Plum Island
Footsteps
Click for meditationRegarding "Footsteps"
Anyone who
Has gone to the beach has
Probably had the experience
Of seeing footprints
In the sand, and wondering
Whom these might have
Belonged to? This
Frequently happens to
Me, especially when I
See footprints which retrace
The very same steps I
May have made. I wonder whom
They belonged to,
Perhaps a never-known
Soul mate, a person
Interested in the same
Things I am, a person on a
Similar pilgrim’s quest, a person
Seeking advice, guidance,
And the precious
Reassurance of Creation’s
Understanding and acceptance?
Footsteps, footsteps, that is
What they do to me –
Reminding me I am not
Alone on this plane
I walk, but instead that I
Retrace the common steps of
All humanity — in what
They seek, and of what they
Would talk…
Leo Carroll
July 23, 2018
Sitting
On the beach with
Someone else’s footsteps…wondering,
Musing what they were
Seeking…? Down to the
Water’s edge they solemnly went,
Down to find the
Answer to their
Prayer’s “amen.”
“Who were they,
Who, who?” I plead.
“Their flesh is now just indented
Sand where once they
Meekly walked,
Someone, someone who
Came this beach,
And someone about the
Tides with whom I could have
Talked…”
Poems from Plum Island
Click for meditationRegarding "Poems from Plum Island"
One day in early
February almost two years ago,
I went to Plum Island.
My trip that day was
Spontaneous, and
I simply found myself
Going there … my mood
Was roiled, and I somehow knew
That Plum Island was the
Place for me. This meditation
Is for a series of poems
I wrote while out there
That day. The poems are
Like shutter clicks
On a camera, each
Representing how on
Succeeding seconds
I “saw” the Island and how it
Correspondingly saw me.
I wrote many poems
While there that day, and the
Ones shown here are
Representative and are
Snapshots of my mind.
I spoke to the beach there,
And the beach spoke
To me. There was not one
Other person there,
But there was a lone seagull.
We observed each other
And were bonded to each other
That day. That is the
Great thing about
Plum Island – it can be
All things to all
Creatures, but the one
Constancy is its healing,
Faithful solitude.
Leo Carroll
December 26, 2018
Preface
(In the Beginning)
“Brrr!” says my
Soul, “This place reeks of cold
Not poetry …”
“No!” chides the
Marsh, “The ice, fog, and clouds
Offer immunity.”
Reprieve
All I saw was the boardwalk, its slats
Grey winding their way through ice, snow,
Memories, and past winter storms,
Showing me the path towards a beach where all
I hoped to do on its sands was to bask
Like a seashell and to be washed smooth
Like a cradled sea stone …
View from the Boardwalk
As if a cold compress had come down
And flattened the sea like a hot steam iron once did on
My mother’s ironing board on a long ago, frigid
Winter’s night, thus before me stood the
Gateway to the Atlantic with its cobalt-blue color —
And it seemed spent, or was it just simply sated? It was as if the
Waves had neither the strength nor the will to lift their
Heads for one more tide, as if an exhausted,
Hunched woman with an iron had creased flat
Their mood, taming them despite how hard they tried.
And so it stretched before me without ripple –
Having clearly surrendered to a February freeze —
This on a sunny Saturday which was otherwise
Grand and glorious, and snow on the
Sand was setting a white tablecloth to
Showcase the finest shells and stones and
Seaweed I had ever seen …
Beyond the Boardwalk
… And so, bobbing, about a quarter-mile
Offshore, I see the shape of a seagull, and it is
Observing me as I sit this snow-covered
Sand — and both of us marveling at how the sea was so flat
And cobalt-blue cold, and how nobody else
Was on the beach to see it, because
February was deigned only in quiet solitude
To be shared and known…
Ode to Cold Beach
I knew your waters would be flat and calm.
I knew in color your waves would be coldest, cobalt-blue.
I even knew winter’s windswept
Sands would run across your boardwalk …
But I absolutely did not know that snowdrifts
Would conceal my footprints,
From where they stood in praise
To you this past June …
Merest Flesh
Why should I be any
Different than all else that waits to be
Swept off of this winter strand!?
I am made of only the merest, weakest flesh and
Blood, while even gets shoved aside
By every tide and storm this faithful and
Snow-laden, February sand!
Winter Beach
Down to the very shore’s edge runs a
Six-inch layer of snow, and from there extends out to the
Horizon the coldest cobalt-blue I ever saw …
The sun peeks over my right shoulder while a mighty
Sand dune behind me stands disheveled in awe …
And in approval from a quarter-mile out,
A seagull rides each light swell, and points at me
Its beak, because in solitude we are
Brothers, and that is our unbreakable,
February bond.
Postscript
(Ode to Seashore)
I would lie down with
You gladly and close gently my eyes.
I would weep knowing that my
Tears would be accepted by
The lows and highs of your tides.
I would even scream if I thought my
Voice would reach your ears —
But alas you await far deeper
Calls than mine from all your
Canyons of fathomless fears —
So all I can do is sit here
On your snow-covered sands,
And marvel at how cold is your
Cobalt-blue hue, and how
Empty is the sea of any daring
Small boats, and how I
Can only see a lone,
Bobbing seagull, and how
The sand dune to my back
Thankfully blocks me from the
Winter wind, and how the
Sun bleaches yet another inscrutable
Puzzle of jumbled pieces of
Seaweed and shells and
Stones left by the last rush of
High tide … all placed in a
Mysterious pattern to proclaim
God’s message in primordial parable –
And writ solemnly on this
Strand of a February paradise.
Oracle
Click for meditationRegarding "Oracle"
Sometimes when I am
Trying to decide something, or if I am
Looking for an answer which
Is escaping me, I will go to
The beach in hopes of direction.
I have always considered
The salt water to be a source
Of healing, and so I will frequently
Wade in and wash my face
In the surf, or I will just
Sit on the sand and hope that
The beauty of what I am
Seeing will speak to me…
I learned this from my father
When I was a young boy.
He loved to be at the beach.
What definitely will always
Speak to me are Peace and Calm
And Solitude, but the answers
To my worldly questions
Always seem elusive, as if
Creation knows what is best for me –
And that I should simply be
Basking before the baptismal font,
And not be worrying about something
Which will soon be turning
To ashes and dust…
Leo Carroll
May 27, 2018
So many tides
And tugs, my heartstrings
Run wild and
Endlessly amok…
Which tide, be it
Low or high,
Which surf,
Which crest of
Foam to me
Carries the reply?
All I hear is
Roar in my ears,
And all I see is
One wave after
The other — with its
Message writ
In a strange script, not
Discernable to
E’en a seer.
On the Beach
Click for meditationRegarding "On the Beach"
Sometimes,
Sometimes it may seem
As if everything
Has crumbled down
Upon you and all
Around you…
It may very well have, at
Least from your
Perspective…but
Sooner or later,
Though, the sun lifts
Above the horizon, the
Moon rises, the
Tide pulls back, and
The first crocus
Shows the
Beginnings of
Spring…
Leo Carroll
April 22, 2018
What broke me
Down came like a dark,
Rogue sea, from
All directions
Without hint of mercy.
But now that the
Waters have pulled
Back, they leave
Me on the
Beach basking,
Like a grain
Of sand burnished,
The starless night having
Passed…
The Saints
Click for meditationRegarding "The Saints"
Each day, without
Recourse to being able to
Avoid even one tide,
Each and every
Sand grain on the
Beach is washed and
Washed again,
With no expectation
Of reprieve, and
Certainly no reprieve
Received, each
Day, every day,
Bathed by
Incoming and
Outgoing tides,
Like a pilgrim
On a path not
Knowing when
Comes the journey’s
End, just that
Its duty is to feel
The water’s
Surge and in its
Ears to hear
The roar, and that
Someday its
Task will be
Mercilessly done,
When on that
Judgment Day the
Heralds sing.
Leo Carroll
April 30, 2018
When of I think the
Waves which daily
Pound this beaten shore, all the
More I bow before the
Grains of sand,
Which upon Creation’s
Beach put their
Humble backs to each
Tide’s oars.