marooned maestro
floats frustrated
with
waned creative craving
in
sensual lyrical stream
of
impeded passion
faces jaded
stodgy scenario
of
monotonous mélange
of
temporal template
in
bleary platitude plateau
of
consumed composer’s
blasé bearing
it seeks
for
algorithmic arousal
of
styled stimulation
within
captivating cauldron
of
coherent fecundity
but
dismayed downright
by
lamentable nothingness
of
Promethean depth
lacking buoyant upwelling
of
imagination impulse
snapped strings
of
violin heart
don’t resonate singularity
with
impassive articulation
of
simulated strokes
as
ephemeral echo morphs
into
emotive melody
of
congruent cadence
distorted disarrayed
in
convoluted concerto
of
synthetic sonata
I observe the naked light un-folding' waking a day so bright, near broad seas
Rolling! In power rippling curling,
then dissapating, a breeze
arises carressing senses exciting.. The hills above show head and shouldered looming, i see lichen green on
Wayside bouldered, Burgundy
roses around a cottage porch, such beauty all
Naked there is no garb needed; naught."as is the
Moonlight; when it arrives, shall be un-impeded, I see cowslips yellow, the irisis
Blue, the sky in its splendour, and un-matched hues, of all this the very same
Is true.' In their naked states that God created, does anything decribed need enhancing? I say if any so think? Well they
Need berrating, what am i recieving
of deeper truths? Is God giving me
insight naming world delete's who
clothe war in piety, and sell greed..? As
blest? who are of those, who would
destroy not deliver, and Gods Spirit test"
Killers of all that is so great
and good! The naked gift
of ithe nnocent child' how deep lies your
Depravity? You by now; thrice damned imbiciles.!!!
marooned maestro
floats frustrated
with
waned creative craving
in
sensual stream
of
impeded passion
faces monotonous
stodgy scenario
over
tedious terrain
of
temporal template
in
bleary plateau
of
consumed composer’s
blasé bearing
it then seeks
for
algorithmic arousal
of
stimulation and style
within
cauldron of coherent fecundity
but
dismayed downright
by
lamentable lack
of
Promethean depth
devoid of buoyant drive
of
imagination impulse
snapped strings
of
violin heart
don’t resonate singularity
with
impassive articulation
of
simulated strokes
emotive melody
of
congruent cadence
distorts in disarray
in convoluted concerto
of
synthetic sonata
I’d simply like this freedom:
To love, in every season;
Am I just a heathen:
Someone who’s not worth believing?
Let her be my queen when,
There’s a purpose, not impeded;
And loving her, my reason,
‘Til I’m breathing,
Six feet in –
Deprived of your love I become a will-o-the-wisp,
a ghostlike entity, whose illumination has faded
with the echoing of your final word, "Goodbye."
Not a daunting wisp of the shimmering kind,
nor one to haunt or harm. Feel no alarm from me
for I am no longer whole, the woman I used to be.
Without your hand to hold, your lips to kiss,
your arms enfolding me close to your chest,
there would be no love to quell my need.
Desire would wither like a forsaken seed.
Felled, would be my heart as if it were a tree.
The brokenness of me would be conceded,
left alone to live with yearning and in misery.
My heart would die a little each day,
without hope of being resurrected.
Its beat would slow, severely impeded.
I would live in a grayling world on my own
where Winter winds would chill my bones.
I would stand on the edge of a frozen lake
contemplating inching my way to the middle,
knowing water flows there, swiftly to the sea.
A break in the ice would end my heartache
as I ride on the current like a felled tree.
Inspired by the fact that Stevie Wonder is a blind musician, yet has never been impeded by his disability to achieve, here am I… persisting to do my best to help my special child attain triumphant milestones.
Ascending amidst impossibility's attacking angst
Bravery blossoms, boasting of blessings
Cleaving to commitment with clarity
Defying despair, disability-distress…
Endeavoring with exhorting excitement exuberantly
Faith toward fruition freely fuels fulfillment for
God guards and guides by His grace…
Hoisting with hope, healing heralds healthiness
Inspiring against infirmities toward what's impossible* to impart impactful
Joy so jubilant to fulfill tasks in life’s journey despite jeering jury…
Kindled with kindness...
Loving my special child toward his liberation
Maximized by milestones, magnify mercy with miracles...
Not and never impossible through the Lord Who nourishes and nurtures.
*Luke 1:37 For with God nothing shall be impossible.
April 11, 2025
1st place, "Stevie Wonder" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Karen Jones; judged on 4/16/2025
Just as a child talks to his dad, talk to the Supreme Lord.
He'll fulfil your needs and show you the heavenly abode.
Praise him. Worship him. Glorify his name as it's holy.
You are a co-heir of his kingdom. Do not feel lowly.
When you lack food at night for your guest, won't you ask your friend?
Though he feels irked first, won't he answer your need at the end?
With an innate pulse, he knows all your needs before you ask.
As flies and bees, yet, labouring for your bread is your task.
Have you ever asked with faith and felt that you'd not heeded?
Though you searched like a seeker, were your efforts impeded?
Did your kith and kin spurn opening the door when you knocked?
From the sun, moon, and stars (nature's conveyors), are you blocked?
Your soul must be light like a feather, all the burdens shed.
You must twine with the Father, like a flower with the thread.
Written by Gail Debole
November 26, 2024
Adding "ing" to nouns has taken over the town.
English Traditionalists - turn your frowns upside down.
"Being an adult" is now one word.
We are all "adulting" or haven't you heard?
So I guess the next noun to be "verbed"
Is that a child is "childing" or is that absurd?
All languages evolve through the years.
Face the facts. Get over your fears.
Nothing you can do to stop the "ings."
"Verb-ing" the nouns is more than a fling.
Younger generations speak their own type of speak.
Older generations try to keep up so they do not look weak.
No one person controls the words we say.
New ones arise and old ones lose sway.
Now all the nouns can be "verb-ed" or "e-d-ed."
Language creativity cannot/should not (shouldnot?) be impeded.
And, in the future, how many words will survive?
Will acronyms and emojis be the language that thrives?
The marooned muse floats
with waned creative craving
in the emotive stream of impeded passion,
faces the monotonous stodgy scenario
over the tedious span of time
in the bleary plateau of poet’s blasé block.
That’s when it seeks for
AI’s algorithmic rhythm of ideas and style
within the cauldron of coherent fecundity,
but is downright dismayed
by the lack of Promethean depth,
devoid of the nuance of imagination impulse.
The chord of heart’s violin doesn’t resonate
with the unique personal touch,
for the melody of lyrical longing
remains unreplicated in the artificial sonata.
“I have been a stranger in a strange land.”
- Bible, Exodus 2:22
This land doesn’t welcome the undefined,
Unsung are the ones that desire its light,
Impeded are those who seek the hidden,
Strangers aren’t embraced by its rising sun,
Cocooned in mystery are the land’s ways,
The night does not grant access through its door,
I do not know what brought me to this land,
I don’t know what trailed my feet through its path,
I seek to know and pursue my purpose,
The books say that time will bring my sure course.
Now gaze at the wonder of the sky
Then spread your wings and attempt to fly
Only courage needed but if impeded
You'll live in fear till the day you die
Just take that painful first step forward
And follow the dream you're heading toward
No mental anguish so you'll never languish
Celebrating over mountains soared
Written: November 15, 2023
__________________________________________
Some seek leisure in the pristine wilderness
The solitary coast is the site of separateness
Each one is barred from harboring bitterness
The ocean thundering, roaring in its utterness
Nature fascinates me beyond my smallness
Never before impeded in the path of emptiness
From lackluster scarcity and austere emptiness
An itch for oneness in the cosmos of loneliness
We wait idly for the angel's plea for tenderness.
In the darkness I walk
I hear the shadows they talk
It makes me fear for my life
Impeded by strife
I dream of the knife on the shelf
Knowing I'll cut myself
But it's my eyes that bleed
When my misery is freed
I'm living my life in a loser's pradise
Where each day one is the roll of the dice
Tomorrow is no longer a given
And I'll never be forgiven
In the light I'd like to walk
I hear the angels they talk
They're taking me away
From my darkest day
I dream of joy on the shelf
Knowing I've healed myself
But still it's my eyes that bleed
When it's love that I need
I'm living my life in a winner's paradise
Where each day six is the roll of the dice
Tomorrow is certainly a given
And I might be forgiven
He Called Me Lazarus
Miracle Man
2/22/2023
Good morning Lazarus,
were his first words voiced.
Then immediately with tears,
my eyes began welling.
Twas one day past Easter,
and I sat there unvoiced.
Thoughts rushing from my heart,
that were compelling.
He was referencing the day,
God had rescued me.
I think back on this time,.
when prayer warriors pleaded.
Then from the pangs of death,
“Miracle Man” came to be.
God’s hand during this time,
was not to be impeded.
As advanced years whisper by,
God grants me recall.
Of the destiny that brought,
this time into being.
The Widow Maker and S.C.A.
did both on me befall.
But God had a purpose,
far beyond my seeing.
My Granddad can’t stay on the straight and narrow
Robs garden centres with his bow and arrow,
Police knew his scheming
So now he is screaming
Speeding downhill in a plastic wheelbarrow
As gramps in his wheelbarrow got lots of LOLs
The river impeded his getaway goals
When used as a boat
It just wouldn’t float
Since when did those wheelbarrows have drainage holes
He dragged out the barrow as fast as he could
Expecting somehow it could do him some good
He thought it made sense
To ask Fred the Fence
“Who launders wheelbarrows in this neighbourhood?”
He sold the wheelbarrow and tried to go straight
Then Grandad found weeds all round his garden gate
“Oh for goodness sake,
I need a new rake.”
Went shopping at ten ’cause the store closed at eight
He snuck through a window by breaking the pane
And made his way through to the garden tools lane
The alarm’s manic blast
Brought police really fast
He grabbed a wheelbarrow and set off again
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