Peace
Ode to a Ginkgo’s Leaves
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to a Ginkgo’s Leaves"
The ginkgo tree is originally a
Native to China, and fossils of this tree,
Very similar to the present living
Species, go at least as far back
As 170 million years. To say, therefore,
That the ginkgo is hardy is
An understatement! In fact,
The gingko has even
Proven resistant to the
Atomic bomb! On August 6, 1945,
The United States dropped
An atomic bomb on
Hiroshima, Japan. There
Were six ginkgo trees near the
Blast center, and they are
Still alive today! Because of their
Resilience, the ginkgo has
Become known as
The “Bearer of Hope.”
And so when I was in
Sammamish, Washington
Recently, and was watching
My granddaughter
Perform some lacrosse
Drills outside a local school,
I noticed that the
Landscaping included some
Small-to-medium sized
Ginkgo trees. . . I immediately
Went over and stood
Amongst them, and let their
Ancient, fan-shaped leaves dwell
Upon my shoulders.
It was like a spiritual
Moment, and I felt their
Healing grace at once. It was as if
I had been a bystander in
Jerusalem 2000 years
Ago when Jesus entered the
City on a donkey, and
His followers laid palms
Along the route of His travel.
Such is the holiness of
The ginkgo that, in my opinion, its
Golden leaves could have
Equally served to cradle and give
Reverence to the
Footsteps of Jesus.
Believing is seeing, and
The light of hope
Is everywhere. That is
What the message of this
Poem Is about.
Leo Carroll
December 12, 2022
O yellow, sometimes e’en
Gold, but with a tinge of slightest green,
Undulating before my gaze,
Each leaf changing
As the sun o’er my shoulder
Leans, o you, dear leaves, doth arrest
Me in my tracks, because
There is something
About your countenance,
Which makes me believe you once
Cradled my Savior’s
Shadow as He walked past.
“If you only knew what God gives. . .
You would ask Him and He
Would give you living water. . .”
John 4: 10
Transiting Montana
Enroute from Judea to Galilee
And so beneath a billowing
Montana blue sky,
Jesus momentarily paused
Along an aquamarine
Riverbank to rest and recline. . .
When approached Him
A burdened Samaritan
Woman carrying an empty
Jar brimming with the
Bleakness of her despair. . .
And He called out,
“Daughter, it is no longer
Necessary to cloak
Your heart in such a hardened
Disguise, but to drink
You, instead, these living
Waters, and your name will
Be washed, and your
Thirst eternally satisfied.”
Stone Angels
Click for meditationRegarding "Stone Angels"
Recently, I was asked
To write a poem which had to
Include ten random words
Given to me. I normally would
Never have considered
Anything like that, but this
Request was part of an exercise in
A training session I was
Taking. And so I consented!
The words given me were,
“Trickle,” “alone,” “gently,”
“Mirrored,” “playfully,”
“Sleeping,” “dignified,” “healing,”
“Sacredness,” and “doors.”
As I was reflecting on
These ten words, I penned
Almost absentmindedly
What would turn out to be
The opening verse of the poem,
“Stone Angels.” With that
One verse, I knew instinctively I
Could complete the poem!
And so thus it unfolded
As naturally as stream
Waters polishing stones!
Each word, in fact, a stone!
Looking back at the
Genesis of this writing
Project and the resulting
Poem, I have no doubt
The muse or, better said, the
Holy Spirit as the muse,
Was the initiator. Because
When I first saw the poem on
My computer screen, I
Sensed it felt like the work of
A Higher Power. Not only
Did the ten words flow easily and
Unimpeded, but all the
Other words in the poem
Did as well, all fitting
Comfortably together
Like stones in a stream bed,
And touching something
Deep and very dear inside me…
Something looking for an
Outlet, an expression, an
Explanation, an understanding of
The confluence of my life –
Its purpose, its finish,
Something which spoke of
Hope and eternal rest
At the end of my path.
The ten words given to me
Are as if tumbled or
Smoothed by the running
Waters of the accompanying
Photograph, and the
Entire visual layout of the
Poem reflects their encoded
Place in Creation’s eternal
Stream bed, and is a
Metaphor for God’s mercy,
Even when the siren
Call of duty seemed to have
Randomly cast its net
And ensnared me all alone.
Leo Carroll
May 8, 2022
I first hear the trickle of
The brook long before I am able
To see it, swaddled as I
Am in this womb of beautiful
Autumn aspens, dreamily
Hiking towards a vale
I have never visited before,
But now from the murmur of the
Brook knowing my arrival
Is at hand. I listen to the
Brook running over stones,
Gently, almost playfully, but in a
Manner respecting their
Dignified demeanor and
Sacredness, because these
Stones once hung dutifully as
Guardian angels over the
Doors to the hearts of humans,
And are now themselves
Laid at rest in these loving
Waters – waters where they, too,
Can recline and experience
Healing and protection,
Comforted by the harmony of
Being with other similar
Stones, all of whom now
Gazing blissfully into each
Other’s faces as if cuddling or
Sleeping, and realizing in
This cemetery of mirrored
Reflections that they did not live
All these eons alone…
Christmas
Click for meditationRegarding "Christmas"
Sometimes
My mind is unable to rest,
As if it was on its own
Independent mission, and
I was along for the
Ride as an involuntary,
E’en unwelcome
Guest…My mind can
Seem like it is freewheeling
With its neurons running
Wild on pathways
Forming new synapses…!
But somehow on
Christmas Eve, Something
Greater Than I laid
Down the gauntlet for
Me to hush, and my mind
Slowed down as if it
Pulled off a rural
Exit ramp, and I exhaled
A big breath as a child
Born 2000 years ago once
More let out its first
Cry, and the attending
Animals stretched out
In awe beneath the winter’s
Night’s sky…
Leo Carroll
December 29, 2020
No poem cometh…and
Momentarily I am
Mute in the
Silence…and e’en
My unharnessed thoughts
Are made to be
Bridled and to bow,
As my mind recuses
Itself before the
Awe of today’s humble
Majesty, and I realize
To do nothing is
All I am allowed.
Finally
Click for meditationRegarding "Finally"
Sometimes our path may
Seem so arduous, so unrelenting, so
Littered with choices and
Decisions and events, which
To look back up’n later
Can leave us worn and spent,
Almost turned to stone like
Lot’s wife, each step
Taken a test of perseverance
And might, each step with
No chance to repeat,
But just to move
Forward with a hopeful
Heartbeat…but what if we
Suddenly came up’n and
Arrived at the final few steps,
And could smell the
Blessed salt air of rebirth
And fragrance, and e’en hear
The gentle lap of waves
As if applied against our
Psyche and soul had come
A warm compress…such
Thoughts came to me when I
Saw two photographs
Recently taken at Sandy
Point on Plum Island.
I could not help but put
Myself in the shoes of the
Photographer, and thus
Unfolded before me the
Poem written in first person.
And so. a peridot-green canopy
Became a dream-like,
Long-sought tunnel
Of welcome, and on the
Oth’r side of it – the
Magnificence of a sun-bathed,
Pristine beach, with
Immaculate sands purring,
“Behold the absolute
Wonder of peace and
Release.”
Leo Carroll
September 28, 2020
Through the portal
I flow, its canopy my safe
Passage to shelter
Where e’en my whims
May follow…and then out the
Oth’r side I someday
Step, my journey
O’er, and my deepest
Wish waiting on the beach –
With my breathing
Breathless…