“Poetry Anthology, Veron Lee Campbell | Nothing Wasted Journey” explores diverse career paths. It captures both the triumphs and trials woven into each phase.
This anthology isn’t a showcase of perfect poetry. Instead, it’s a collection of life’s whispers, declarations, stumbles, and revelations.
It’s my journey, stitched together with words that have accompanied me through seasons of silence, growth, caregiving, creativity, loss, and rediscovery.
Nothing is wasted. That phrase has echoed throughout my life in the mundane and the miraculous. I’ve seen how God uses every detour, every disappointment, every hidden seed.
These poems reflect that truth. They’re not arranged to impress, but to testify. Not written for applause, but offered for connection. Each one, in its own way, speaks of becoming—through ink, experience, and grace.
So, welcome. Take these words as they are—sometimes raw, sometimes rhythmic, always real.
Disclaimer
If I should speak and write
the Queen’s English perfectly,
some critics would say I have erred.
I don’t claim to write poetry perfectly;
yet some will receive what I’ve shared.
So lend me your ears and eyes. Some intellects stink at what they do.
Give me a corner, I’ll address that too.
True Image | Called to Write
Veron Lee Campbell
Veron Lee Campbell is what they named me
I, by any other name, would still be
Yet I have grown attached to the one I have
Hard to accept another; this I love
One young man calls me Veron, no ‘ica’
That’s more pleasing to me than Veronica
Doesn’t go with my personality
I tried it on, but it doesn’t fit me
I’ve also been called Verona, Verone
Though similar, I’d much rather my own
These sisters and I have our true image
Each given a script, each day a new page
Called to Write
I’d rather be on call to write each day
and spend my time researching books instead.
Improving form and style in what I say;
I’d rather be on call to write each day.
I’d earn a decent living, raise my pay,
and writing books my own and move ahead.
I’d rather be on call to write each day,
and spend my time writing books instead.
Called to Create | A Writer’s Heart
Narrative Introduction | My Love for Writing
This poem was written at a breaking point—a moment when the weight of caregiving had become almost unbearable.
It wasn’t the patients themselves, but the unspoken demands, the overlapping roles, and the lack of respect that pushed me to the edge.
I had given so much of myself, day in and day out, only to be met with:
- Barking orders
- Thankless tasks
- And responsibilities that fell far outside the scope of care I had originally committed to.
I wasn’t just tired—I was frustrated, overlooked, and yearning for something more.
That “more” was writing.
This poem poured out in a moment of clarity, when I realized that writing wasn’t just a pastime. Moreover, it was my lifeline, my voice, and my way forward.
It wasn’t a rejection of caregiving itself. On the contrary, it was a cry to step away from the roles that stifled my purpose, and into the ones that would let me breathe again.
Ironically—and beautifully—I’m still a caregiver today. But it’s different now. Undoubtedly, it hasn’t always been easy and has sometimes felt like a burden. However, this work has always remained part of my calling to:
- Show up with purpose
- Truly see people
- And honor their stories
This poem captures the moment before that shift—before the revelation. It’s raw. Honest. And entirely necessary to the journey.
Where Passion Meets Purpose | Writing
My Love for Writing
I’m done with making patient’s spouses beds
There are worst things that I could do and dread
To be trapped in this unfulfilling role
Of substitute housekeeper with no goal
The patient care I bargained for, that’s fine
From nine to five or eight to eight are mine
To care with diligence for young or old
To end of day through summer heat or cold
The meals, the baths, the walks, the bathroom spills
A full day’s work can barely pay the bills
The extra duties do not fall in this
Career of choice so out of this abyss
I have so much to give and must take leave
For there are new ideas up my sleeve
Away with push and shove, away with barks
Orders are out of place, and rude remarks
I must admit this split will be abrupt
My services turned inside out disrupt
My heart is set my endless journey fixed
No hesitance, my feelings are not mixed
So off I go accomplishing my quest
Until I take my stand, there is no rest
I write poetic forms and prose. In fact
This is my joy; it leaves my mind intact
Farewell, farewell. The time for me has come
Welcome my love for writing, welcome home
Caregiving Joys and Challenges
Narrative Introduction | Healthcare Poems
These three poems reveal caregiving as more than a job—it is a vessel of presence, patience, and playful resilience. From quiet devotion to mealtime chaos and dropping one’s jaw at unexpected moments, they remind us:
- You don’t have to be a hero to care deeply.
- Humor is survival, and it’s okay to laugh amid service.
- Becoming the caretaker means becoming fully human.
Each poem is an invitation to honor what’s ordinary, to celebrate the small moments, and to find grace in the often chaotic work of care.
Happy to Be Here
A compassionate reflection on presence and purpose in caregiving: the simple joy of being “on call,” the emotional intimacy of bedside care, and the humble awareness that, even in routine, we make a difference.
Dinner Is Served
This lighthearted poem captures a mealtime scene with a playful twist. A dose of humor in everyday caregiving highlights the importance of recognizing small wins—and not taking ourselves too seriously amidst duty and routine.
Really!
A brief, impactful piece that captures the surprise (or mild frustration) and disbelief often felt in the unpredictable world of caregiving—served with honesty and a touch of humor.
Its brevity and punch deliver a cathartic release for both caregiver and reader alike.
Please read the full poems here…
Through an Electrologist’s Lens
Narrative Introduction | Salon and Spa
In the midst of running from caregiving, I pursued other areas of interest: Salon and Spa services. And while many think of skincare and hair removal as surface-level services, I came to see them as so much more.
My space was often a sanctuary. The bed, a place where women laid down more than just their heads. They laid down their burdens, their insecurities, their stories. And I received them all with care, with skill, and with silence when needed.
These poems reflect the world I envisioned moving into full time with white coat, sterile gloves, and healing touch. They speak to:
- The precision of electrolysis
- The scientific elegance of the hair growth cycle
- And the art of confidence restoration—one treatment at a time.
But beyond the technique was always intention: to uplift, restore, and renew.
I didn’t just clear hair—I cleared space. I didn’t just hold skin taut—I held space for transformation.
Although at this point I do not practice in the field professionally, the lessons it taught me remain etched in how I serve others today—both as a caregiver and as a writer.
These poems are a reflection of the dignity of work done with care, and the quiet victory found in helping someone see themselves again.
Salon and Spa Poems
Epilator Operator
She views the client’s consultation card.
The next hirsute she has is not a teen
She took a break to have a bite between.
Her clientele has grown; she works so hard.
In white exquisite coat she moves toward
the cabinet, refills her stock with clean
supplies. A room invitingly serene;
the help she gives so many has reward.
With gloves on hands, with gauze she cleans the face.
The temperature and time are set to start.
With probe in hand and skin held taut to find
the hair to epilate o’er time erase
the patch. She works with passion from her heart,
and seeks to give her clients peace of mind.
Hair Phase
A shaft is born and pushes through
in ana-, cata, telogen.
The cycle ends, it comes to view.
A shaft is born and pushes through.
Upon its death, one starts anew.
The cycle ends and starts again.
A shaft is born and pushes through
in ana-, cata, telogen.
Winning the Race
With skillful hands she wins the race
and in her place
a bed and stool
in her hand a tool
with which she makes her move to clear
a field of hair
upon the chest
or near the breast
or nape of neck, the chin, the brows
hairline or toes
intent to treat
from head to feet
Discipline and My Many Moods
Discipline
Discipline comes from determination
Not procrastination
And steadfastness to strive for perfection
It takes dedication
Discipline makes a good combination
In collaboration
With hard work and self-examination
Not impersonation
Discipline takes a miscalculation
Human imperfection
Turns it into rehabilitation
Against expectation
Discipline gives a life revelation
Of a new creation
From innovative imagination
Divine inspiration!
I’m Like That
Sometimes I’m like an elephant
That won’t an ill forget
Long time ago you called me names
And made me so upset
Sometimes I’m like a bumble bee
That sports a nasty sting
I rant and rave and shout so loud
It made your ear bells ring
Sometimes I’m like a firefly
That makes a dim lit path
I shine my light so you can see
And spared you grief and wrath
Sometimes I’m like an Eskimo
As cold as cold can be
Nothing you do can thaw me out
And set my wigwam free
Sometimes I’m like a hummingbird
A beauty to behold
At times it seems I’ve lost my flair
A beggar in the cold
Sometimes I’m like a pineapple
That’s sweet or sour, who knows
It’s hard to tell what you will find
Though pleasant to the nose
And now that you have seen me for
All that I really am
Will you still take me for a friend
And get me out this jam
Impressions and Exaggerations
Impressions
We know what to say to make others think that we care
We acquire it
We couldn’t care less how often you stifle a tear
Or you fake it
When your sky turns grey we tell you how much we are here
Just to hear it
But what you don’t know is that our lives are filled with fear
We’re hiding it
When we face hard times, we think others should stand by us
We expect it
They disappoint us, we think, so we argue and fuss
We demand it
As the years go by, there are people we do not trust
We accept it
They tell us one thing; we know they care nothing for us
We delete it
Exaggerated Expressions
A million times you’ve asked me the same question.
I have a trillion friends, too many to mention.
You always promise me this, but you never do that.
I have always been this way; I can’t change. That’s a fact.
You don’t look a day older than fifty years ago.
Your whole appearance is stunning from your head to toe.
I could never love anyone else like I love you.
You’re so perfect; you excel in everything you do.
This automobile came flying straight out of nowhere.
I see a UFO somewhere in the atmosphere.
The next time that you think of paying a compliment,
Or telling a short tale, make sure it’s a true statement.
Finally Free to Be Me
Freedom to Thrive
Freedom was born on Christmas Day
At least it was for me
You see I’d given power to
What others had to say
About my life, about my choice
About the way I use my voice
Nothing I said was right, it’s wrong
Oh well, what makes it so
The rules were made but not by me
My life was in their hands
From young and old to rich and poor
From disrespect to enforced chore
Looking at me what do you see
A plain and common gal
And that is what you do believe
But that’s not even close
My inner image transmits light
My inner vision says I’m right
Beauty and truth comes from the heart
A place where you’ll find love
Forgiveness, peace, and harmony
Within a broken space
Taking my life into my hands
Taking it to my greater plans
Places to be is up to me
The why and when and where
Accept the fact that I am not
A thing beneath your feet
Nothing you see, nothing you think
Nothing can make my virtue sink
Freedom was born this Christmas Day
At least for me it was
You see I’ve given power to
Myself to pave the way
Freedom to live, freedom to strive
Freedom to have courage to thrive
From Darkness to Light
Narrative Introduction | Just Like a Bad Dream
Have you ever felt trapped in a moment so heavy, it seemed unreal—like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from?
Just Like a Bad Dream was inspired by one such moment, drawn from an emotional response while watching a story of tragedy, family, and the afterlife with a patient. What began as a cinematic trigger opened a floodgate of imagery—fear, confusion, hope, and finally, release.
This poem captures the journey from darkness to light, from spiritual disorientation to clarity. It’s a reminder that even in our worst moments, breakthrough is possible—and sometimes, the dream ends, and we rise.
Just Like a Bad Dream
Dark, dank, desolate, down-right disgusting
Never has there been so much intensity
Like the breath pulled from my lungs; my heart stops
Beating now; just a memory fading
In and out of this gruesome catastrophe
Then tick tock, skipping a beat, it flip flops
Cold, crude, cruelty, corpse-like corrosion
Everything now seems so far from coming back
Life amidst this world of gloom opens up
Distant hope for another solution
One by one all comes vivid; this past attack
All its weight dropping like lead, frees me up
Light, love, livelihood, long-lost latitude
Elevating me farther than I could dream
Lifting me high above all; I’m in flight
Reaching heights—a transforming latitude
Up and up over mountains like a sunbeam
A smooth pace, peaceful and calm, also bright
Stand, shout, salivate, sun-burst stimulant
Energized with life so rich in vibrancy
Light the world; show them the love you receive
Sharing how life can change in an instant
By and by, in the shadows comes ecstasy
The dream ends; waking at last. Such relief!
Rise and Reclaim | Stand in Your Power
Take Back Your Life!
Take back your life from a victim mentality
Thinking that you are stuck in a dead-end, below your potential job
Rise up from the wanna-be entrepreneur mentality
Take charge
You are an entrepreneur from before the foundations of the earth were laid
You have dominion to reach into your innermost being
And draw out the endless reservoir of fertility
Waiting to splatter the earth with life-giving fortitude
Others feel emptiness as they wait expectantly for your resources
To empower them to reproduce themselves in others
This cycle called life manifested as a spoken word
Forming a world, filling a void, reproducing the very essence of the Master Mind
He sets in motion, with Agape Love, a plan that would last throughout eternity
All things created for His good pleasure
Mankind in His image and likeness
With dominion over all He’s given us for the benefit of humanity
Take back your life
The universe groans for your fruit from the seed planted by the rivers of water
Cultivated by you—a gift to you from the Giver of life, love and prosperity
When He breathed, this puff of divinity filled each segment of your existence
With a reservoir of unlimited ideas, gifts, talents, skills and passion
Uniquely yours to meet the needs of all humanity
A picture of infinite perfection
Take back your life and help others to live as they take back their lives
And help others to take back their lives
Moving Forward | Finding Peace
Narrative Introduction | For Friendship Sake
Friendship is one of the most precious treasures we have. However, it doesn’t always unfold the way we imagined.
This poem was born out of a deeply personal season of disappointment where trust was strained. The past collided with the present in unexpected and painful ways.
For a time, I held onto the ache, wrestling with the betrayal of someone I had once called my best friend. In that wrestling, God met me with something greater than bitterness—He met me with grace. And through that grace, I was able to release the pain, forgive, and put pen to paper.
For Friendship Sake is a tribute to the unshaken beauty of shared memories, even when circumstances change. It’s a reminder that the seeds planted in friendship—if sown in love—will bear fruit, even after storms.
That journey ended. Forgiveness is a journey. And sometimes, poetry is its map.
For Friendship Sake
Some things are better left untouched
Unmarred, unbroken, uncorrupt
Like love and friendships and such things
Preserved as precious memories
Life comes with no such guarantee
That things are always meant to be
As we would sometimes want them to
Changes are inevitable
With friends or foes the things we do
In life will leave a mark or two
And those we hold dear to our hearts
Will deepen as the years advance
The years swirled by and memories fade
Forgotten treasures lost in trade
Yet virile seeds in time release
The fruit they hold within their genes
A seed when sown in fertile sod
Is like a covenant with blood
Its fruits and leaves, its limbs and trunk
Remain intact, unnerved and strong
This journey filled with memories
Of childhood dreams and fantasies
Shared audibly from hearts abound
Still has been left unmarred, untouched
Narrative Introduction | Dunghill: Going Uphill
Some people are permanently angry—constantly agitated by their circumstances, always blaming others for why they can’t rise.
I once found myself on the receiving end of such wrath—unexpected, unprovoked, and relentless. Something broke open in me that day. Not in weakness, but in awakening. That moment of exasperation became the catalyst for this poem.
I remember grabbing a piece of paper—ironically, one that had the word “Sunbeam” written across the top. That’s when Dunghill spilled out of me—
a raw, unfiltered declaration of what it means to turn even the messiest places into ground for growth.
What others might call waste, I came to recognize as manure—the very thing that fertilizes new life. It may stink. It may be unsightly. But it’s rich with purpose for those willing to:
- Plant themselves in it
- Grow through it
- And rise.
This poem became a turning point—not just for how I saw others, but for how I saw myself. I realized that I was no longer just enduring. In fact, I was climbing.
Uphill. Through setbacks, through shadows, through the unavoidable stink of life. This was resilience. This was perspective. This was transformation.
Dunghill: Going Uphill is more than a metaphor—it’s a lived reality. It’s for anyone who’s been trampled, overlooked, or buried beneath someone else’s mess. It’s a declaration that nothing is wasted in the hands of the One who redeems all things—even the dunghill!
Inspiration from a Place of Fortitude
Dunghill: Going Uphill
You have your stuff and I have mine.
To you your stuff is a pile of—you know what.
My stuff is manure, the substance which causes germination, growth—upward movement, fragrance, color, landscaping—and so much more.
I will step in my stuff and move on, upward, germinating my path, landscaping my upward climb.
A journey that is never ending, filled with darkness then light then darkness then—the cycle goes on.
When the sun goes down and the moon refuses to give her light, I will shine through the darkness;
Sending my beam of radiance inward then outward, downward and upward while the climb continues.
Having bowel movements, no movement, constipated.
And I pass you still wallowing in your—stuff, drunk from the stench with no ambition to rise and plant yourself in its life-giving properties and fortitude.
I am in my dunghill climbing uphill amidst your stench, my stench, your downward fall, my fall—then rise.
Allow me, if you will, to inspire you from my dunghill.
Anointed to Rise Above | Finding My Voice
Narrative Introduction | The Spirit of Boldness
There are moments when a poem is not merely written, but revealed—etched into the soul as a sacred whisper from God. The Spirit of Boldness is one such moment.
I wrote it on the eve of my birthday in 1993, while grappling with the tension between calling and fear, voice and silence, visibility and purpose. I knew, theoretically, that I was free. But in practice, I was still held back—by hesitation, perfectionism, and self-doubt.
God had already declared me free. I just hadn’t yet stepped into that freedom. This poem became the quiet seed of a bolder version of me—the one who would one day rise, not by might or confidence in self, but by surrender to the Spirit’s leading.
That day came on February 15, 1997—my father’s birthday. It was during the Western Jamaica Christian Teaching Conference at the late Pastor Menzie Oban’s church in Torado Heights.
I’d been serving as PRO for the conference, and it was a great honor to have the late Dr. Myles Munroe from the Bahamas in attendance. He had served as the main speaker for many consecutive years.
I didn’t simply read my poem In God’s Hands—I dramatized it. I stood before the audience trembling, but empowered, using simple props—a lump of clay, an old tree trunk, and an empty canvas—to help convey the message God had placed in my heart.
In hindsight, it was no accident that The Spirit of Boldness had been written just before my birthday and fulfilled on my father’s. It was a divine bridge—legacy and calling converging in one prophetic act.
This poem marks that moment. Not just when I found my voice—but when I stopped waiting for permission to use it.
I walked boldly… because the Spirit led me.
The Turning Point Toward Courage
The Spirit of Boldness
Fear and trembling was the order of the day
Hurdles of procrastination were in the way
Theoretically speaking I was set free
But practically something bonded me
It was lack of experiencing the Word
In order to take flight and be free; like a bird
I had to flap my wings and ascend above
The thoughts of those who looked on, mostly out of love
The consciousness of not wanting to be seen
Prevented me from fulfilling what should have been
A soldier on the battlefield for the Lord
Claiming victory in the name of Jesus, our Lord
I asked Him for strength to keep me while I speak
And I wasted a lifetime while a crutch I seek
Creeping and crawling surely got me started
But how much more fulfilling had I not waited
For Him to lift me in upright position
From whence I could go in full flight with His vision
Then one day the Spirit of the Lord said to me
“I have told you time and time again, you are free”
“Lord, I know that but…” I started to answer
Then I realized that I could go on no further
For whom the Lord has set free is free indeed
This time the promptings of the Spirit I did heed
If I just focus on the Master’s mission
And rely fully on Divine Inspiration
What hindrance to me are the eyes of man
While I boldly step to fulfill my Father’s plan
I am His instrument; the glory is for Him
As I make known His awesomeness then self grows dim
The fear of being seen was just fantasy
It passed away; the highlight is His Majesty
So now I know the difference between being seen
And allowing the Holy Spirit in my being
To show the glory of the Lord in splendor
Declaring the Anointed One as Savior
He has given us a spirit of boldness
That we may go forth and proclaim Him, nothing less!
The Spirit of Boldness | In God’s Hands
What follows is a link to the poem I boldly dramatized—an act that unleashed me into the spirit of boldness.
In God’s Hands
A lump of clay in the hands of God
Is like an old tree trunk in the hands of a sculptor,
Or an empty canvas in the hands of a painter.
READ MORE HERE…
A Prophetic Merge | The Spirit of Boldness and In God’s Hands
The image above is more than art—it is a prophetic glimpse into the journey these two poems represent.
At first glance, the woman stands barefoot in a mound of clay at the summit of a mountain. But this is no ordinary clay—it is the same clay placed in the hands of the Master Potter in In God’s Hands.
It is the same clay that once resisted formation, now molded into a vessel of purpose. The once-shapeless lump now bears the imprint of God’s intention.
Beside her lies an old tree trunk—rough, dormant, but waiting. And on the other side, a blank canvas—still untouched, but pregnant with possibility. These represent what God has yet to do. Not delay, but design. Not abandonment, but preparation.
And in the center of it all stands the woman.
She is the embodiment of The Spirit of Boldness. Her feet are planted firmly in the very clay that once symbolized her hesitation and formation. She has been shaped, not just in body but in spirit. Now, she’s standing tall, clothed with strength, radiant in the glow of the Holy Spirit and nourished by the warmth of the sun.
No longer does she:
- Wait for the courage to speak—she is living it.
- Wonder if she’s qualified—she knows she’s called.
- Fear the mountaintop—she belongs there.
This moment captures the intersection of past shaping, present boldness, and future transformation.
She is clay, vessel, voice, and canvas all at once.
And the journey is far from over.
To God Be the Glory. Nothing wasted.
Closing Reflections | Nothing Wasted
This collection of poems is more than a literary anthology. It is a life-in-verse, gathered from my Poems & Things Collection. They were carefully chosen to reflect a meaningful cross-section of my journey.
These words were not written all at once or for any one audience. They came in moments of clarity, crisis, creativity, and conviction, shaped by lived experience.
In these pages, I have traced my footsteps through different phases of purpose, spanning 26 years—1993-2019:
- From the early recognition of my voice and creative calling in the Introduction section
- To the sacred spaces of caregiving and healing in Healthcare, where even the hardest days became fertile ground
- To the transformative power of touch and dignity in the Salon and Spa, where restoration happened in the quietest ways
- To the honest reflections and inner dialogue of Miscellaneous, where identity, freedom, pain, and forgiveness intertwined
- And ultimately, to God Is, the spiritual anchor of it all—where calling met legacy, and fear gave way to boldness.
Each poem represents a step along the path of this Nothing Wasted Journey. Some were born in joy, others in frustration or grief, and a few through the gentle voice of reconciliation.
But all of them—every stanza, every pause—have led me to see that God wastes nothing. Not a tear, not a setback, not a word.
Thank you for walking this journey with me. May you find your own courage to write, rise, heal, and boldly become who you were created to be.
I invite you to share which poem spoke to you most deeply, or how your own journey reflects a “nothing wasted” moment. Your insights are welcome and valued.
Veron | Business Owner | The Way 4Word Enterprises