Seasons
Bottle Rock
Click for meditationRegarding "Bottle Rock"
In the frenetic world we live,
It is almost impossible to
Take a timeout to catch a breath…
To recalibrate…to reset, to
Just breathe and not worry about
What comes next…There is,
However, a wonderful place in the
Woods of Maine. It is bare-boned in
Appearance, but is a spot of
Stabilizing, spiritual reassurance.
It is located near a quicksand
Swamp and within a stone’s
Throw of centuries-old, colonial-era
Rock walls. And, all of this
Enclosed by thick woods…It is
An ancient, glacial boulder
Which one day an ice
Sheet got tired of pushing!
And there it still sits, and
On the day of this poem was
Covered in snow, but in other years
Was where I sat with a friend
To talk but mostly just to feel the
Silence…and on one day was
Rewarded when a snow owl
Alighted and watched us
Quench our thirst with a beer,
And then solemnly bury the two
Bottles ‘neath leaves where
We could revisit them every year.
As it says in the Creation story in the
Book of Genesis, “God saw
That it was good,” and so it still
Is in Morrill, Maine, where a simple
Boulder provides an enduring
Backdrop for remembrance and
Resurrection and friendship.
And it stands where for
Millennia it has stood,
Where a glacier got tired
And Yahweh said, “This is good.”
Leo Carroll
January 14, 2020
Blank stares the old rock,
Plain in its face but wizened and hoary
In its thought, secluded, not
Far from a quicksand swamp, but a
Safe haven, simple in looks, and
Faithful, too, dependably strong against
What the world would throw,
Always there, an anchor against
Cascading, overwhelming change,
A place where two sets of
Shoulders could sit and lean and
To the rock not have to explain, and
Where a snow owl in agreement
Was once seen to alight, and
Witness a toast being raised and
Then two bottles beneath leaves
Being laid, where year after year they
Could be revisited and
Resurrected…
Prodigal Son
Click for meditationRegarding "Prodigal Son"
We all
Pause at some point,
And make an assessment
Of where we’ve been, reflecting
How time has so quickly
Passed and how the gates to
Our past are now closed and cannot
Be swung back open. “O Life,
Did I make good use of you, or
Was I frivolous with what
You so freely offered?”
Such we can wonder and
Such has no answer, because
Like the prodigal son in
The orchard of this poem,
A time comes when
All left to do is to turn up
Our collars against the chill,
And hope any furies are
Overcome by the “good”
We’ve sown, and we’re not
Undone by other choices
We’ve chosen.
Leo Carroll
January 8, 2020
He peeks, as if through a
Portal back into time,
Under a canopy’s
Branches from where
He is described in rhyme.
He pauses wistfully,
His memories old but
Intact, ruminating
As the woods begin to
Whisper, and when the
Furies will emerge
And run at him fast…
And so in an ancient orchard
Picked of apples clean,
He stands quietly
Still and muses how he
Used to roam this Maine field…
And how long ago he
Would not have
Flinched when the
Cold crawled and crept
Into his bones, but
How now he tucks his
Collar up, as a chill comes
With a shiver he knows.
Musings
Click for meditationRegarding "Musings"
There are some moments,
Some places, some situations, which
Can cast us into a freefall of
Emotions and thoughts
And musings. Such was the
Case when I was on
The beach in Mutiny Bay
On Whidbey Island.
My writings, while there,
Were both related and
Unrelated to the beauty of
The seashore, but they
Were a consistent collage
Of who I was, who I am,
And where the Muse has
Led my longing to be.
My thoughts placed me in
Awe before the Divine,
But also swung me back to
Consider the clay of
My humanity.
Leo Carroll
November 20, 2019
Knowing
If only I knew that I would
Never know, that I was merely
Destined to sit a beach
Like this, and to always
Wonder the meaning of a back
And forth, tidal flow…
If only I knew that I would
Never know, would I still persist and
Sit this beach, and in tremble
And awe be satisfied
With what had been gifted
So exquisitely…?
Seasons
…The eternal, intriguing
Nature of your smile, felt
Particularly in autumn, and
Fleeting, but always long
Enough to me beguile…it haunts
Me still, ne’er too far away —
What once I felt I knew,
But now the meaning I
Cannot explain…
Feelings
Puget Sound cold are my hands,
And cool across my brow brushes
A wind which also cloisters
And huddles shoulder-to-shoulder
The grains of sand, but
Blessedly and thankfully,
Faintly still warms the sun, and
About me circles the lingering
Season of someone.
Summer Daydreaming
Click for meditationRegarding "Summer Daydreaming"
I love that little Maine
Beach where I found myself sitting
Last week! Every year it
Becomes my safe harbor to
Daydream, wonder, and reflect. No more
Than a quarter mile in length,
It points seaward into
The Gulf of Maine.
Cold the water is! Brrrr!
Healing! Rejuvenating!
And it seems that
Every year as I sit upon
That beach, a fog bank will
Regularly roll in, and a sailboat
Will come into view tacking
In and out of my sight.
I have a relationship
With that sailboat which is
Complicated to define.
It has so many different
Meanings to me, and each one
Is synonymous with
Various themes at work
In my life. One of the
Most important of these
Themes is the loosing of
An almost continual, merciful,
Thought-stream of verse
And stanza, which will
Slip in and out of my
Consciousness like that
Which tacks in an out of a
Marvelous coastal
Maine fogbank, and
Where on my last day
Sitting — it will disappear
Until next year…
Leo Carroll
August 20, 2019
Found
Like a sailboat my voice
Wafts, tacking into the wind, and
Then blithely disappears into the fog’s womb,
Where it soon re-emerges again…
It seems as if my speech has
Been released by the muse on
Behalf of merciful God, and verse and
Stanza have been loosed by
Healing spittle upon a
Tongue’s tied knot.
Sailing
It is as if
On that sailboat I found
My voice, and in and out of the fog tacked
Verse and stanza which
Had waited to be released for
Eons without choice.
“Heave into sight,” shouted
The First Mate, and from the crow’s nest
Then hollered down, “Nary a fear
Is in view, just whitecaps
And blue sky in natural union
Abounding.”
Day’s Done
Click for meditationRegarding "Day’s Done"
As I’ve said so
Often, I love this little beach,
This Pemaquid beach,
This jewel on Maine’s
Mid coast looking out
Onto the Gulf of Maine!
I am always so reluctant
To leave it. It lies on only a
Bit of a wisp of sand,
Perhaps a quarter mile
In length, but one that has
Given my grandchildren
A lifetime of memories and
Smiles – of seagulls
Swooping, and hermit crabs
Clinging to shelter
Inside the tiniest of
Shells, and sandcastles
And fortresses being
Buttressed against
The onslaught of a
Rising tide. This beach,
This secluded haven,
Has also been a
Gift of solace to me,
As I’ve sat and watched
Little running legs merge
With my own — in a
Miracle of times past
And now — as I morph
Back and forth
From boy to man,
Feeling melancholic over
Those things I would
Do over again…
Leo Carroll
August 27, 2019
The day’s gift of
Precious life all done,
All sand castles
Built, all bare little
Feet now home to be
Bathed and by
Sleepy-time
Welcomed,
All done, with
Naught but the
Majesty of dusk
To be spread across
A quiet, low tide
At rest, and the last
Glimpse of light
To be felt like a
Goodnight’s kiss
Unexpected.