Seasons
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.
Ode to Iris
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Iris"
Many years ago,
Someone walking past
My garden told me
That an iris was a symbol
Of “friendship.” I had
Never heard that before,
And to this day do not
Know if it is true or not.
However, the sincerity and
Certitude with which
This was said to me have
Always stayed, and
So every year when the
First shoots of spring
Start to show themselves
In April, nay even late
March, I always look to
Confirm that some of these
Shoots belong to irises,
And when I see them I smile,
Because that person’s
Comment re-lives in my garden
At that moment, and also
Later in June when
Lavender petals radiate,
As if still trying to catch that
Passing person’s eye.
Leo Carroll
June 23, 2019
Someone once told me
You were a symbol of friendship, and
So in my garden you flourish
With those words inscribed
As nourishment.
Lavender seems to be
A favorite of your colors, and
So I till its hue more
Than all June others.
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…
Home of Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Home of Stone"
Again and again
I return to say
That whatever I believe
In my heart
Represents best
What in life
Seems true
And trustworthy
Is seen in a stone wall
Cutting on a perfect
Heading through
The woods, as
Much a part
Of what sits in
New England
As maple, birch,
And oak, and the
Animals which scurry
Amongst the crevasses
Of the rocks which
The wall’s builders
First fitted together
When up from
The earth was
Offered in glacial
Oblation the finest
Granite objects
The Universe
Ever saw.
Leo Carroll
April 11, 2019
A stone, or a
Collection of stones,
A wall, definitely
Something calling me
Home, reliable,
Trustworthy, making
Me melancholic
When in gloaming
I roam, built by
Flesh, by palms
Calloused by hard
Work honed, indeed,
A paean to duty
And everything
Holy like Gibraltar
Pointing its face
Into an Atlantic
Storm, yes, a wall,
A wall of stones
Against which
To lean, recline, and
Dream on a day in
Autumn warm,
A place which has
Withstood Time’s
Passage without
Pause or flinching, a
Monument to
Strength and what
Lies within, a bed
For me to safely sleep,
A womb in which
To rest, a place
For my hat to be
Finally set, and duty’s
Descriptive postcard
With no more to
Be said…except to
Daydream that bays in
The distance a
Long ago dog, and
Then a small child
Runs up to call
Me to supper, just
As sunset starts
To dip in a farewell’s
Beautiful yawn.