The Sparrow
It has been my custom when penning poems to sit near a window,
Where I watch the world go by while waiting for poetry to flow.
And there by that window one August, an intriguing thing occurred,
When smack, right into the pane of glass, crashed a tiny little bird.
And with quite a wallop — yet, amazingly and surprisingly
It flew, (who knows how, given its head-on crash), to a nearby tree.
And there, upside down, it hung by its tiny claws, tenaciously,
While I sat there watching, expecting it to fall eventually,
And noticing its little body pulsating pitifully.
Yes, I could’ve run to its aid, but what if it took off in fright,
Only to crash again, too weakened, even worse off, lose the fight.
No, better to leave it, I thought, so I sat there watching, waiting,
And upon the slim chances of it surviving, meditating.
After what seemed ages, and to my astonishment, it flew away,
Which left me sighing with relief, and presuming it was okay.
What a plucky little bird, I thought, down but not out, a fighter,
And you guessed it, obvious fodder for a relieved poet, writer.
After all, what courage, what strength, worthy of preserving via pen,
And so reminiscent of past heroes, gallant women and men.
Yes, battlers, who though the odds were against them, still continued on,
Or who, despite opposition, fearlessly stood up, spoke out, shone.
Yes, fighters, who like that little sparrow, didn’t give up, held out,
Men and women who believed in themselves, didn’t give way to doubt.
Battlers, hanging by their fingers, staring at possible defeat,
And yet, not prepared to give in, give up, not prepared to retreat.
Are you like that plucky little sparrow, a battler, fighter too,
Not prepared to give in, succumb, nor adopt the negative view?
Do you, despite feeling dazed, and hanging by your fingers also,
That same tenacity, pluck, and inner strength, courageously show?
Thank you little sparrow — you’re an inspiration, you know.
By Lance Landall
But, But, But
“I’m sorry, but…” — oh yes, but, but, but — how we hate those buts, that tiring “Can’t be done,” and thus “Must accept,” reply,
Such meaning, “There’s no cure,” “Nothing that can help” — despite our but, but, but — to which they often roll their eyes and sigh.
Well, let me tell you this: If it wasn’t for those who refused to halt at a deflating but, one thing’s for sure,
Many an answer, or that which now helps folk, would never have been found — such being, some clever machine or cure.
While acceptance has its place, and far too often isn’t applied by many, (thus adding to their misery),
Our but could prove invaluable where propelled by some distress or frustration, and determined energy,
Alias inventiveness, thinking outside of the box, and a strong belief that there must be something out there,
That is, in the way of an answer, solution, cure — and why despite those deflating buts, we should still persevere.
And when tempted to give up, we should persevere for the sake of others, (like we’d love them to do for us), and,
Remembering that by doing so, we might well find an answer to our own woe — and hey, wouldn’t that be grand?
But whether an answer is found or not, we'll at least be doing all that we humanly and possibly can,
And the wonderful thing about acting so, is that life tends to reward those who such thought show their fellowman.
So, where others say that we can’t, it’s often better to think in terms of can, (of the possibility),
And likewise when it comes to some cure, or that which might help — and first and foremost, not for ourselves, but humanity.
For life that’s worth living is all about giving, seeking what’s best for others, refusing to give up hope,
Which makes finding an answer much more likely, or that something that will make things easier for someone to cope.
By Lance Landall
