Pilgrim’s Path
Awakening
Click for meditationRegarding "Awakening"
My life has been
Anointed with far, far more
Gifts than it has with any trials and
Challenges which are otherwise
Names for the unremitting human condition.
Millions of little things, like
A songbird, an autumn leaf, a
Stranger’s smile, an unexpected
Encounter, a perfect
Snowflake, a dandelion, the
Love of a grandchild…
All these things and endless
More are constantly
Given freely when we may be
Thinking of ourselves as otherwise
Alone. I believe there is a
Power Greater Than We Are
Which knows of our
Existence. Each of us calls
This Power by a different name,
And even some who do
Not believe in a Higher Power
Acknowledge its possibility by virtue
Of disclaiming its very existence.
We are blessed so much in
Our day-to-day lives with Beauty…
Beauty which itself is a
Manifestation and face of
Our Higher Power.
For me, I hope my life’s
Path is a long one, in whatever
Form and realm my physical and
Spiritual travels may take…
I feel I am still in the early
Stages of having my rough edges
Smoothed, and every time I
Am bowed I am elevated by an
Unexpected gift which
Grabs me under the arm…
Like the Rhode Island lotus
Flower this poem describes, in
Its own right wondrous in its
Appearance, but, nevertheless, not
Limited by its physical beauty,
Because it, too, is always
Becoming through the work of
Creation mysteriously even
More beautiful, like all of us
Are, as the inside of us unfurls,
And our Higher Power finally
Says, “Behold My Child.”
Leo Carroll
December 28, 2019
As if at long last
Revealing its inner self,
All caution set aside,
What had been enough
Finally deemed to be enough,
What had heretofore
Been cloaked, but
Caught now in photo
As it floated upon
A Rhode Island pond,
A lotus flower in the
Faintest pinks and
Whites and greens and
Yellows, all blending
In the hues of a
Proffered heart
Given freely, and its
Beat the divine
Rhythm of the
Blood of Beauty,
The pulse soft and
Subdued, the petals
A cushion for
God’s footstool,
Whereupon the
Haversacks could be
Placed of weary,
Arriving souls.
Leo Carroll
August 3, 2019
Westford, Massachusetts
Embedded I Am
Click for meditationRegarding "Embedded I Am"
When I write, when
I garden, I become my poetry, I
Become my garden. I am
Synonymous with my
Verse and stanza,
I am synonymous with
The placement and choice
And color of my plants
And flowers.
I become what
I am creating, always
Evolving, editing, pruning,
Shaping, like someone on a
Pilgrim’s path, always
Influenced by the
Surprises, twists, and
Turns of what
Life has chosen to
Present. My poetry is
As if by the tides
Being polished,
My gardens are
Always being tilled,
And in God’s image
I am being rhythmically
Smoothed and
Rounded until …
Leo Carroll
July 17, 2019
Embedded I am, fitted
Like a puzzle piece into my garden,
Comfortable, under the
Sweet shade of a day lily and
On the sheltered side of
A leafy hosta’s pardon.
Prayer
Click for meditationRegarding "Prayer"
So many gifts have
Been given me, but so many
Of these I have let slip
Past me, through my
Fingers, whether
Unnoticed, overlooked,
Or taken for granted.
I am painfully aware of
My stumbles along my pilgrim’s
Path, but seldom have I
Seen the treasures
Offered to me as petals
To re-assure my feet.
Lupines, sweet lupines, are
In that category of
Innocent palliatives,
And I thank the
Photographer who
Took the picture which
Reminds that heaven
Is lined with unimaginable,
Beautiful simplicity,
And on this blessed planet
Its here starts.
Leo Carroll
July 11, 2019
Lead me to where the
Lupines live, and gladly amongst
Them I’ll lie, with purple
Pall bearers in phalanx
Around me, and their pointed
Petals as gentle shields,
Poised against all which would
Unsettle my mind…
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…
Vermont Morning
Click for meditationRegarding "Vermont Morning"
And so when a woman
Recently showed me a photograph
Of her palms cradling a
Little bat in Vermont,
I was taken aback. She was
Supporting the creature
As if on the softest
Throne of white mittens.
I knew this was a special
Woman. She had found the bat
Asleep on a wall in her
Vermont home one morning, and
Had taken pity on it.
If she had been a member
Of the Jainism religious
Sect in India, which
Practices non violence
Against all living beings, she
Could not have been more loving.
She handled the bat as if
She was presenting the
The long lost treasure
Of the Knights Templar.
The photo of the bat
In her palms was taken
About 10-15 years ago,
And yet she still carried it
With her as if it was
A sacred, holy relic, and
When she showed it to me,
I was able to peer into
The simplicity and
Compassion of her soul.
Leo Carroll
February 16, 2019
Who else in knitted, mitten-white
Palms would e’er cradle a
Tiny, helpless bat in hopes to keep
The scared creature calm?
Very few people would … only
Someone who had herself been lost, and
Thus recognized the cry when
The morning sun wafted it across.