Seasons
Tug Boat Christmas
Click for meditationRegarding "Tug Boat Christmas"
Lingering in the back of
My mind was a photograph I had
Seen some time ago. It was
Of a simple tugboat tied up in 2018
In Boothbay Harbor, Maine,
With a Christmas wreath
Adorning its cabin door.
I finally decided to write a poem
About this photograph,
To relieve the pall cast over
Me by Covid, and to
Celebrate something which
Was a total antithesis
To the somber mood draping
In black bunting over Christmas
And Hanukkah and other
Spiritual and secular holidays.
And so this poem portrays
A crimson-red cabin door,
Obviously a bit worn for wear,
But yet clearly well
Cared for over the years,
And hanging on this door is a
Christmas wreath, which
Hardened sea hands had
Hung just two years ago, when
Hope was the unequivocal
“Jingle bell” of the holiday season.
Leo Carroll
December 11, 2020
Crimson-red, peeling, but
Not too old yet, a buttress against
What needs to be outside kept,
An entry for what inside
Can be let, a door, layered and
Lathered in lovingly applied
Strokes, a porthole to
Safely look out in a howling
Sea, and at the same
Time to be opened for
Wondrous eyes, in hopes
Of catching St. Nick at work after
Hanging his Christmas wreath.
King Tide
Click for meditationRegarding "King Tide"
The Christmas and Hanukkah
Seasons have the potential to be over-whelmed
By the attention being given to Covid…
It has been 2020’s most dominant story,
Far-surpassing anything else,
Even in a Presidential election news
Cycle. Other traditions such as
Kwanzaa, a secular, spiritual one
Which celebrates pan-African culture
And the African-American
Way of life, are equally in danger
Of being swamped by the “king” tide
Effect of living in this time of
A worldwide pandemic. In Hindu,
Diwali (or Divali), the joyful festival of
Lights, occurred last month on
November 14th, and had to contend
With the virus’s dark! The very
Essence of each these holiday seasons,
Even a secular one like Festivus,
Is the coming together of family and
Friends, and, in general, sharing
And partaking in bonhomie.
All are shaken to their very
Cores now…Even as I write this,
One of my daughters said,
“Dad, I guess we won’t be seeing
You on Christmas,” the look
In her eyes one I will not forget.
My insides screamed out,
“No, I will see you…!”
But how best and safely
In the coming weeks to still
Be determined…! Jesse Jackson
Is famous for saying, “Keep
Hope alive!” I believe our duty,
Our responsibility this year,
Is to somehow do just that…Our best
Way to strike at the heart of
Covid is the lighting of
Even just one Christmas or
Hanukkah candle, or the
Singing of just one Kwanzaa
Song, or the eating of just one
Diwali sweet snack, or the airing of
Just one Seinfeld-like, Festivus
“Grievance,” all while
Somehow prudently gathering,
And knowing the best
Antidotes are faith and the
Indomitable will of the human
Spirit to never give up!
Leo Carroll
December 9, 2020
It washed o’er my defenses,
Rising gently at first, but
My bastions were soon breached,
My seawall caught asleep,
My mind submerging ‘neath a
High tide with no antidote earthen,
Wave after wave piling
In, and their frigid hues
Gazing up at the cold
Moon, whose face, in turn,
Stared back with a chameleon’s
Covid smirk…
In the Midst
Click for meditationRegarding "In the Midst"
A “king” tide is when the sun
And moon align with each
Other, and the gravitational
Pull on the earth is at its
Absolute strongest. One such
Tide recently affected
Boston on November 16th,
When there was surprise flooding
In Boston’s Seaport District
And shutting down traffic.
It was a king tide which
Came to my mind when I
Was trying to equate the
Confluence of events which
Recently spun me into my own
Riptide. For I briefly found
Myself treading water in a
Metaphorical, strong
Ocean current, which, as
Much as anything, was caused
By the grinding, relentless
Burnout of ten months of
Covid (with no clear end in sight),
Together with the gloom
Of November’s declining
Weather and light, and with
My own furies adding a
Topping and dash of
Their unique spice…!
Leo Carroll
November 28, 2020
(Covid, Late Fall 2020)
A cold dampness settled
Within me, brought on by an
Endless Covid November and its
Drooling rain and the truth of
My age and the ground
Beneath having no name.
Everything seemed brown
About me, adrift, and wherever
My mind walked, it found
Itself floundering in a
Medieval bog, where to
Escape the muck my best
Path was to press forward and
Get further lost…
At the Foot of the Ginkgo
Click for meditationRegarding "At the Foot of the Ginkgo"
Autumn gold… winter cold…
Existing in tandem when
One or t’other is needed to be
Held or to hold, how natural
It struck me, Creation again
Illustrating the seasonal role of
Each one of us — in the
Long march we are all on,
Their being a time to stumble
And a time to exalt, a
Time to be cold and a time
For a leaf to cuddle for warmth.
Leo Carroll
November 17, 2020
The purest leaves of
Gold which e’er fell from a tree,
Saffron-hued, suckled since birth when
Their buds emerged from spring’s
Maternity, now begin to
Release in the fulness
Of autumn’s hour, and cuddle
Easily with an early snow,
Lest they wait too long
And have to endure winter on
A cold ground hardened…
Leaves and Verses
Click for meditationRegarding "Leaves and Verses"
When we marvel at an
Autumn tree in all its glory, still
Full-bodied with magnificent leaves,
At first glance the leaves may
Appear more or less the
Same, but each, in fact, is
Different, and when a closer
Peek is taken, is shown
The majesty of a widely
Diverse Creation. Just like us!
A tree replete with leaves
Can be viewed like a portrait
Composite of ourselves, with all
Our innumerable moods,
Thoughts, and emotions, some
Fleeting, some longer lasting,
Some leaves slipping to
The ground early, while others
Lingering before falling
To the soil, everything
Transitory but at the same
Time regenerative, nothing ever
Lost, everything part of
Our human nature and in its
Own right profound,
All things working together
To show the complexity
Of the Universe’s work of art,
And, yes, as reflected
In our very own existence!
Leo Carroll
October 20, 2020
Each leaf, each varied hue,
A metaphor for my thoughts, my
Emotions, my moods, and now each one
Fated to fall to the ground –
Taking with it my pleadings, my
Thanksgivings, my autumns,
My springs, my memories,
My choices, my regrets, my
Victories, and soon to be all lying
Mixed and interchangeable
And undecipherable up’n the
Earth, until a plow someday churns
Them into rich soil, to be
Spread like butter again up’n
Next year’s verse…