Poetry Anthology, Veron Lee Campbell | Synopsis of My Legacy

“Poetry Anthology, Veron Lee Campbell | Synopsis of My Legacy,” shares moments of my journey from conception. It takes you through childhood to adulthood in times of joy and sorrow.

Poetry Anthology | Conception and Beyond

MOVEMENTS THROUGH LIFE

The two united…

starting my journey into existence,

embedded in a soft uterine wall.

Oblivious to the support system

on the inside and that on the outside.

My inner and outer world

changed.

 

Movements

split cells, forming

tissues, organs, systems

placing them together in one

body

 

Fully formed, well nurtured

moving out prematurely into

the outside well-populated

world waiting for me.

 

The circle widens outside the family

outside the familiar

into the community at large.

 

Moving from grade to grade,

from school to school.

Learning and growing.

Passing, sometimes failing.

Always picking up the pieces.

Moving on past graduation.

 

Work ethics, continuing education

drives me to complete tasks efficiently.

Trade associations molding and offering support,

moving ahead of those who are content

with the basics.

 

In the midst of all that

I start my own movement.

Nine months, full term—

my bundle delivered into my arms.

Making a visual snapshot

while he was in transit,

still etched in my mind.

 

The days, weeks, months, years

still etched in my mind.

A mother’s heart knows her child’s

joys and sorrows.

 

I continue to move into

one heartache, then another

similarly different. Hesitant,

yet blinded to see the similarities.

Differences stood out in sheep’s clothing.

In time, the mask fell off.

So did my blinders.

 

Diversity in acquiring knowledge

with a quest to be semi self-sufficient.

Hobbies turned into skills, into profitability.

A more aggressive approach

would have yielded something of substance.

Hand to mouth—the order of the day.

 

Time to move forward—

 

seeds have been planted

there is a harvest waiting

to be discovered.

Part One | Poetry about My Childhood

INFANT SCHOOL—FIRST DAY

First day of school and I was four years old.

My father was the one who took me there.

I held on to his hand just out of fear.

We entered through the gate where snacks were sold.

 

In uniform with schoolbag and few books,

we waited in a group to hear my name.

The one I used at home was not the same.

We all wore tags pinned on with safety hooks.

 

The day was long; I could not wait to leave

but had to stay until the final bell.

My brothers came, the vendors tried to sell

us their goodies in baskets made from weave.

 

The pages of my writing book—big line

were scribbled with the efforts I had made

to write each alphabet with teacher’s aide;

and drawings of the stick figures were mine.

 

The stories from my ABC Primer

and nursery rhymes I tried to memorize.

I closed the book; sometimes I closed my eyes

encouraged by the prompts from my mother.

 

A day well spent; the timidity was gone

while I was safely on familiar ground.

At eight o’clock in bed, my sleep was sound;

refreshed to wake up sometime after dawn.

Part Two | Poetry about My Childhood

MY CHILDHOOD DAYS

My childhood days were filled with fear

Of things that could not harm me

My self-esteem was out the door

Boys and such things alarmed me

 

Why did I fear? Where did it start?

Not sure why I was frightened

I even shunned the party crowd

As I grew up it heightened

 

My intellect was not to blame

My books were what I clung to

My mind was filled with needless doubts

My solitude I’d run to

 

How different are my days right now

My life and thoughts are filled with

Self-confidence, fulfilling dreams

And heights that life is filled with

 

My childhood days are passed and gone

And yet I tend to look back

Reflecting on the things I feared

Today I would not hold back

MY SIBLINGS, MY FRIENDS AND I

My siblings and I all loved the sea

That’s where we spent our time

Swimming and basking and making new friends

At Easter and summertime

 

We enjoyed the times we climbed the trees

To find the sweetest treat

Feasting on almonds or having sheer fun

And sometimes to beat the heat

 

The longer we stayed, the more we grew

Accustomed to the rays

Sunray and stingrays to mentioned just two

On sunny or rainy days

 

No other event we loved so much

The days went quickly by

Searching for fishes, a sea roach or two

My sibling, my friends and I

Poetry about Moments with My Father

A DAY WORTH REMEMBERING

One morning five o’clock or so

I told my dad I want to go

with him to work the farm and bring

in fruits and ground provisions,

 

some corn and gungu peas. A thing

to hear the little birdies sing

and see the lush terrain, and greet

the country folks, hear echoes ring.

 

Neighbors yell out across the street

come running down, their friends they meet.

My dad and I cleared land and plant.

We worked so hard despite the heat

 

and made up songs to sing and chant.

I did not get intolerant

of ants, collected eggs from fowls.

At lunchtime I was jubilant.

 

From calabash we made our bowls,

sat by the river, watched tadpoles.

The day went by; we gathered plums

bananas, mangoes, dug yam holes,

 

picked coconuts in massive sums.

While husking them, my father hums,

filled crocus bags tied up with wisps.

We’ll leave for home when evening comes.

 

I love to hear my father’s lisp.

Balancing, as the sunset dips,

a great big pumpkin on his head.

The evening breeze was sharp and crisp.

 

We walked along the river bed,

shortcut to the main road ahead.

The bus was packed. Our goods were placed

on top. We had to stand instead.

 

Glad to be home, unpacked then raced

to bathe and brush my teeth, embraced

my bed. I could not wait, and so

I slid under the sheet with haste.

MY FATHER’S DONKEY

My father said don’t stand behind

He won’t be kind

His donkey kicks

It feels like bricks

But I forgot. Before I moved

This donkey proved

My father right

Gave me a fright

I scrambled to my feet and stayed

clear as he brayed

Climbed from his side

to take a ride

Part One | Precious Family Memories Poetry

COCONUT TREATS

At times we had more coconuts than most

town folks. A piece of land, we could not boast.

The country plot my father farmed with sweet

delightful crops spread out from post to post.

 

Three dozen coconuts or more a feat

my brothers had. They grated and compete

to see which one of them would first be done.

One brother always faster; he would cheat

 

by eating bits and pieces and for fun

he joked and made it clear that he had won.

The next step was to make extracted oil.

The residue, the custard, called ‘run dung.’

 

They washed the juice out, setting it to boil.

We watched as our grandmother did this toil.

She bottled up the contents which was known

to spill, but on her apron was no soil.

 

She was a seasoned gardener and had grown

and harvested a farmland of her own.

My mother’s mother full of life and zest;

her wisdom and enthusiasm shown.

 

My father finished what we thought was best.

Coconut drops, gizzadas, we confessed

these were the things we loved the most.

We felt that they were better than the rest.

Part Two | Precious Family Memories

MY ‘TWIN’ AND I

I learnt the rudiments of cooking from

my brother Glen, of cleaning up before

and after, all designed to please our mom.

He made sure there were no crumbs on the floor.

This discipline was meant to give freedom

and space for what we need was so much more.

The sink and countertops were clutter free.

A valuable lesson taught to me.

 

On Saturdays, the market was the place

to shop for fruits and ground provisions too.

And once again was eager to embrace

the skill to choose good yam and callaloo.

I also learnt to organize the space

and place old stock in front of what was new.

We stuck together synchronized as twins.

Our journey to a frugal life begins.

 

Another chore we had to do was wash,

and so we set the clothes to soak all night.

This task was not accomplished in a flash.

We started four o’clock before day light.

As careful as we were, we made a splash.

Our goal always to get them clean and bright,

the whites got extra treatment in the sun.

And we would be relieved when all was done.

 

I could go on and on for there were lots

of projects that we had. We did our best

to clean the house and scour all the pots.

The chores were all divided with the rest.

Our siblings worked as hard as we. As tots

we learnt to share our toys and we were blessed

to have our parents. They have taught us well.

In everything we all strive to excel.

Part Three | Precious Family Memories

BABY SISTER AND A BABY BIRD

We found a baby bird in the backyard

It could not fly; we could not find its mom

The five of us decide to be its ward

And wonder where on earth it had come from

Surprised our tiny tot as her reward

Excitedly she gave a quick tom-tom

Our little sister stepped upon his head

Before we knew, our little friend was dead

BABY SISTER AND HER SHOES

Sometimes it’s hard to trick a four year old

Or try to hide or run away and leave

When they refuse to do what they are told

Even the ones who are not so naïve

We could not go without her behold

We came up with a plan just to deceive

She quickly ran to get her outdoor shoes

And in a flash we took off through the mews

Part Four | Precious Family Memories

MY TRUSTED FRIEND

I held her hand and watched; her eyes opened

The moment she was born I saw her face

My baby sister still my trusted friend

 

A treasure in my life, God sure did send

And in my heart she holds a special place

I held her hand and watched; her eyes opened

 

We share in honesty as we intend

Ensuring that our footsteps we can trace

My baby sister still my trusted friend

 

And catching up by Skype, our latest trend

Communicating at a steady pace

I held her hand and watched; her eyes opened

 

When making plans, our mutual hearts we blend

We honor one another with such grace

My baby sister still my trusted friend

 

I knew that we would be friends to the end

We stick together to endure the race

I held her hand. I watched; her eyes opened

My baby sister still my trusted friend

Part Five | Precious Family Memories Poetry

MIDDLE BROTHER

My brother’s trumpeting career is done

The marching band took him to lands afar

Mechanics and his business skills have won

 

Parading in his uniform was fun

He’d rather blow than pick at a guitar

My brother’s trumpeting career is done

 

He showed potential; he’s a thrifty son

This life could have made him a superstar

Mechanics and his business skills have won

 

He thinks a lot and works in broiling sun

With tools and jumper underneath a car

My brother’s trumpeting career is done

 

His lunch is packed, he eats while on the run

With bigger heads his work is up to par

Mechanics and his business skills have won

 

Researching ways to climb he did not shun

This change of plan his future will not mar

My brother’s trumpeting career is done

Mechanics and his business skills have won

Motherhood | God’s Gift to Humanity

MATERNAL INSTINCT

My first career choice had been motherhood

And I’ll be mother till the day I die

The strengths and challenges I understood

 

I waited to get married as I should

Concerning boys and romance I was shy

My first career choice had been motherhood

 

My chances and intentions they were good

I prayed for fertility and here’s why

The strengths and challenges I understood

 

There was excitement in my neighborhood

The love for children no one would deny

My first career choice had been motherhood

 

My confidence was growing and I would

Become the best supporter as I try

The strengths and challenges I understood

 

Nurturing life in every way I could

Parenting proudly with my head held high

My first career choice had been motherhood

Its strengths and challenges I understood

Part One | Reflections of Love and Heartache

The FALLS – FIRST VISIT

In awe I held my breath and watched amazed.

The sight—a wonder to behold! The sound

of running water, trees and birds, I gazed.

In awe, I held my breath and watched amazed.

A bird flies overhead, my head I raised.

I stood for quite a while on deck, spell bound.

In awe I held my breath and watched amazed.

The sight—a wonder to behold! The sound!

A MINUTE TO REFLECT

The bridge on which we planned to meet

We crossed the street

The gap closed in

Hearts fluttering

We looked at us, while they watched us

On board the bus

Our hands unite

We were a sight

A pair so far apart outward

Our hearts we guard

Deep down believe

Our goal conceive

Part Two | Reflections of Love and Heartache

OPEN THE DOOR

Open the door and let this suitor in

But I will open up my heart no more

He comes from far, and wears a great big grin

Open the door and let this suitor in

He swears he will not leave, your love he’ll win

And should have told you so before the tour

Open the door and let this suitor in

But I will open up my heart no more

ME—HERE AND NOW

One room—I am confined in this nine-foot by twelve-foot block

A solid concrete structure complete with two doors each with key and lock

 

It certainly is a far cry from my spacious one-bedroom, middle-class apartment

I had to give that up, but must not take valuable time to lament

 

Life goes on as I strive each day to make steady progress

I find myself coping, moving along, growing in this space, I must confess

 

It’s my little nook and cranny where poetic juices flow

The imagery of my mind runs wild and contents rapidly grow

 

Out pours the inspirational piece read on Communion Sunday

Two or three a day flow religiously from Monday to Saturday

 

I am beginning to wonder if it’s worth the cost that I pay for storage

The bulk of my belonging tightly packed in space charged by the footage

 

This space, here and now, has me thinking and causes me to decree:

I can function with less baggage and continue to be me

Part Three | Reflections of Love and Heartache

REMEMBERING THE PAIN

Last night I read the letters sent

And once again gave thanks to God

No more confined, no rage to vent

Last night I read the letters sent

I understand what all this meant

A mother aches when things are odd

Last night I read the letters sent

And once again gave thanks to God

STEPPING STONES THROUGH OBSTACLES

The stepping stones in life are not all smooth.

They are not shaped as we would like them to.

Sometimes the space between them is a stretch

of the imagination and we stress.

 

The obstacles we face, they pave the way.

There’s no escaping them, no way around.

But then our lives are richer when we learn

to keep on moving on at every turn.

 

The message we can pass to those behind,

That we have learnt from others gone before.

The road is rocky, steep, winding and long.

With perseverance we can finish strong.

 

So keep on moving, forging straight ahead

one step, one day, one moment at a time.

And though life’s stepping stones have obstacles,

along the path we find great miracles.

Everyday Poetry | Cinquains

A cinquain is a form of poetry consisting of five lines that follows a specific syllable pattern and often conveys a concise thought or image. The syllable structure typically consists of 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 syllables in each line.

***

You see

me in a box

I don’t see me that way

You placed me there and I got out

set free

*

Monday

came and then went

I stayed because you said

things will never be the same here

you lied

*

You lied

when you told me

you were alone and I

believed you and said I would be yours

you lied

*

Trick and

mistreat downright

cruelty. I sought help

for you abused and tortured me

like hell

*

Moving

like butterflies

dazzling over the shrub

through the glass reflections from my

sequins

*

Make these

the good old days

for you and those around

it’s about the difference you make

today

More Everyday Poetry | Haikus

A haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry consisting of three lines with a syllable pattern of 5, 7, and 5. Haikus often capture a moment in nature and evoke emotions or insights with brevity and simplicity.

***

catching sea roaches

between the waves’ ebb and flow

running for cover

*

belly side showing

two lizards face together

on the screen door mesh

*

between two pages

dried petals from my bouquet

preserved; a keepsake

*

red lips pressed against

ivory stock handmade postcard

between pressed petals

*

the window sill blooms

assorted herbs and flowers

viewed from the kitchen

*

different colored fruits

man-made ceramic basket

on the countertop

*

green and ripe mangoes

waiting to be devoured

all in one basket

*

watching sable palm

hanging like gray beards. The tips

dried up from aging

“Poetry Anthology, Veron Lee Campbell | Synopsis of My Legacy,” is for anyone who enjoys poetry.

This is for you if…

• You have read my poems many years ago in the Montego Bay “Western Mirror.”
• Or, heard me read poetry at church, conferences, and other events.
• We read together in our poetry group.
• You’re just curious to know more about me or my work.

Please, please share with your families, friends, and groups.

Also, feel free to leave your questions and comments below. I would love to hear from you.

Veron
Business Owner | The Way 4Word Enterprises