Primeval
Click for meditationRegarding "Primeval"
In the great 1969 movie,
“Paint Your Wagon,”
Which is about the wild and
Crazy California gold rush
Of 1849, there is the
Fabulous song, “They Call
The Wind Mariah.” The
Lyrics are powerful, but yet
Hauntingly lonely, and they set
The framework and tempo
For the screenplay starring
Lee Marvin, Clint Eastwood,
And Jean Seberg. It was
A rough, tumultuous
Crossing in 1849 to reach
California, and once there
It was equally rough
And tumultuous to survive.
In the movie, the wind and the
Music were always in the
Background as if they were
Part of the cast. It struck
Me how primeval the wind
Was portrayed, and ever
Since, in any storm, I always
Will look up at the tops
Of trees and “call the
Wind Mariah,” as if
Addressing a supernatural
Force, one that comes
From and simultaneously
Represents Creation,
And wields the contradictory
Attributes of incredible
Power, terror, and the
Magnificent fist of Yahweh
Spreading love and hope and
Beauty upon the land …
Leo Carroll
January 15, 2019
Up my eyes strain to the tops of
Their spires, feeling from out of my primal past
What I cannot begin to plumb nor
Describe. Bend and moan they
Do, to the roar of wind howling
From out of the womb of the universe,
Right here, right now, this place,
This hope, this cave mouth, this new
Millennium, this old ice age, with the same
Shudder, the same words, the
Same stab of terror, and then
Tomorrow, the same sunrise chorus.