Seasons
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.
Silence in Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence in Stone"
A stone wall is symbolic
Of everything this world is not.
It is silent, content to
Bask in solitude, confident
In its strength, and in
Absolutely no need
To be known. It is just there,
Wherever it is, blending
Into the background
Of everything going on
Around it, quietly listening,
Unassuming, and
Satisfied to stand in
Loyalty and solidarity to
The flesh which built
It with long ago hands.
It has no expectations,
Except that in autumn some
Maple, oak, and beech
Leaves lean against its
Moss, and that together
In the fading sunlight they
Share in the glow of the lost
Art of tenderness
In a time-forgotten,
Promised Land.
Leo Carroll
April 1, 2019
I try to claim each
Day in the name of silence,
If such a thing from
Noise is possible
In this world the
Garden of Eden has
Cast us into. Perhaps
This is why to
Stone walls I so
Gladly cleave.
They seem to
Be able to stand
Without having to do…
And just to be…
They are content in
Their timeless, tireless
Strength, and
Are happy to
Let the forest and
Its timbers beat
Their breasts before the
Moon, as if to
Achieve this could
E’er surpass the
Silence resonant in a
Stone’s beauty.
Spring Cleaning
Click for meditationRegarding "Spring Cleaning"
Birds are so faithful,
And in my opinion are
Attuned to the emotions of people
They encounter. The chirp
Of a bird can be so uplifting and
Mood-changing, and
Seems to come at the
Most opportune
Of times. I believe
Birds can “sense” our
Minds and emotions, and
Can be “there” when we need
Someone or something
To be “there!” So
Often I have been
Stunned by the ministry
And blessings of birds.
Chickadees, in
Particular, are good
Examples of this. They
Are tiny, but their
Hearts are so large!
Once on a cold and raw,
Autumn day in New
Hampshire, I was standing
Beneath a very large pine in the
Woods and watching a
Flock of chickadees about
Fifty feet in front of
Me. Over a course of
Several minutes, they kept
Inching their way
Towards me, hopping
From branch to branch,
Until finally they
Were about five feet in
Front of my face…
Then, they all rose up with
A rush, with the feathers
Of one of them brushing my
Right cheek! What an
Expression of love that was,
What tenderness, what
A wonderful way to be
Touched by the wings of God!
And thus also this
Past spring, when I was
Doing cleanup in my
Garden after the snow and
Wind of winter, I was standing
In a bunch of leaves with
My rake when I heard a
Flurry of activity around me,
And I realized it was the
Love of chickadees
Returned to me again, as
They flapped their
Wings about my feet,
And anointed me with
Maple leaves fluffed
About my boots without
My even asking …
Leo Carroll
October 1, 2019
A rustle in the leaves —
Surrounding and about my feet — and
Each maple leaf moves as
If fluffed by the wind,
But lo, ’twas not
A zephyr, but a gust of
Chickadees alighting like an
Angelic hymn!
Strange Day
Click for meditationRegarding "Strange Day"
Sometimes we can find
Ourselves in a place or state of mind
Which seems ‘different.’
Such a thing happened to
Me several weeks ago
When I went to a meeting
In Weston. I no sooner
Took the exit off Route 95 South
Onto Route 30 West and
I seemed to immediately enter
A different sensory world.
The traffic lights at
The top of the exit ramp
Were not working, and the
Number of cars on the
Road seemed eerily
Light. I eventually found
The address for which I
Was searching, but the weird
Wind and rain were no
Help! As I walked up the
Steps to the building,
I realized something
Was amiss because some
Sort of alarm system on the
Premises was beeping.
I tentatively opened the door and
Went into the foyer, and
There was more of the same.
People on the first floor
Seemed oddly subdued, and
It was then I heard the
Hum of a generator
Running – but not for the
Whole building, but just the
Offices on the first floor.
The elevators were not working,
And so I took the staircase
To the next floor, where
I came upon a waiting room
Where people were talking in
Whispers … Hmmm …
They politely pointed
Me to where I should sit,
And it was then I became aware of
Fire, police, and ambulance
Sounds on the roadway
Below the window.
Then a tree across the
Street crashed down, and
Was accompanied by the
Wind rattling uneasily on a
Nearby window pane,
All, remarkably, giving me an
Impression of events occurring in
Hues of black and white …
Thus, when later at my
Appointment, a person
Observed, “Strange day,”
Indicating to her, too, that
Things seemed out of whack,
All I could manage was,
“Yes, something surreal,” and
Thus it was and thus it
Still remains now –
Where was I really? Only
The wind and rain and
Swinging traffic lights
And building alarms and fire and
Police sirens and people whispering
Knew what time and place
My confused senses
And bearings had stumbled
‘Strangely’ upon. The only
Thing I can confirm is it occurred at
Exit 24 off of Route 95,
But even more ‘strangely’ –
I still felt and feel I belonged there
On my path to somewhere …
Leo Carroll
February 7, 2019
“Strange day,”
She says, and immediately
I agree, Yes, something surreal, but
Did the ‘strangeness’
Come from the day seeming
To be tinted in hues of
Black and white, or was
It the unstable, out-of-season
Tropical weather, or the
Malfunctioning traffic lights,
Or this building I am in
Shrouded in darkness
With a buzzer endlessly
Sounding in despair, or
The fire engine sirens
Coming closer from afar, or
The police lights flashing
Across the street, or an
Ambulance going by as if
From something fleeing, or
People in a nearby waiting room
Talking in whispers, or the
Wind curious and nibbling
At the window panes,
Or the thumping ‘bam’
Of a tree falling in the
Woods across the way!?
Yes, indeed, a very
“Strange day,” but for me
In this place, this life,
This time, just another further
Step along my journey
Without cessation.
Winter Sky
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Sky"
The affect on me of
Canadian geese is inexplicable,
But the sight and sound of
Their flying overhead stop me in
My tracks every time.
There is something
Which is roused deep
Within me that has no
Limit in depth nor fathom.
I sometimes believe I encountered them
In some long ago past, and
When I first saw them
Way-back-then, they were
Likewise beating their
Way through a snow-sky.
Perhaps something happened
That forgotten day,
But every once in a while
They fly back again into my life,
And my mind begins to
Wonder what is that something
Which is being replayed…?
Leo Carroll
February 6, 2019
I hear them
Coming before I see them,
And I instantaneously
Stand stock-still, barely
Breathing, anticipating them —
Canadian geese in
Arrow-flight formation,
Beating their wings
Against a snow-cold sky, just
Like they once did flying over a
Primeval cave mouth
And in my hand
Was a sling which I
Let drop limply to my side,
And I watched them
Then as I do now,
Entranced as they
Plow ahead into the
Dark and soon-storm,
Not fighting its force but
Savoring it, their heads
Pointed straight into
What awaits them,
Their beaks confident
At the forefront of
Their phalanx, and ready
To be the first spears
To pierce into the
Winter’s teeth.