Long Unscheduled Poems
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Written by Gail DeBole on October 16, 2014
Updated on October 21, 2014
Note: All unscheduled times are for unplanned miracles.
Monday – 1:00 a.m. - Protect William so that he survives a tragic car accident.
10:00 a.m. - Greet new arrivals to heaven with orientation and tour.
Tuesday – 11:00 a.m.
Attend the funeral of Janet to guide her spirit.
Wed. – 3:00 p.m. – Guide Arthur out of a coma.
4:00 p.m. and on - Help trapped families escape a flood.
Thurs. – 5:50 a.m. - Put the idea for this poem inside Gail's head.
7:00 a.m. - Get wings manicured and halo adjusted.
8:00 a.m. - Look for a more comfortable white puffy cloud to live on.
9:00 a.m. - Attend team meeting with other Angels.
4:00 p.m. - Attend Celestial Happenings meeting.
(Group for Angels to share experiences.)
Weekend Mornings - Attend half-day seminars. Presenter: God
(a Senryu string poem)
High school girls are just
thoughtless and vague - too damn
dumb to be afraid.
Trusting too quickly
- believing things that are said
- unaware of risk.
Small and powerless,
chickens cooped from feral foxes
- peaches for picking.
So accompany
me on walks, to the store and
guard me like a penny.
Look - we're women
- junior grade - and conscious
of dark potential.
Breasted Americans
face a dark rainbow of threats
- we are mortal.
But ANY of us can
encounter unscheduled evil
like nightmares from hell.
Yes, that means you rough
tough males who glide through life as
if untouchable.
Ghost Train
Through relentless twisted shadows a whistle stop emerges from the hallows
Wispy trails from cold stone yards gather - dance macabre - murmurs of ghostly chatter
Unseen innocents wait to ride again - empty echoes scream recurring pain;
Trailing icy fingertips trace the midnight skies as ominous black coach and cab arrives
Unexplained lights appear on vanishing tracks – no return, no way off - too late to go back;
In thundering clouds of bottomless fog unscheduled express with power throbs
Throttle open – no dead man switch – smashes through signs of trestle ditch;
Engine #113 nosedives into mists - plaintive whistle cries in sulphur scented abyss
10/28/20
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Contest: Eight Lines of Spooky Rhyme
There are numerous legends of ghost trains that appear again on the night they disappeared.
I creep into your room, my steps are unsteady,
You went to bed with symptoms of the flu,
A soft child’s breath is what I seek,
To touch, to comfort—to ensure peace.
But as I peel back the covers, I find
Your stillness is no longer sleep.
I call your name, my voice trembling,
Attempt to rouse you from your peace,
But you are gone!
A sudden wave of uncertainty breaks within me,
Disbelief swells and surges like a storm.
The room turns hollow, an unwelcome truth,
Settling in its silenced air.
My baby went to bed with just the flu,
An unscheduled departure is cruelly swift.
God knew, but I did not,
That He would take you!
Leave me unprepared, wracked with regret.
What I did not say now pours forth in shouts,
Words too late, too loud,
As I lay beside your peaceful body,
My last act: motherly comfort,
Seeking solace where none can be found.
Had I known this night would steal you,
I would have held you close,
Rocked you gently to eternal peace.
I wish to see you breathe again,
To tell you I love you,
Through trembling lips and erupting cries.
Your name I scream, your absence I mourn.
An unscheduled departure only deprives,
As a fevered night became a thief,
stealing breaths that should have lasted a lifetime.
In time, I may learn to bear this change,
But not today—today is soaked in pain.
A forever missing piece, a fractured frame,
My soul reshaped, yet never the same,
From a fevered night.
A kaleidoscope
Of disturbing and enigmatic images
Flash now before my mind’s eye.
A cerebral menagerie,
Painted from long forgotten memories
That were tucked secretly away
In the back corner of my mental studio,
Are now being displayed
in my mind's personal gallery.
Shocking reminders of youth;
Blood red canvases
Depicting moments of cruelty and neglect,
Abstract images of confusion and loneliness
Various black and white photos
Of heart ache and pain
Are now arranged
in a horrific collage of misery before me.
An unscheduled showing,
To remind me of what I fought so hard to forget
And put behind me.
But as I reflect
And now admire the perplexing and unsettling collection
Laid out before me
I realize how I have successfully outran my past
I have painted a new life
Full of beautiful lines and brilliant colors
And now I find comfort within myself
As I now let my life reflect
The art my heart now produces.
Form:
Bay area's crown jewel, The Claremont,
Where age 24 Steve Jobs and I talked,
Well, him--as to the future--I was shocked,
The guy aimed high, humble, who want for naught.
An unscheduled stop by a young Prince Charles,
That shook the hands of this Hawaiian kid.
Isabel Sanford's inebriated,
Big Head for A. M. Talk Show With The Stars.
The moment when Chris Kristofferson and,
Geraldo Rivera stuck in the lift,
Then there's Joan Baez mom, a bit of a rift,
Some more late check-in, Waylon Jennings band.
The resort, like San Francisco, midway,
Pearls in an oyster, San Francisco Bay.
***Same hotel where the late Ricky Nelson band stayed with wife Kristin who's actor Mark Harmon(--sister) from the show NCIS, who also visited there, whereto, I have already submitted a sonnet.
Date: 08/26/2019
When a class is boring, the air can feel close and rebreathed - not a comfortable feeling for a COVID child. When the class is finally over, it’s like you’ve escaped something.
Did you know an hour has 60 minutes because ancient Babylonians used a seximal system? (base six).
The class I was in was small, just eight of us around a table in a small room (four students were missing that day) and somehow the class had wandered into the unstable, waring, state of the world.
The professor ended his unscheduled thought, on the result of nuclear war, by saying, “After the nuclear exchanges, when the cockroaches take over..”
“No,” I interrupted - it was a flashbulb moment - an impulse. I don’t usually interrupt professors, “Ants. Ants would take over - they’re mobile super-organisms, cockroaches are just meat to them.”
His smile and nod of approval felt warm and cozy, as if my emotions had a texture and temperature - but I knew it was something assigned to me briefly, like a motel room.
Nuclear survival isn’t exactly my bailiwick, I’m not sure where I picked that thought up or why I had the confidence to offer it. Confidence is a thin lever to work with when talking to a professor. I’ve seen professors crush brash students.
The bell rang, I had survived, and Leong was waiting for me in the hall. The crowd in the hall was moving on toward their classes, like water splashing in every direction. Leong barked a laugh. “What?” I asked.
“Neh,” she said, waving her hand (meaning forget it).
“What?” I asked again.
“When I was little, I would visit my grandparents' farm, in Shandong (province, China). They would call their cows in with a bell,” she said, motioning, with both hands to include the crowded hall.
“We’re the most privileged cows in the universe,” she suggested smilingly.
“I suppose we are,” I agreed, as we passed out into a wind as cold and harsh as witches' breath.
We Are Having
The deafening stillness she made of the unspoken, as another example of my roaring disclosure, passes.
As I look at her back of perpetual moving lips, I observe from following trying to learn of the unmentioned.
As I maintain my diligence, conversations stretch in every direction, than the one I anticipated.
I follow closely for my moment to spring into action, but not yet, as the senseless ramblings went onward, then silence--that happened at flank speed that I was only able to utter the word "What...", when she had told me a set of twins, then she concluded by admonishing me for missing the appointment because of an unscheduled conference at the corporate headquarters,
...and pardoned me while I remained in hysteria.
2019 August 24
*2nd Place*
If only you knew
~~Silent One
The sun rose this morning,
Some extra red --
I attribute that to atmospheric dust -- man a manic
Bulk-polluter – taking some personal blame
Last evening’s carousing did not serve A Higher Purpose.
Blank nights prone to bleed into equally unremarkable days –
Since your abrupt departure each dawn has
Become a perverse mirror of profound absence --
Bath and shave, check for new wrinkles, and missing parts
If poor maintenance an occasional inventory of animate sensibilities
Is a wise unscheduled meditation --
Cycles of nameless risings and numberless sets --
Beloved day-launches and warmth of after dusk glitters we shared
Till your guardian Angel took a vacation...or her jealous nature tragically revealed.
Fate and Faith, Worship Therapy mean little to a suffering human heart….
Global warming is causing climate change:
while ice sheets at the poles are melting fast;
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
Whales and porpoises are beaching, so strange,
nearing extinction, they're among the last:
global warming is causing climate change.
Folks are acting like a dog with the mange,
scratching out a living, lost to the past;
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
Tomorrow buys today; that's the exchange:
greed pushes progress, with few questions asked:
global warming is causing climate change.
Though over time, theories interchange:
the amount of damage is far too vast:
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
We've lost all hope that time will rearrange
these unscheduled changes: the die's been cast.
Global warming is causing climate change
as oceans and deserts increase their range.