Sand Grains
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.
Leaves
Click for meditationRegarding "Leaves"
Not all change is
Gentle, and not all change
Comes in the guise of
A whispering, soothing tide.
At its core, life
Is eternally good,
But it does have the
Potential to sometimes
Seem otherwise.
And so I’ve seen
From time to time
Throughout my life…
Even when I was
Sitting against
An oak tree within
An arm’s length
Of a stone wall on
A beautiful Maine
Autumn day, as
Soon a I heard the
Rustle of leaves
Rolling across the field
In which I was
Sitting, it sent a chill
Throughout my
Body that change
Was coming…
And so it soon
Did…and it became
Another steppingstone,
Whether I wanted
It to be or not…
Leo Carroll
March 20, 2019
A rustle rolls up
The field, undulating, lifting
My head, washing over
Me in a beautiful
Autumn moment, but
To me this year it
Is also an unmistakable
Harbinger — like a
Rush of foam across
Sand flats at the
First turn of a tide from
Low to high — and
Clams, which had
Been quietly lying at
Rest, are then
Suddenly reminded
Their air holes are not
Invincible, but subject to
Being covered by
What irresistibly
Comes next…
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.
Peace
Click for meditationRegarding "Peace"
Nowhere can be better
Seen the majesty of all Creation than
At the seashore of this
Glorious earth. Just even a few
Moments alone on the beach in the
Company of all the nameless grains of sand
And seashells and stones
Cannot help but
Give the startling impression
Of the overwhelming
Power and magnitude of
Creation…and yet, at every high tide,
The waves come in and caress
Each grain of sand and shell as if
Their only task that day
Was to wash each one and
To make them lamb-like clean,
As if this was the first time
And not the infinite occasion
That they were being bathed,
And no task was more
Important that day than buffing holy
Their sheen with the tide…
Leo Carroll
April 16, 2018
Washed all clean,
Like in an Elysian Fields
Dream, was
Placed a beach,
Where onto its
Sands in rolling
Fealty came
Breakers and foam
In trembling and
Kneeling…