WHAT DOES LOVE MEAN? WELL, THERE'S ONLY ONE THING THAT IT'S EVER BEEN, BUT
DEPENDING ON THE SCENE, ONE MIGHT THINK THIS OR THAT, WHEN IT'S NEITHER THIS
OR THAT, BUT PURE AND TRUE, ALL ABOUT OTHERS TOO — SELFLESS, IN OTHER WORDS —
HEAVENLY, DIVINE, SOMEWHAT BEYOND OUR ATTEMPTS TO DEFINE, YET CERTAINLY
NOTICED WHERE IT'S SEEN, WHERE IT'S HEARD — YES, THAT SACRIFICIAL ACT, THAT
CARING WORD; AND MAY SUCH BE YOURS OR MINE.
Story One
Twenty three verses
A Tragic Tale
The world is full of books that
contain stories, hence those burning lamps,And here’s another story that upon ones mind a picture stamps.
It's a borrowed one, though true or fictional I really don’t know,
But one I’ve presented in poetic form that seeds it might sow.
So here we go:
A very sad and tragic story has been passed down throughout the years,
It one about an only child and one that gives reason for tears.
Oh, how his father loved him so, and how his mother loved him too,
But they were very poor people, and this harsh life had struggled through.
They were worried about their son and a college education,
So they scrimped and saved for years, both dreaming of his graduation.
And both were getting on in years, and thus their health was not the best,
But until they had saved enough, they just toiled on without a rest.
Well, when they had saved all the money that was needed for their son,
They sent him off to a college, thrilled that this they’d finally done.
Thus, tears soon flowed as they waved goodbye to the son that they held dear,
For they could hardly be sure when their much loved son would next appear.
And whenever they could do so, a few more dollars they would send,
Tucked inside an envelope with a loving note that they had penned.
They knew that the money they had sent might not pay for all he’d need,
So every day on bended knee they would seek out their God and plead.
Well, a number of years went by and the letters sent home decreased,
Which a greater concern and longing in each parent’s heart increased.
And when yet another year went by and no news had come their way,
The husband bade his wife goodbye and set off on their horse and dray.
And for many long days he travelled, his head shaded from the sun,
And he, lost in pleasant memories, so hopeful he’d soon see his son.
And travelling over winding tracks with an ache deep in his heart,
He bemoaned the past number of years that they’d had to spend apart.
He also thought about the college where his much-loved son now went,
It one where more wealthy parents their more privileged children sent.
How he had wanted the very best for his disadvantaged son,
But as he drew near the college, he wondered, “Was the right thing done?”
His dear son would have changed, of course, and quite a young man he would be,
He mixing with those wealthy ones who viewed poor folk disdainfully.
So would he want his new friends to know that his mum and dad were poor,
And what might he have told them? Such thoughts he simply couldn’t ignore.
Soon two large stately college gates appeared within his dimming view,
And a tired but excited father, those two stately gates passed through.
And looking somewhat dishevelled and in clothes that were second-hand,
He halted in the driveway where anxiously the large grounds were scanned.
Lofty old buildings drew the gaze of this humble old working man,
He astounded at their grandeur and how they all for acres ran.
His squinting blue eyes searched out the grounds with intense concentration,
And soon he was rewarded with much cause for great jubilation.
For with unbelievable joy he’d caught sight of his dear son,
And the thin wheels of the old dray on the shingle driveway soon spun.
His loud voice rang with excitement as he called out his dear son’s name,
But the face of his startled son portrayed embarrassment and shame.
Surrounded by all his classmates (whose surprise was also quite clear),
His words tore at his father’s heart and fouled the sultry summer air.
“Shove off, old man. You’re not my dad, and I’ve never seen you before,
So just go back where you came from before somebody calls the law.”
And quickly turning on his heels, his son then briskly strode away,
Whilst his classmates mocked and jeered his dad on the old horse and dray.
How tears flowed down the father’s face as horse and dray were turned around,
And his aging body shook with sobs as hooves beat upon the ground.
Thus back out through the large college gates went a broken-hearted man,
Whose reddening, smarting, tear-filled eyes now no longer sought to scan.
He now lost to his surroundings and in a fog of crippling pain,
A thousand cruel hammers hammering deep inside his tortured brain.
Off down the old winding track that sad father slowly made his way,
The trip home seeming so much longer for deep pain now ruled the day.
And even the old faithful mare hauling the old and battered dray,
Seemed to sense her master’s deep distress as they homeward made their way.
As the father neared his home, his darling wife waved from the front gate,
She unaware that the son she’d borne had just sealed her husband’s fate.
But no corresponding wave came from the husband that she had missed,
For it seemed the horse’s reins were firmly embedded in his fist.
Unable to say a word, he stepped down from the old battered dray,
And towards the open house door, his wife helped him make his slow way.
And anxious about her husband’s state she then led him to a chair
Where beside the fireplace all his thoughts he would regularly share.
After giving him a welcome home hug, she turned to close the door,
When suddenly her husband groaned and then crumpled up on the floor.
Horrified, she clutched at him, but not a word could hubby impart,
For this man that she now cradled had just died of a broken heart.
Oh, what a tragic tale, one that’s seemingly hard to comprehend,
But tell me, dear friend,
Would you hurt your mother or father, turning your back on them too?
Well, perhaps not, but what about your spouse who’s put their trust in you?
Would you break their heart via some cruelty, callously up and run,
Or some person who's mentally or physically impaired shun?
Yes, it could be anyone,
You avoiding a vagrant, a beggar who’s begging in the street,
Or are there any other folk that you might reject or mistreat?
Oh, I'd truly hate to think so, lest it be that you parallel
This tale that I've presented here, upon which I hope you will dwell.
Yes, it’s sad what pride can do, and I meaning, the wrong kind of pride,
It the bane of many husbands and wives, and rippling far and wide.
And self behind it all, of course, and thus how so much pain is caused,
So many folk letting rip or taking off when they should’ve paused.
But hey, be it a marital or family situation,
It’s terribly sad and sometimes tragic, a man-made creation.
And hence why the world’s full of such stories, and oft so pointlessly,
And this one I’ve penned being one example — yes, one too many.
By Lance Landall
OR BURSTING WITH LOVE AND CARE — AND OUTSIDE ITS DOOR, A WELCOMING CHAIR?
WHEN IN THE LIVES OF OTHERS WE INVEST, ALL OUR DAYS AND YEARS ARE NEVER MORE
BLESSED, AND IN THE END IN PEACE WE THEREBY REST, HAVING CHOSEN THE PATH THAT'S
ALWAYS BEST, AND ANY ERRING HAVING BEEN RIGHTED AND CONFESSED.
Story Two
Twenty one verses
The Marine
A story whether ours or borrowed, is a
story nevertheless,And the following borrowed story one that I’m sure any reader will bless.
Well, the thoughtful reader that is, who, midst the busyness of life,
Gives thought to the sufferings of others, be such hurt, pain, loss or strife.
So here we go:
I have a story that I would like to share with you via poetry,
A story that's very moving, even though somewhat ordinary.
It’s one of those stories that needs to be told, one worth passing along,
Whether that be verbally, via someone's pen, or even via a song.
It all happened in Brooklyn, New York, around about nineteen eighty,
Or so the story goes — and it's a true one — one that deeply touched me.
An elderly man had collapsed whilst crossing a busy roadway, and,
There he still lay, stricken, unconscious — and of course, unable to stand.
Thus a policeman duly called for an ambulance, which quickly came,
Rushing the man to a Brooklyn hospital, saving him being the aim.
Midst bouts of consciousness, the ailing elderly man called for his son,
Thus a hurried search by the hospital staff was thoughtfully begun.
A smudged and crumpled letter revealed that his son was a marine, and,
That he was in a camp in North Carolina close to marshy land.
Therefore, time was of the essence, for the patient was dying, fading,
And his son quite a few hours away, and through marshy backwoods wading.
Consequently, a call to the Red Cross office in Brooklyn was made
(Via one of the hospital staff), in an effort to enlist their aid.
And they, in turn, quickly contacted a Red Cross field director, who,
Was also stationed at the same North Carolina marine camp too.
When this contact was made with the marine camp, his son was located,
A vehicle then taking the young marine to where a plane waited.
And very soon he was on his way, arriving anxious, bleary-eyed,
A hospital nurse hurriedly taking him to the old man’s bedside.
And there the patient lay beneath an oxygen tent, his life draining,
He, the victim of a heart attack, his chest heaving, his lungs straining.
“Your son is here now,” the nurse informed the heavily sedated man,
And she repeated it a few more times 'till his eyes opened to scan.
Very dimly, he saw the young man in the marine uniform, and,
From within the tent’s opaque walls, he reached out with his pale and frail hand.
The young marine then wrapped his hand around the elderly man’s limp one,
Thereby squeezing a message of love and encouragement from the son.
And there in that poorly lit hospital ward the young marine sat, and,
All throughout the long night held very firmly to the patient’s weak hand.
And whenever the elderly patient's eyes opened, albeit briefly,
The young man softly offered words of hope and strength, encouragingly.
Whenever the hospital nurse came into the ward, he was still there,
Oblivious to her and various noises that would reach the ear.
The young man never moved from the old man’s side, nor ever left his chair,
And now and again those words of encouragement she would overhear.
The elderly man never spoke, his hand locked in his son’s, gratefully,
And towards dawn, ever so quietly passed away, lamentably.
The young marine placed the elderly man’s lifeless hand back on the bed,
And then sought the hospital nurse, informing her, “I’m afraid he’s dead.”
The hospital nurse started to offer the son words of sympathy,
But the young marine quickly interrupted her, saying, “Who was he?”
“Your father,” she answered, startled. “No he wasn’t,” the young man replied,
“For I’ve never seen him before, though I am very sad that he died.”
“Why on earth didn’t you say something when I took you to him?” she said,
“Well, I could see that there had been a mistake,” he replied, his eyes red,
“And it was very clear that he needed his son, words of hope and cheer,
Therefore, I figured that he really needed me, and so I stayed there.
I realized that he was far too sick to know that I wasn’t his son,
And that this man actually thought that I was in fact the real one.
By the time his real son got here, it would’ve been far too late, sadly,
So I just acted as if I were his son, conveying empathy."
The young marine then turned on his heels and left, leaving the nurse amazed,
For what selflessness, love and kindness, she thought, as after him she gazed.
And she made her way down to the ward, pausing very reflectively,
Dwelling on similar loving acts, of which there had been so many.
Well, it turned out that there were two marines with the very same name, and,
Who were at the same marine camp on manoeuvres in same marshy land,
And whose serial numbers were similar too, you see, amazingly,
And all of which lead to the wrong marine being fetched, unfortunately.
Someone had pulled the wrong record out first, and thereby got the wrong lad,
Who thoughtfully treated the elderly man as if he were his dad.
And thereby, the wrong marine became the right son at the right time, and,
Very compassionately responded, given that he was at hand.
Yes, there are those who really do care what happens to their fellowman,
And who thus rise to the challenge, thereby doing whatever they can.
Yes, acts of tender compassion and loving care, that daily take place,
In the likes of Kings County Hospital, as was so in this man's case.
Oh, by the way, the real son made it to the funeral, and clearly
Was very grateful that someone had acted so compassionately,
That the other marine had kindly thought to do what he did that day,
In order that a dying old man might more peacefully pass away.
Yes, every single act of kindness makes this world a far better place,
And it also makes life a lot easier for someone else to face.
Yes, every deed that shows compassion, selflessness, tender loving care,
Makes the burdens of others who're struggling so much easier to bare.
Say, would you rise to the challenge?
By Lance Landall
WHEN THE WORLD'S NOT LOVING, IT STARVES AND CHOKES, AND HERE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT FOLKS,
MAYBE YOU AND I, WHO SHOULD KNOW THAT LOVE'S THE ANSWER NEEDED — YES, A GROWING
FACT THAT SHOULD BE HEEDED, BECAUSE LOVE'S CLEARLY ON THE DECLINE, GROWING VIOLENCE
AND LAWLESSNESS A SIGN, AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, FRIEND, A BETTER FUTURE OR SORRY END.
THIS WORLD IS BROKEN, AND IT'S NOT WITHIN OUR POWER TO RENEW, BUT TO TRY AND GLUE IT
TOGETHER, IF WE WANT TO — OTHERWISE, WE WILL FURTHER OUR DEMISE, THE END COMING
SOONER THAN LATER, AND WE, WITNESSING THE CLOSING CHAPTERS OF HUMANITY.
LOVE CANNOT AND WILL NOT HARM, BECAUSE IF IT DID, IT WOULDN'T BE LOVE, JUST LIKE TRUTH
CANNOT AND WILL NOT LIE, AND SO, BOTH LOVE AND TRUTH BEING UNCHANGEABLE, WHICH MEANS
THAT WHERE THERE'S HARM OR LIES, THERE'S NEITHER LOVE NOR TRUTH, EXCEPT WHEN IT COMES
TO CONFRONTING, CONDEMNING AND RIGHTING SUCH.
Out With And In With
Though this is not a Christian poem, I have to say, going by the Bible,That Christ HATES and is ANGERED by the mistreatment of ANYONE, such grave ill.
And so, if He’s real (like I believe), all should take note, and more so Christians, who
Should be the last to inflict harm or injury, any kind of ill pursue.
And with this in mind, though regardless, and if we’ve any human decency,
It should be OUT with any mistreatment, and IN with love for humanity,
Irrespective of someone’s character, ’cause one’s human worth still remains, and thus
Words and actions revealing nobility — and Christians, acting like Jesus.
Well,
So it should be, but what do we see, but clearly a fallen humanity,
Of which we’re trying to rise above, or still acting just as injuriously.
It taking strength to love, heroism to act differently, and be kind,
Which only and truly happens where one has a purer heart and sounder mind.
It’s not about imitation but habitation, which shows the truth of us,
And so it is with any Christian, whether their heart is like that of Jesus.
And thus our mistreatment of anyone revealing but an inner illness,
An unchecked decay, rather than a noble, loving, caring, inner wellness.
Until all are viewed as precious, we’ll never have a love for humanity,
But just our own, and hence that ill that many suffer, not viewed as preciously.
And there we have a tragedy, reasons for this ill or that ill, hence the maimed,
Or dead, no sacrosanct viewpoint there, our penchant for harming souls still untamed.
By Lance Landall
LOVE SMILED AT ME TODAY.
IT WAS YOU.
THANK YOU.
IT HELPED ME ON MY WAY.
