Poetry With A Mission



...a thought provoking poetical exercise.

Ignace Jan Paderewski (pad-a-rif-ske) 1860-1941 was a Polish pianist, composer, statesman.

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The Master's Touch

(Based on an excerpt I read)

A mother took her young son to a Paderewski concert, the story goes,
Hoping such would encourage her son’s progress on the piano, for who knows.
After they were both seated, the mother spotted an old friend who was there too,
So she left her seat, and walked down the aisle to greet her friend, as folk often do.

Seizing the moment, her young son left his seat also, and began to explore,
Shortly wandering under a “No Admittance” sign stationed above a door.
When the lights dimmed, the mother returned to her seat to find her young son gone,
The stage curtains parting, and to her horror, what the spotlight had fallen on.

Her darling boy was seated at a large piano, an impressive Steinway,
And, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” innocently was attempting to play.
From the far side of the stage, the great piano master himself soon appeared,
Quickly approaching both the piano and the young boy, as everyone stared.

He leaned over the young boy, and, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” whispered in his ear,
And with the master’s arms reaching around him, a combined effort all could hear.
Added to the young boy’s modest tappings was a masterful depth and beauty,
Which mesmerized and stole the show, thanks to Paderewski’s creativity.

Well, there’s a Master up above, who assists our efforts too, creatively,
One who, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” whispers in our ear encouragingly.
Though we may try our best, we still fall far short, achieve little that’s noteworthy,
Until His hands team up with our hands to create a heavenly symphony.

Despite our best efforts, we’re just like that young boy sitting at that piano,
Innocently tapping out a simple tune, one that doesn’t quite seem to flow.
One that needs the Master’s touch, a divinely blended rhythm and harmony
That will strike a cord in those around us, and weave a heavenly tapestry.

Yes, this earth’s a concert hall, with its curtains parted, and there sits you and I,
So in need of a divine Paderewski who our efforts will beautify.
One who whispers in our ear, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” and spreads His nail pierced
hands,
And our own, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” enhances, enlivens, and expands.

By Lance Landall


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