Sounds
Winter Blessings
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Blessings"
All it took was the
Meditative rhythm of the
Sound of light rain falling on
A small garden bed
Covered in old oak and
Maple leaves, to
Soothe the seas of
My mood, and then
Adding to this calming
Effect was the soft sound of the
Same rain hitting the
Mossy and mottled
Rocks of an adjacent,
Worn stone wall …
Reminding me once
Again that the gifts from
Creation actually
Occur all year-round,
Not just in spring or
Summer or fall,
But in winter when
First impulse might be
To don sackcloth
And ashes, but instead
The January drizzle
Wags its finger and says,
“No, not at all …!”
Leo Carroll
January 11, 2019
I hear
The pitter-patter of light
Rain on leaves, maple and oak and
What else lies hibernating between, and
I hear an even softer sound
As it lands on a nearby
Stone wall’s mottled moss,
Green and grey in blotches, an old
Coat from the colonial era,
But to me now like new
Wineskin cloth . . . and
Thus my ears listen intently,
Interpreting, soothed by
This revelation and nurture
Alive in my January garden,
When winter would
Otherwise harness me
To my mood, and it wouldn’t
Be until the first crocus’s
Song that I’d dare consider what
Spring’s freedom could
Loose.
Snow-Cold Silence
Click for meditationRegarding "Snow-Cold Silence"
How
Crystal-perfect
Was that moment, as if time and the
Woods and all other
Things seemed to stand
Completely still,
Nothing moving, nothing
Stirring, utter quiet
Both within me
And outside of me,
And all while I inhaled
Snow-cold air,
An air telling me
Flakes were poised
To fall upon a
Landscape waiting,
Poised to be sipped like
Finest wine poured
From a golden
Goblet called late
Autumn in New
Hampshire.
Leo Carroll
July 30, 2019
Over me
Spreads an
Imperceptible
Yoke of
Silence,
Pushing shut
My eyes,
Despite all
My resistance
To being
Pious…
Nothing is
Moving now,
Not even an eyelash
Nor a leaf, not
Even sound, not
Even color,
Not even what
I believe…
Nothing is
Moving, as
Creation pauses
Before
Loosing the
First flake from
November’s
Heaven,
And between
Now and
Then, in
Awe asleep I
Am sent…
Storm at Dawn
Click for meditationRegarding "Storm at Dawn"
It does not take
Much to remind us we are
Separated from the cave
Mouth by only the
Slimmest and
Barest of margins…
All it requires is a
Frightening or terrorizing
Storm or natural
Disaster to reinforce
How tenuous
Everything is in this
Technologically-smug
Society. Witness
The severe 2018 volcanic
Eruption in Hawaii
Or the recent hurricanes,
Sandy and Katrina.
We are at the mercy of
Forces far beyond
What we could ever
Imagine. And so, again for the
Countless time in my
Life, I saw the
Shocking power
Of Mother Nature
Roll up before
My eyes, when a
Tremendous
Storm blew in
When I was spending
The night on Washington
State’s beautiful
Whidbey Island.
No place is exempt
From terror – not
Even heaven!!
Leo Carroll
June 1, 2018
First the wind I hear, and
Then starts the driving rain in sheets against the
Siding of this sturdy, island home, and
So out to sea I cast my eyes, and
There the primordial story of a November
Storm unfolds…and it is of a high
Tide being whipped into a lather
Against the flank of a black, gray dawn.
All this is soon displayed as an
Endless stream of white-capped waves
Beating against the bulwark of
What man has made, and
Naught is to be done to
Calm and hold it all back,
Except, that is, to pray and
Wait and see, because the hounds
This morning have been
Loosed, and the
Master-of-the-Morning
Has set in motion a
Mariner’s klaxon, and two
Neighboring American flags are
Pointed straight-out
By a monster wind
From out of the south, and
Their tattered threads hurtle towards
Wherever people go when left
With only faith or hope
As their last redoubt.
Oracle
Click for meditationRegarding "Oracle"
Sometimes when I am
Trying to decide something, or if I am
Looking for an answer which
Is escaping me, I will go to
The beach in hopes of direction.
I have always considered
The salt water to be a source
Of healing, and so I will frequently
Wade in and wash my face
In the surf, or I will just
Sit on the sand and hope that
The beauty of what I am
Seeing will speak to me…
I learned this from my father
When I was a young boy.
He loved to be at the beach.
What definitely will always
Speak to me are Peace and Calm
And Solitude, but the answers
To my worldly questions
Always seem elusive, as if
Creation knows what is best for me –
And that I should simply be
Basking before the baptismal font,
And not be worrying about something
Which will soon be turning
To ashes and dust…
Leo Carroll
May 27, 2018
So many tides
And tugs, my heartstrings
Run wild and
Endlessly amok…
Which tide, be it
Low or high,
Which surf,
Which crest of
Foam to me
Carries the reply?
All I hear is
Roar in my ears,
And all I see is
One wave after
The other — with its
Message writ
In a strange script, not
Discernable to
E’en a seer.
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…